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McCaskey nodded as he looked at Luis. The officer was ashen, his breathing very shallow. McCaskey checked the improvised bandage. Then he took off his own shirt and began tearing it into fresh strips.

"Father," McCaskey said, "we have to get Luis to a hospital. Please-would you flag down a car?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Norberto said.

McCaskey looked toward the street. A police car had pulled up to the curb and four men had gotten out. They were dressed in distinctive dark blue berets, white belts, and spats.

"The Guardia Real," María said. "The Royal Guard."

A fifth man got out as well. He was a tall, white-haired gentleman with a proud military bearing. He approached quickly.

"It's General de la Vega," McCaskey said. Then he shouted, "We need help here. Luis needs a doctor!"

"ĄAmbulancia!" María added.

The Royal Guard members began running toward them. One of them shouted something to María.

She nodded then turned to McCaskey. "They're setting up a mobile field hospital in the Plaza de Oriente," she said. "They're going to take him there."

McCaskey looked down at Luis. He finished bandaging the Interpol officer then took his hand and squeezed it hard. "Hold on, partner," McCaskey said. "Help's here."

Luis squeezed back weakly. His eyes remained shut. Father Norberto knelt beside Luis to pray for him. The priest was obviously hurting. It was also obvious that he had no intention of letting that stop him.

A moment later gunfire erupted once again from inside the palace. McCaskey and María exchanged glances.

"Sounds like the government's playing for keeps," McCaskey said.

María nodded. "We're going to lose a lot of good people today. And for what? One man's insane vision."

"Or his vanity," McCaskey said. "I'm never sure which one motivates a dictator more."

As they spoke, the police arrived. Two men lifted Luis up gently and carried him toward the plaza. The general thanked McCaskey and María for all they had done, then ran after them. The other two Royal Guardsmen stopped and lifted María.

"An honor guard." She grinned.

McCaskey smiled and rose, assisted by Father Norberto. They walked alongside María as she was carried away. McCaskey felt a knifelike jab with every step he took. But he kept up with the guards. It was rare to get a second chance at anything, whether it was the opportunity to fix a wrong choice at a moment of crisis or to reclaim a lost love. McCaskey had experienced both. He knew what it was like to be tortured by events his indecision or fear or weakness had caused.

If María Corneja would have him, there was no way he intended to lose her again. Not even for a minute. The pain of blowing a second chance would be much, much worse.

María sought and found McCaskey's hand. A moment later her eyes found his. And at least one pain stopped when it became clear that she felt the same.

* * *

FIFTY

Tuesday, 7:20 a.m.

Washington, B.C.

Though he hadn't slept much over the past twenty-four hours, Paul Hood felt surprisingly refreshed.

He had spoken with Colonel August and Aideen Marley when they returned to Interpol headquarters. The fate of Darrell McCaskey, María Corneja, and Luis García de la Vega hadn't been known then-although General Manolo de la Vega had assured him that when the time was right, a police assault squad would be going in even if he had to kick each butt in personally.

McCaskey finally called from a field hospital only to say that they were all right. A more detailed report would have to wait until they were on a secure line back at Interpol.

Hood, Rodgers, Herbert, Coffey, and Plummer celebrated with a fresh pot of coffee and congratulations all around. There was a call from Ambassador Abril, who said that the king and the prime minister had been informed and would be addressing Spain at two p.m. local time. Abril could not tell them whether the Royal Palace had been taken from General Amadori's troops. He said that that information would be provided to the White House when it was available and would have to make its way through