His look went faraway for a moment and then returned as Alex kept silent.

“The Soviet Union was comprised of millions of Russians who just wanted to live in peace, yet the Russian Communists were responsible for the murder of twenty million people. China’s huge population was peaceful, but Chinese Communists killed seventy to eighty million people. The average Japanese individual prior to World War II was not a sadistic warmonger who wished to fight China and America. Yet Japan slaughtered its way across Southeast Asia with the systematic murder of ten million Chinese civilians. Most were killed by swords, shovels, and bayonets. And in our recent lifetime, Alejandra, Rwanda. Could it not be said that the majority of Rwandans were ‘peace loving’?”

“The case could be made,” she said.

“We miss the obvious lessons of history,” the colonel said. “The sane majority rarely speaks until it is too late. For us who are entrusted with the safety of the public, we must pay attention to the fanatics.”

“So you think the museum robbery and the events of last night tie into terrorist activity in Spain,” she said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Pendraza laughed softly. “I have a gut feeling, Señorita. I also have files on more than one hundred current investigations of terrorist activity in Spain.”

“May I see them?” she asked. “Those files?”

He turned on her, with surprise. “All of them?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He looked away. “No. I don’t mind at all,” he said. “I’ll have them sent to you later today by secure correo electrónico. You also might be interested in some information at the medical examiner’s office. That’s one of the places we’re going today. All right?”

“Excellent,” she said.

“You’ll hear a lot of things in Spain today,” Pendraza said. “A lot of revisions of history. But mark me well on this. General Franco saved this country from the Bolshevik hordes. We would have turned into Poland or Cuba if the opposition had had their way. And today, it’s no different. There are alien hordes. Enemies among us. I will fight them until they die. Or till I die.”

The vehicle eased to a halt in front of the hospital. Colonel Pendraza held a hand aloft to indicate that everyone should remain until their car doors were opened for them. Miguel was out in a flash and so were the Spanish police officers from the following car. They were beside their commander’s vehicle so quickly that Alex guessed they had jumped out before it stopped moving.

Alex watched silently as a protective barrier of armed police surrounded the colonel and his passenger, including from within the building. Two policemen brandished Uzi-style automatics in full view.

There was a strange silence, and Alex could see some tension on the colonel’s face. Obviously, Pendraza was on guard, perhaps even more than usual because of the events of the previous night. The doors to the Mercedes opened.

“Come along, Señorita,” he said, switching back to Spanish. “Vamos al trabajo. Now that you know how I feel and who I suspect, let’s go to work.”

MADRID, SEPTEMBER 10, NOON

I don’t know how I let them get the bloody drop on me,” Gian Antonio Rizzo grumbled. He was in an understandably sour mood as he sat on the edge of his hospital bed.

Two women attended him. Normally Rizzo might have been pleased with such a development, but not today and not these women. According to their hospital name tags, which they wore on their lab coats, one was a female nurse named Eliza and the other was a doctor named Jenny Morin.

They stood before him, carefully examining the repair work that had been done on him from the night before. But at the moment, Rizzo was talking past them in English, to Colonel Pendraza and Alex, who stood respectfully to the side and allowed the medical people to work.

“I’m getting careless in my old age,” he said, obviously giving no credence to what he was saying. “Well, there’ll be repercussions for those two mutts who mugged me in that bar. I’ll promise you that much!”

“I only found out what happened to you this morning,” Alex said.

“I got my fingernails into one of them, you know,” Rizzo said with satisfaction. “Fingernails!” The Rizzo of the hospital room-seething, aggrieved, injured-was not a happy man.

As the doctor and nurse examined Rizzo’s scalp, he flexed his right hand for the colonel and for Alex. “Took a little of the skin off one of their faces,” he said. “I wonder how he’s enjoying shaving this morning.”

On the right side of Rizzo’s skull, above the ear and visible as Dr. Morin removed a bandage, was a red lump that had the size, shape, and texture of a purple plum. It was still red and angry, wet from a combination of antibiotic cream and blood that continued to seep, and it looked to Alex as if Rizzo had taken a few stitches to close the gash.

Rizzo continued his vent with a torrent of profanity until Dr. Morin, in English, told him in so many words to clean up his vocabulary.

“Sorry,” Rizzo muttered. “Hey. But tell my visitors what happened, how they knocked me out.”

Dr. Morin was a dark-haired lady of around forty with a formidable, intelligent face.

“They put a needle in his left buttock to knock him out,” Dr. Morin said. “If his mouth was as foul last night as it has been since they brought him in, it’s no wonder,” she said. “I would have wanted to knock him out too.”

“Very funny,” Rizzo said.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” she said.

“You don’t know half of what was going on,” Rizzo said.

“I’m not sure I want to,” the doctor said good-naturedly.

Rizzo winced as the doctor examined the head wound with latexed fingers. “Am I going to be able to recite Greek poetry from memory after a shot to the head like that?” he said, his tone becoming mildly flirtatious.

“Could you recite it before?” she asked, sniffing out the old joke.

“No.”

“Then you won’t be able to now,” she said, withdrawing her hands. “But the injury is clean and the X-rays didn’t reveal a fracture. Your AIDS test from the needle came back negative too. You’re lucky. Again.”

“X-rays of my head revealed nothing,” Rizzo said, glancing to Alex. “How do you like that?” Colonel Pendraza snorted slightly.

“Do you still have the headache?” the doctor asked.

“No.”

“Be honest.”

“Okay, I still have it,” he said.

“You probably will for a few days,” Dr. Morin said. She looked back to Alex and the colonel. “Senor Rizzo has a mild concussion also. There’s going to be some discomfort to that.”

Rizzo looked back to the doctor. “Tell them what they gave me in the needle,” he said. “These are my work associates.”

“An injectable form of flunitrazepam,” the doctor said. “Powerful sedative. In America it’s often used as a veterinary medicine for horses.”

“A Mickey Finn with a needle,” Rizzo said. “It’s also one of those ‘date rape’ drugs.” He cursed his assailants and again swore speedy vengeance upon them. The colonel gave a shrug that conveyed the notion that if Rizzo unofficially took out a couple of street felons, it would be a civic improvement.

Rizzo paused, then looked at Alex. “What happened on the street?” he asked. “Did you get that bloody pietà?”

“No.”

“No?”

A glance to Colonel Pendraza from Alex. Pendraza lowered his gaze.

“It was an attempted ambush,” Alex said. “Fortunately there was an extra gun in play and it covered my back. So I’m here to tell about it.”

“Extra gun?” Rizzo asked, squinting. “What extra gun? Who?”

“We don’t even know. When you’re discharged, we’ll give you access to what we know.”

“I’m ready to go now,” Rizzo said. “What do you think, doc? Can I be on my way?”