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“I understand,” she said.

“If you wish to use one of our ranges to get the feel of the weapon please call my office,” he said. “Arrangements will be made upon your request.”

She turned the weapon over in her hand, examining it. The metal was cold, the design sleek. As Colonel Pendraza continued to speak, she loaded a magazine and fixed the holster to the right side of her skirt. Then she put away her new sidearm and looked back to the colonel.

“How is Señor Rizzo?” she asked. “My friend Gian Antonio? He sounded okay, but it was hard for me to tell.”

Pendraza shook his head. “Much the same way I am this morning. More angry than anything. You’ll see him in a few minutes.”

“And do you know anything more about what happened last night?” she pressed.

“The uniforms and the car were stolen from the Civil Guard,” Pendraza said. “Or sold illegally. Who knows with those people? Traitors are everywhere in the Civil Guard.”

In the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Miguel, the driver, react with a snort of agreement.

“And the original phone message that sent me to La Floridita?” Alex asked. “My own phone showed that it came from Colonel Torres’ phone.”

“Someone used a signal scrambler,” Pendraza said. “It mimicked the signal from the Guardia Civil phone network. Whoever was out to lure you knew you’d look at the numbers as a rudimentary precaution.”

“So whoever was after me would have had access to Colonel Torres’ number,” she said. “Not only that, but the caller knew what I had been wearing as well as what transpired in the room.”

“As I said, traitors are everywhere in the Civil Guard. But that’s not to be repeated outside this car.”

“I understand,” she said. “But whoever the opposition is, they have a degree of technical sophistication,” she said. “To intercept and mimic a cell phone signal is not that common. Equally, if whoever the opposition is right now is the same group that stole the pietà from the museum, that further suggests that this was more than a simple grab of an art object for money. Obviously, there is something further afoot.”

“Precisely,” said Pendraza. “But what?”

There was no answer. Not yet.

Up ahead lay a large white building, modern, sixteen stories in its central tower, with slightly lower wings. Alex knew it was a medical facility, one of the best in Spain. It reminded her of Los Angeles’s iconic old City Hall, as made famous on the old Dragnet re-runs.

“I’ve been in my job for many years and have seen many things,” Pendraza said. “So I think I am entitled to some conclusions. You’ll forgive me, Señorita, if I offend you.”

“Please speak freely,” she said.

“I am not so much a Spaniard as a European,” the colonel began. “My mother was German, my father Castilian. My father was an army officer on the side of Franco, which, in my opinion was on the side of Spain against the advance of communism. But I’m not proposing to tell you about my father; I am going to speak about my mother.”

Alex watched the cityscape go by. Smart shops and chic restaurants. Then they came to another building. “See that?” Pendraza asked.

She looked. He was indicating a mosque.

“I see it,” she said.

“We are told that Islam is a religion of peace, and that the vast majority of Muslims want to live in peace. But fanatics rule Islam at this moment in history. These fanatics wage several dozen shooting wars worldwide. They slaughter Christian or tribal groups throughout Africa and are gradually taking over the el continente nero in an Islamic wave. The fanatics mutilate their women. They bomb, behead, murder, or ‘honor kill’ women in their families who wish for a few personal modern liberties. Los fanaticos take over mosque after mosque. Los fanaticos zealously spread the stoning and hanging of rape victims and homosexuals. The so-called ‘peaceful majority’ is silent and intimidated before these…these butchers and barbarians!”

Alex listened in silence. The colonel glanced at his watch and continued.

“It was the fanatics who bombed our trains and transportation system a few years ago,” he continued bitterly. “My niece, a beautiful university-educated girl of twenty-two whom I had known since she was an hour old, died in that cowardly attack. She was an art student, Alex, and if you do not mind my saying so, she looked a bit like you. Her husband had his arm blown off. And for what?” he asked angrily. “So that the Muslim people in Spain could feel better about themselves?”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why do they come here if they do not want to adhere to the conventions of Western society?” he asked. “Why do they abuse our Christian sense of decency and citizenship? But to ask these questions in public is to invite a firestorm of protests. So we speak here in the car, you and I, and Miguel who understands English perfectly and understands my heart and conscience just as well. And I share this with you so that you know how I think, so that there will be no surprises.”

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.