"I have a theory."

"I'd love to hear it."

"I don't know if that would be wise."

"Right. Not wise. Like taking my blood from me was."

"You know why we didn't tell you."

"The First Protocol?"

He nodded. I said, "But you can supersede the First Protocol, right? You're the SPA; you can ignore all of them if you want. Anyway, it makes sense now, why you kept me so close afterward. Had to protect your source of the active agent, didn't you?"

My teeth jiggled in their sockets as I talked, so I tried to move my tongue as little as possible, which slurred my words and made me sound like a dental patient, my mouth stuffed with cotton.

"For years, Alfred, I worked to build a weapon that had the potential to control an intrusion agent, but the difficulty was finding an active agent-until Dr. Smith showed me your dossier immediately following Mike's theft of the Seals. It occurred to me your blood might have certain properties . . ."

"So once you had me on the Pandora, you drained my blood through my armpit and stuck it into the bullets."

"We were desperate."

He betrayed thee once! He will betray thee again!

The walls of the tunnel had darkened to bloodred. I figured we were getting close to the door.

"I'm going to get one of these cars when this is over," I said. I figured maybe if I kept talking the voice inside my head would shut up. "Girls might notice me then. But I'd have to follow the speed limit and I'm thinking that would seem really slow now that I've taken it to the max. I think I would resent them. I mean traffic laws, not girls. Is that what happens once you start ignoring the rules, Samuel? I've got this feeling that when I'm back in school I'm going to laugh in the face of my math teacher when she hands out the tests. I used to sweat buckets before a test, get sick to my stomach, get the shakes. I don't think that's going to happen now. And I was scared to death of girls, especially the pretty ones, but after this, girls are cake. Except it might be hard getting a date with no teeth and smelling like a sewer pipe."

Op Nine took a deep breath and said, "There is always tension, Alfred, between the life we want and the life we find." He eased off the accelerator and added, "The tunnel veers to the right ahead. I think we have reached the exit."

53.

I checked the time as Op Nine bore right onto the exit ramp.

"About thirty minutes to spare," I said. "That's good. I'm not usually this punctual."

The car shook suddenly as thunder crashed overhead.

"I figured they'd pull out all the stops: thunder and lightning, ice and fire from the sky, earthquakes, tornadoes, tsunamis, you name it. It's very biblical, but you read the Bible and half the catastrophes are caused by God. You were a priest. What's that about?"

After about half a mile, the tunnel made a sharp left, then a right, and coming out of this turn we saw it, a spinning mass of orange flecked with white, directly ahead. Where the red walls of the tunnel met this light was a ring of pure white flame, and I thought of the circus and the flaming rings they made those poor big cats jump through.

Op Nine slowed to a crawl, and maybe a hundred yards from this burning mouth before the devil's door, he brought the car to a full stop and turned off the engine.

"This is folly, Alfred," he murmured.

"Shut up," I said.

"Madness."

"Cut it out, will ya? What kind of pep talk is this?" I started to shiver, though it was warm inside the car. My lower jaw was jerking up and down as I shook and I was afraid the rest of my teeth would shatter. "You're supposed to be comfor-comforty-comforting me. You must have been a lousy priest."

"I was a lousy priest."

I looked over at him. He was staring into the mouth of fire.

"Samuel," I said. "What did you see in Abalam's eyes?"

"You know what I saw."

"Abkhazia?"

He nodded. I could see the orange and white fire reflected in his dark eyes.

"Abkhazia, near the Black Sea, and home to Krubera, the deepest cave on earth. The Company had received reports of . . . unusual phenomenon in that region, the most compelling of which came from a team of National Geographic explorers, who had descended to the five-thousand-foot mark of the cave before abruptly returning to the surface. You know the area of my expertise, Alfred, so I needn't tell you the nature of those most unusual reports and what drove a team of experienced, highly regarded scientists to abandon their quest to reach the deepest recesses of Krubera. There are some things deep within the belly of the earth that should never be disturbed.

"On July 18, 1983, two of us were inserted into Krubera. Myself and the very best operative the Company had at the time-a young man with a brilliant future, a protege of mine who idolized me and who would obey any order I gave, no matter how ridiculous. These are the kind of agents OIPEP looks for, Alfred. Men and women who are willing to challenge the very gates of hell itself for the sake of the mission." He gave a bitter laugh. "The mission!"

"On the third day of our descent, as we reached the four-thousand-foot mark, an earthquake struck, as is common in that region. I would like to say it was borne of natural causes . . . but I cannot say that; even to this day, I cannot say that. The cave collapsed a thousand feet above us, burying us under three tons of rock. We had carried in enough water and rations to sustain two people for seven days."

He swallowed hard, and I watched his prominent Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Or one person for fourteen days," he added.

"So your friend was killed in the earthquake?" I asked.

"No. No, Alfred. We survived the quake with only minor injuries."

"But Ashley said you were the only one to come out alive."

He nodded. "The Company dispatched a rescue team at once, for our communications to the surface had not been lost. They radioed down to us an estimate of the time it would take to dig us out . . . thirty days."

He fell silent. The silence went on and on. I was shaking so badly by this point, my neck had begun to hurt.

"So . . . so he starved to death? But if you were down there for a month, how did you keep from starving too?"

"He did not starve, Alfred."

"Well, if he didn't starve, then . . ." I stopped. "Oh, God. You didn't."

"You said before that I supersede the First Protocol. It is more accurate to say that I am the First Protocol. I am the personification of it. I am the Superseding Protocol Agent, the Operative Nine. I am the mission, and the mission must survive."

He looked at me then, the first he had looked at me since he began his story.

"And I did that which must be done to preserve the mission." I cleared my throat. "It still doesn't add up. Thirty days to get you out and you had rations for only two weeks. How did you . . . ?"

I waited for an answer, but I already knew the answer and it struck me suddenly how cruel I was being, asking him to give it.

"So you see, Alfred, sometimes it is a good thing to be a Section Nine operative. To have no name and no past and no . . . barriers. It is codified absolution. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I read the section over and over, like a dying man reads the Scriptures to quell his terror. But the comfort it gives is fleeting. For whatever remained of Father Sam before Abkhazia died in the abyss called Krubera."

54.

He was staring at the juncture where the tunnel of smoke met the rings of fire.

"Samuel," I said. "Time's up. We have to go."

"I can't go with you, Alfred," he said.

"What do you mean you can't go with me?"

He turned to me and tears were in his eyes. "You spoke of that place-the point between desperation and despair. I know that place well, Alfred. And we have been there, you and I, since the Seal was lost."

"This isn't you," I said. "It's them. Don't let them do this to you, Samuel. I need you. I don't think I can do this without you."

"We have been fools, Alfred. It was over the moment Paimon obtained the ring. It is Krubera repeating itself, except this time there is no hope of rescue. There is no hope at all."

He leaned in and whispered, "Do you know why they hate us so much, Alfred? Because of hope. They have none, and so they hate us for it. But I think they hate you most of all, for the power of heaven itself courses through your veins. Their hatred of you is only exceeded by their fear. It was fear that stayed their hand in Evanston, fear of what might be released should they kill you."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the same metal flask he had used in the desert, before our assault on the demon hordes. He unscrewed the top and shook some of the water onto his trembling fingers. His voice was shaking too, as he traced the sign of the cross on my forehead.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. God bless and keep you, Alfred Kropp, last son of Lancelot, Master of the Holy Sword, favored of Saint Michael the Archangel, Prince of Light, God's champion who hurled the outcasts from heaven-may he guard and bring you safely through this trial."

Then he made the sign again in the air.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." He placed his hands on my shoulders. "Go now, Alfred. And may God go with you."

I had trouble forming the words, my teeth-the teeth I still had left in my head-were chattering so much. "I'd rather you did."

"I have come as far as I can go."

"Me too," I said. "But I've got to go farther. I've reached the end of hope too, Samuel, but I still gotta go farther because stopping here means I really am dead. I've been hugged by demons, but I've been hugged by angels, too, and that's why I'm going on. You can stay-but I'm going on."

I tried to think of something else to say, like the perfect words existed that would change his mind and, if I could only think of them, he would come.

There wasn't anything he could do if he went, but at least I wouldn't be alone. More terrifying than the thought of facing them was the thought of facing them alone.

I punched the button and my door opened. I stepped out and pulled the black sword from behind the seat. I slipped it between my belt and pants.

"Will you wait for me at least?" I asked. He didn't say anything.

"Good-bye, Samuel," I said.

I stepped away from the car, the door rotated with a soft whine, and the sound of it snapping closed seemed very loud.

I walked toward the circle of light, my breath swirling around my head in the frigid air, and for some reason I felt twenty pounds heavier, as if they had done something to mess with gravity. Above me lightning flickered silently behind the opaque screen of fog, sometimes bright enough to cast a shadow of my shuffling self onto the frozen pavement that glistened with ice particles. I could barely lift my feet by that point.

I didn't look back. I didn't have the strength to turn my head. My mouth hung open a little as I gasped for air. The odor rising from my body was incredible. It made my eyes water. I had thought it was the smell of rotting fruit, but I knew now it was the stench of death.

Through my tears I saw glimmering shapes gathered around a huge hole in the earth, a black pit that the light above seemed to flow into, like water being sucked down a drain.

I had reached the devil's door.

55.

My mind started to cloud with terror, that same paralyzing fear that I felt in the desert, beneath the tarp with Ashley, only this time there was no hand to grasp. I could barely move my legs by this point and every breath hurt.

"Saint Michael protect me," I blubbered around my broken teeth. My voice sounded muffled in my own ears. "Saint Michael protect . . ."

One of the glowing shapes standing before the pit moved forward, its crown shooting dazzling beams of blue and red and green light. I stopped as it approached, mostly because I didn't have another step in me.

On thy knees, carcass.

I went down with a whimpering sob at the feet of King Paimon. My chin fell to my chest. It was over. What was I thinking? I couldn't win against these things. Samuel was right. It was madness. Paimon would never believe the lie I was about to tell. That was the really weird thing about evil. Lying to God was better than lying to the devil: God will forgive you.

Where is the Seal?

"I don't have it."

I felt pressure like a massive fist closing around me, squeezing, and the image of Agent Bert blowing apart in the desert flashed through my mind.

"But I know where it is!" I choked out, and the pressure eased. "I-I'll take you to it, O Mighty King."

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then something lifted me up until my feet dangled a few inches above the ground, and I hung there like a slab of meat on a hook.

A massive gray shape filled my field of vision, dominated by a slathering mouth and sharp teeth the size of the CCR parked in the fog-tunnel behind me. Its body was segmented like a worm's and it had no feet, but it did have huge, leathery wings folded against its twenty-five-foot body.