earliest lamentation known to the art world, a tiny replica of Mary comforting and caressing the body of the slain Christ.
Across eighteen centuries, perhaps in and out of tombs, there it was.
There were gasps around the room.
“Think of this as a gift from the people of the United States to the people of Spain. The return of your black bird.”
“How on earth-?” Rivera began, shaking his head.
“A contact in the underworld and some invaluable assistance from another intelligence service. I’m equally grateful and indebted to both for their assistance and good will.”
“Extraordinary,” said Pendraza. “Excellent work.”
“I can tell you this much,” Alex said. “Your thieves were homegrown and highly amateur, based right here in Madrid. But they were also unpredictable and tightly knit, which made them both dangerous and a challenge. Your security system was compromised, and they walked through it. They made contact with forces within the Middle East and set in motion a terrorist plot against the United States of America. But like most amateurs, they committed mistakes that caused their undoing. Their first mistake was greed. They attempted to sell the pieta to a collector in Asia. They never delivered because they were greedy. They wanted to try to sell it twice to raise twice as much money. It turned out to be a bad way to do business.”
“Please tell us enough to make proper arrests,” Pendraza said.
“A friendly intelligence service already put them out of business,” said Alex. “I don’t even know where the bodies are. I’ll review the details with you privately if you wish. I will also need to teleconference later with the French police, the Swiss, and Interpol to cover some ancillary details. My recommendation, however, would be to terminate this inquiry and everything related to it. No good will come from any further investigation. Any subsequent time and expense will be wasted.”
Pendraza held her steadily in his gaze, as did Sanchez of the Guardia Civil.
She addressed them in return.
“Related to this is the death of the unfortunate worker in the Metro system,” she said, “the track walker Maria Elena Gomez. I suspect she stumbled across something she shouldn’t have. In any case, those responsible, and those who would have been responsible for an even more horrific incident at one of the embassies on the Calle Serrano, have been summarily brought to justice. This was not of my doing specifically. Again, another intelligence service acted, but they acted with lethal efficiency.”
Colonel Pendraza’s eyes went to the lamentation at the center of the table. “And where did you find this?” he asked.
“The actual retrieval of the pieta took place, I would surmise, in Switzerland. It would appear that an agent of another service called upon a businessman in Geneva, a man of questionable commercial affairs. My guess is that the agent came across the ‘lamentation’ in the man’s possession. The agent surely would have been looking for it. In any event, he passed it along to me for return to its rightful owners.”
Pendraza nodded thoughtfully. “I’m just curious,” Pendraza said. “Certainly you knew that this team from a ‘friendly’ intelligence service was in Spain.”
“Yes, I did,” she said.
“Did you know that their ultimate task was to use lethal force on the conspirators?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t even know that had happened until I was released from the hospital a day later.”
“Who told you?”
“A friend of mine and, I would submit, a friend of the Spanish and American people, considering how many lives were saved. And putting two and two together, I now realize that the gentleman who approved this exercise on behalf of US intelligence was trying to distract me during the final hours of the exercise. I met with the gentleman across from La Almudena late three afternoons ago. I couldn’t understand why he was allowing the Spanish police to act so slowly. He just wanted to get to these dangerous amateurs first.”
“Understandably,” said Pendraza.
“So while it was not my decision to launch an execution team,” Alex said, “once that team was launched there was no holding them back. And honestly, I have reservations about what happened, the fate of those who were executed. They were a small band of amateurs playing at being world-changing revolutionaries. The leader, a misguided young man named Jean-Claude, organized his own murderous little cell.
“Hundreds of innocent people might have died at their hands.” She smiled wryly. “What can I say? I tend to be a person of faith who tries to live her faith. God sometimes works in strange ways.” She paused. “Then again, to paraphrase a personal friend, a streetwise philosopher of sorts, ‘The world is better off without such people.’”
“So the terminations took place on Spanish soil?” Pendraza said.
“That is correct,” she said.
“Was it done in conjunction with the American intelligence service?” Pendraza asked. “Or with their approval?”
“To answer that, Colonel,” Alex said, “let me just say that if I decline to answer your question, then, if asked, you won’t know the answer.”
He smiled faintly and nodded.
“I would have to agree with your philosopher friend,” Pendraza said. “Certainly Madrid is better off without a few extra individuals prone to terrorist attacks. I could argue that the world is better off too.”
“I have some homicide reports this morning from the city police,” Sanchez of the Civil Guard said quietly. “Four murders, maybe five. Including a fire. Related. No further victims of the fire fortunately.”
“The further details are known only to the participants and to God,” Alex said. “I suspect that might be the best way to leave things.”
Pendraza glanced around the room. “I suspect it might be,” he said.
“Is there anything else?” Alex asked.
“Maybe, if we inquire, the rival service that solved this problem for us would be able to give us a few more details,” Sanchez suggested.
Alex shook her head. “Don’t even bother asking,” she said. “They won’t. And I’m not planning to divulge what country’s intelligence service helped us. I’m disinclined to discuss it. Even when I’m back in Washington, I suspect my memory will grow hazy.”
She glanced around.
“Now,” she said, “unless anyone has something else, I’d like to excuse myself. I believe this investigation is finished. Muchas gracias, Senores.”
Alex rose. The small group in the room rose with her. One by one, the men around the table offered congratulatory handshakes, which she accepted as she moved toward the door. Sanchez gave her an embrace. The last man to stand before her was Colonel Pendraza of the National Police.
His eyes were gray and almost sad. He gave her a slight nod. “I have many questions, but I’m going to pose none of them,” he said. “But I wish to thank you. You and whatever other service you worked with. You spared us enormous problems.”
“No, no. It was more than
Then he too gave Alex a hug, replaced his cap, seemed to stand an inch taller on the spot, and was on his way.
She walked back to the hotel.
It was evening now and a warm evening gripped Madrid.
In a way, she felt suddenly very alone, that strange kind of loneliness that one can only feel in a large city when one is surrounded by millions of people, but all of them are strangers, and everyone else seems to be in the company of someone else.
Back at the hotel a short time later, she wandered into the bar on the first floor. She ordered herself a cognac and sat at a quiet table in the corner. From her table, she could watch the street and the nearby gardens.
She settled back and relaxed.
