The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp 2) - Page 56
“Operative Nine.”
“No. What’s your real name?”
“Whatever it needs to be.”
“If I guessed your real name, would you tell me?”
“No.”
“Adam.”
“You are wasting your time.”
“Arnold.”
“Enough, Kropp.”
“Alexander. Axelrod. Benjamin. Brad. Bruce. What about the first letter—can you give me that?”
He didn’t say anything. I didn’t see what the big deal was about his name. Maybe he was somebody infamous or wanted for some terrible crime, like maybe what happened in Abkhazia had something to do with it, but OIPEP protected him.
“Okay, forget it. I was going to ask if you thought everything that’s happened has something to do with me not going to church since my mom died.”
He opened just his left eye and looked at me with it.
“You know, these world-threatening disasters I keep causing. You think maybe God’s mad at me?”
His left eye slowly closed. He said, “Isn’t it odd, Alfred, how often we attribute the terrible things that happen to us to God, and the wonderful things to our own efforts?”
I thought about it. I wasn’t sure, but I think he was accusing me of being egotistical. Me!
“Do you think I’m a bad person, Op Nine?” I asked.
“I think you are a fifteen-year-old person.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The angels were fully formed in an instant. We human beings take a bit longer.”
“That’s good. And bad too, I guess, from m
y point of view. One thing is for sure. This whole intrusion event is going to make believers out of a lot of people. I know your plate is kinda full right now, but maybe if you have a couple extra minutes you could say a prayer for my mom?”
“I am not a priest anymore, Kropp.”
“I know, but it couldn’t hurt.”
He didn’t say anything. His eyes were closed, so he might have been saying one or he might have just fallen asleep.
33
Soon I could see an airstrip, the runway a thick black scar in the pristine snow. We stopped at the edge of the tarmac and I hopped out without waiting for our silent driver to open my door. The force of the wind nearly knocked me over, and I wondered how we were going to take off.
Op Nine joined me and I pointed at our ride sitting at the end of the airstrip.
“What the heck is that?”
It didn’t resemble any plane I had ever seen. It looked kind of like a paper airplane, with sleek wings that started near the front and gradually widened as they went back toward the tail fin, which seemed small for a plane about the size of a 747. The fuselage came to a sharp point at the cockpit, as if a giant had taken a normal plane and stretched it, creating an elongated teardrop shape. It looked like a gardening trowel with wings.
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