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"Let me join you," Serrador said urgently. "I am Basque. Those other men, the Catalonians-they never wanted me to be part of their plan. I was convenient because of my position. I was an expediter, not an equal. Let me work with you."

"There is no place for you," Amadori said coldly.

"There must be. I'm well connected. Powerful."

Amadori straightened and tugged down the hem of his jacket. He nodded toward the tape player. "You were," he said.

Serrador looked at the machine. Perspiration collected under his arms and along his upper lip. He jabbed a thick finger at the PLAY button.

"What of the driver in Madrid?" he heard someone say. It sounded like Carlos Saura, head of Banco Moderno. "Is he leaving Spain as well?"

"No. The driver works for Deputy Serrador." That was Esteban Ramirez, the bastard. Serrador listened for a few moments more as the men on the tape talked about the car and about the deputy being a Basque. An ambitious Basque and willing to do anything to further the cause and himself.

The stupid, careless bastard, Serrador thought. He stopped the machine and folded his hands. He looked up at Amadori. "This is nothing," Serrador said. "Don't you see? This is designed to discredit me because of my heritage. It's blackmail."

"The men did not know they were being taped," Amadori informed him. "And your driver has already confessed to his part in exchange for immunity from prosecution."

"Then he lies," Serrador said dismissively. A plug of something caught in his throat. He swallowed it. "I still have a strong and loyal constituency. I'll beat this."

Amadori's smile returned. "No, you won't."

"You unremarkable pig!" Serrador flushed as fear shaded to indignation. "Who are you?" It was a slur, not a question. "You bring me here late at night and you force me to listen to a tape recording of questionable merit. Then you call me a traitor. I will fight for my life and for my honor. You won't win this."

Amadori smirked. "But I already have won." He stepped back, drew his own gun, and held his arm out straight. The pistol was pointed down at Serrador's forehead.

"What are you talking about?" Serrador demanded. His stomach was liquid. Sweat glistened across his forehead now.

"You took the gun from me," Amadori said. "You threatened me with it."

"What?" Serrador looked at the gun. And then he realized what had happened, why he had been brought here.

Serrador was right. He could very well have argued that the Catalonians had set him up. That they'd bribed his driver to testify against him. Had he been allowed to defend himself he might have persuaded people that he wasn't involved in the death of the American. With the help of a clever attorney he might have convinced a court that he was being framed. That this was an attempt to turn people against him and his Basque supporters. After all, Ramirez and the others were dead. They couldn't defend themselves.

But that wasn't what Amadori wanted. He needed Serrador to be what he really was: a Basque who had joined with the Catalonians to overthrow the government of Spain. Amadori needed a Basque traitor for his plans.

"Wait a minute-please," Serrador said.

The deputy's frightened eyes turned toward the gun on the table. He had touched it. That was something else the general had needed. His fingerprints on the damn-

The general pulled the trigger. The slightly turned head of Deputy Isidro Serrador snapped back as the bullet pierced his temple. He was dead before his brain could process the pain, before the sound of the blast reached his ears.

The force of the impact knocked Serrador backward onto the floor. Even before the sound of the shot had died, Amadori had picked up the gun from the table, inserted a full clip, and placed it on the floor beside Serrador. He stood for a moment and watched as Serrador's dark blood formed a red halo under his head.

A moment later the general's aides and police officers crowded into the small room. A beefy police inspector stood behind him.

"What happened?" the inspector demanded.

Amadori bolstered his pistol. "The deputy