Free The Seal of Solomon by Rick Yancey

director has invoked the First Protocol.”
    She paused to let that particular bit of news sink in with everyone—everyone except me, because I had no idea what she was talking about. The atmosphere got very somber.
    â€œYou understand what this means. You no longer exist— in the operational sense, of course.” She took a deep breath. “You still have time to back out.”
    Nobody said anything. Abby nodded; I guess she was pleased that nobody was backing out. She asked if anyone had any questions. I had about a hundred. For example, what were an “intrusion event” and the First Protocol? The other ninety-eight were similar in that they were questions I probably didn’t want answered. But the main question was why was everyone else allowed to back out but I wasn’t?
    Rope ladders hung over the railings, and we descended on them to the water below, where two speedboats bobbed gently, scraping against the hull of the Pandora. My butt had hardly touched the seat when we leaped forward and whipped hard to the left toward the lights of Marsa Alam.
    The Pandora faded into the darkness, the darkest kind of dark, under a moonless sky, though the stars were very bright, much brighter than they appear in the States.
    Two Land Rovers were waiting for us at the dock. Op Nine helped me out of the speedboat and I rode shotgun in the lead vehicle as he drove.
    The roads in Marsa Alam were not up to American standards, and I was concentrating on keeping my tongue in the center of my mouth so I didn’t bite it off as we jounced along. We didn’t head for the lights of the town. Those lights stayed on our left and kept fading until the desert night closed around us and the only thing I could see were the twin beams of the headlamps cutting into the darkness.
    After about fifteen minutes I saw a red blinking light against the backdrop of stars and other blue and yellow lights twinkling on the ground.
    â€œOh, great,” I said. “This is just great. Where are we?” But I already knew the answer.
    â€œAn airstrip,” Op Nine said.
    Several men in black uniforms emerged out of the darkness as we got out of the Rovers. They carried automatic rifles and wore black berets. A man with dark skin, dressed in a very nice silk suit, separated himself from the soldiers and bowed to Op Nine.
    â€œDr. Smith,” he said. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
    â€œI am Dr. Smith,” Abigail said, smiling her brilliant smile and extending her hand. The man looked at her, startled. He wasn’t expecting Dr. Smith to be a woman, I guess. He cleared his throat and made a show of pulling a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.
    â€œI have a communication from His Excellency, the President of Egypt,” the man said. He cleared his throat again and read very slowly, like he was translating Egyptian into English as he read, which maybe he was.
    â€œ ‘As signatory to the OIPEP Charter, dated Copenhagen, 19 November, 1932, the Egyptian government pledges its full cooperation and support in this most urgent operation. Therefore, as President of Egypt and duly authorized signatory agent of the aforesaid Charter, I grant designated operatives of the Office of Interdimensional Paradoxes and Extraordinary Phenomenon, as determined by the director of said office, unconditional clearance in our airspace and any and all logistical support they may need for the successful completion of the aforesaid operation.
    â€œ ‘We cheerfully place the fate of the world and its future generations into your hands. God be with you.’ ”
    He cleared his throat a third time, carefully folded the communication, and handed it to Abby.
    â€œThank you, Ambassador,” she said. “On behalf of the Office, I extend our gratitude and pledge our undying friendship to your government and all signatories to the Charter.”
    She bowed to him, he bowed to her, and then they