“Yes, sir,” Prementine said, saluting.
The corporal informed Private Pupshaw that he’d be staying behind with Colonel August. The burly private responded with an enthusiastic salute and then reported to his commanding officer. August told Pupshaw that when they reached the staircase he was to take up a position just inside the corridor. August would handle the crossfire from the northern side of the staircase. If either of them were attacked from behind, the other would be in a position to cover him.
Privates Scott and DeVonne left behind their remaining supply of gas grenades. There were only three of them. August figured they would get five strong minutes of defense out of two of those grenades and cover fire. The last grenade would give them another two minutes for their own retreat. The timetable was snug, but it was doable. He only hoped that Aideen could catch up to her wounded prey, do what needed to be done, and exit cleanly.
Corporal Prementine wished the two men well. Silently, he and the other Strikers departed.
August thanked him then informed Pupshaw that they were to hold their positions for exactly five minutes from the time they reengaged the Spanish soldiers. At August’s signal they would then follow their fellow Strikers back “down the hole,” Pupshaw retreating first.
August and Pupshaw lay on their bellies and prepared to meet the assault. They would fire low, no higher than the knees. Pupshaw had a grenade ready to roll against the Spaniards. August raised his left arm.
Twenty seconds later the first Spanish soldier appeared through the thinning yellow cloud. August turned his left thumb down.
Pupshaw pulled the pin and rolled the grenade.
FORTY-FOUR
As he moved down the corridor, Darrell McCaskey felt naked without a weapon. But it had been more important to him that Maria have one. It had been a while since he’d used the aikido skills he’d learned when he joined the FBI, but they would have to suffice.
McCaskey slowed as he neared the next corridor. He stopped at the corner and peeked around stealthily, the way he used to do when he was on stakeouts. He took a mental snapshot of the scene and then withdrew quickly, his heart jumping from slow to hyperactive.
There was a tall man standing part of the way down the corridor. He was a general with Francoesque layers of braid and an array of medals. He was armed with a handgun and he was wearing a gas filter and goggles. He was also bleeding from a wound in his leg.
It had to be Amadori.
The man had been looking behind him as he approached. McCaskey was sure Amadori hadn’t spotted him. He swore at himself for having left his gun with Maria. He had nothing to use against the man. Nothing except his fists and the fact that Amadori didn’t know he was here.
The FBI had taught McCaskey that if an agent didn’t bring superior firepower to a situation he should back off until he could muster that firepower. A standoff always favored the pursuer. Failure favored the pursued.
But with everything that was at stake, McCaskey couldn’t take the chance of letting Amadori go.
McCaskey looked up and mustered his resolve. He listened to the general’s limping footsteps. Amadori was approximately ten feet away. McCaskey would crouch and swing around, try to pin his legs to the wall, then grab his arm before he could fire.
Just then, McCaskey heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Father Norberto walking toward him. That wasn’t all he saw. Above the music room, McCaskey noticed a red eye looking down from the ceiling.
It was a camera eye. And Amadori was wearing goggles — Remote Surveillance System goggles.
The footsteps stopped. McCaskey swore. He’d been too damn tired to think this through and now he was at a serious disadvantage. Amadori knew precisely where he was.
There was nothing to do but retreat. He turned and ran toward the door that led to the courtyard.
“What is it?” Father Norberto asked.
McCaskey motioned him back. The priest just stood there, confused.
“Jesus!” McCaskey cried in frustration. He didn’t think Amadori would shoot a member of the clergy. But a Catholic priest would make the perfect hostage. No one would dare order an attack for fear of hitting the priest.
McCaskey had to get the priest out of here. Reaching Father Norberto, he put his arms around him and tried to move him toward the courtyard door. A moment later he heard a shot and felt a punch in his back and then everything went blindingly red.
FORTY-FIVE
It was easy for Aideen to follow the trail of blood. The drops were so close together they overlapped in spots. Amadori was losing blood quickly. What she hadn’t anticipated was that the general would be alone when she caught up to him. Alone and waiting for her.
Amadori fired once as Aideen came around the corner. She jumped back as soon as she saw him and the bullet whizzed by. There was silence after the echo of the gunshot died. Aideen stood there listening, trying to determine if Amadori moved. As she waited, she felt something pressed hard against the small of her back. She turned around and saw a man step the rest of the way from a doorway. It was the major general. He was holding a gun on her.
Aideen cursed under her breath. The officer was wearing his RSS goggles. He must have been tuned in to the cameras behind them and spotted her. They’d separated and now she’d been snared.
“Face front and raise your hands,” he commanded in Spanish.
Aideen did. He relieved her of her gun.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Aideen didn’t answer.
“I don’t have time to waste,” the major general said. “Answer and I’ll let you go. Refuse and I’ll leave you here with a bullet in your back. You have a count of three.”
Aideen didn’t think he was bluffing.
“One,” said the officer.
Aideen was tempted to tell him that she was an Interpol operative. She had never faced death that seemed so imminent. It had a way of weakening one’s resolve.
“Two.”
She doubted that the major general would spare her even if she told him who she was. But she would definitely die if she didn’t.
Yet by telling the truth, she could very well ruin the lives and careers of Maria, Luis, and their comrades. And she would destroy countless other lives if she helped Amadori survive this assault.
Maybe she’d been meant to die in the street with Martha. Maybe there was no escaping that.
Aideen heard the gun bark behind her. She jumped. She felt blood on her neck. But she was still standing.
A moment later Aideen felt the major general stumble against her. She lurched involuntarily as he fell forward. The two guns clattered on the floor. She glanced back at the officer. Blood spurted like a water fountain from the back of his head. She looked up.
A familiar man was walking toward her, down the corridor. He was holding a smoking pistol and wearing a look of grim satisfaction.
“Ferdinand?” she said.
