“I will not,” Nueve said.
“There is something I must discuss with him and I will not discuss it with you here.”
Nueve lost his ironical grin. “I give you five minutes.” He turned to me. “Five minutes, Alfred Kropp, or you may consider our contract null and void.”
He left, popping the butt of his cane angrily against the linoleum. Samuel gestured for me to come closer. He tugged on the flowery sleeve of my dress, and I went to one knee beside the chair so he could look me straight in the eye.
“Alfred,” he said softly. “Do you know why I refused your touch in ICU?”
“No. It was stupid.”
“There is a reason you have been given this power, Alfred. Do you believe that?”
I thought about it. “Well, it seems pretty accidental to me the way it happened.”
He placed his huge hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You are the beloved of the Archangel Michael, Alfred Kropp. You have been chosen by the Prince of Light himself. Turn your back on that choice and you turn your back on heaven.”
I remembered my fall from the demon’s back, the feeling of warmth and light and someone’s arms around me as he fell with me from fire into fire, from darkness into darkness, and the voice whispering, “Beloved.”
I cleared my throat. “If that’s true—and I’m not saying it is—but if it is, then why didn’t you let me heal you? See, even you don’t really believe it.”
“I would not let you touch me for the very reason that I do believe it.”
“You may not be the Op Nine anymore,” I said. “But you still talk in riddles.”
He shook his head. It hit me again how truly homely he was, with the droopy hound-dog face and black rings under his eyes, with the sallow skin and huge ears.
“These men who tried to kill you will not abandon their mission simply because the object goes into hiding. Eventually, no matter how cleverly OIPEP hides you, you will be found. Better to turn and face the danger head-on, now, at a time and place of your choosing, not theirs. In a few weeks, I can help you ...”
I shoved his hand off my shoulder and stood up, backing away as I talked. Now I didn’t feel so much like crying as punching him in his sad hound-dog face.
“It isn’t my fault this time,” I said. “All I want is a normal life. Why can’t I have that? Why can everybody else have that but I can’t? You chose to be an Operative Nine ...”
“Yes, and I also chose to be your guardian, and now you would deny me that.”
“That’s it? That’s why you’re pissed? Okay, then, come with me. They’ll let you. They’ll do anything for the Seal—”
“I am still your guardian, Alfred, whether I go with you or not. And as your guardian, I must do what I feel is best for you. These people trying to hurt you—whoever they are—will continue to hunt you, though the Company hides you in the remotest corner of the globe. Do you understand? They will not stop hunting you until you are dead.”
I turned my back on him and went to the door.
“Alfred!” he called after me. “You should not trust this Nueve.”
“What makes you think I trust him?”
“He is the Operative Nine. For him, the Company’s interest trumps all others.”
“I’m giving him the Seal, Samuel. He’s getting what the Company wants.”
“The Company’s wants are many.”
“What’s that mean? What are you talking about?”
He looked away from me. “The promises of an Operative Nine are written in water, Alfred.”
“Okay ...” I waited for him to explain what the heck he was getting at.
“He may have ... other interests that conflict with yours. With ours.”