It was easy, really; much like falling asleep.
SEVENTY-ONE
MADRID, SEPTEMBER 19, SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT
Alex’s eyes flickered open, and she thought she had her first glimpse of heaven.
She was wrong, but every bit as pleased.
At the end of the tunnel in front of her there was a light, then a stronger light. And all around her now was the sound of tapping.
Tapping, tapping, tapping, growing louder.
Then hammering. More hammering. All around her hammering!
She yelled. “I’m here! I’m here!”
There was the sound of machinery. She could feel vibrations behind her. A rescue team had knocked their way into the same tunnel. The next thing that happened startled her all the more.
Her feet. Something touched her feet. Hands. Human hands. And after that, someone had pushed a hose past her and was pumping air into the narrow passageway. Breathing became easier. An air pump was part of the machinery she heard. Up ahead of her, she could feel a drill.
A voice in English screamed. “Alex! Alex, we got you!”
“I’m here!” she yelled again. She fought back tears, tears that none could see, but which she could feel cascading down her cheeks. Ahead of her, the light became more intense as workers had broken through the basement floor of the embassy to where the explosives had been stashed and then defused by bomb experts.
Then part of the wall behind her broke away. Her legs were free. So was her upper body. Hands in heavy gloves worked their way up to her hips. The hands cleared debris from the wall.
Firemen. Rescue teams from the police. Rarely had she been so happy to feel strange male hands upon her. Stuck for hours, she was being freed within minutes, once they had located her.
A voice in English. Familiar. “Alex?”
It was Peter.
“Yes! Yes!” she gasped in response.
“They’re going to pull you backward gently. Are you okay with that?”
“I’m okay!” she yelled.
They pulled. And she slid. It was the greatest ride of her life. Ten feet, a dozen, maybe twenty as her jeans and shirt dragged and ripped. They pulled her out into the light, into the clammy underground cavern where she had entered the tunnel.
She turned over and trembled, trying to sit up. Peter knelt down and wrapped his arms around her, and as he embraced her for a moment, she sobbed almost uncontrollably.
They wrapped her in a blanket. They stood her up. Her legs were unsteady, rubbery, but they supported her. The rescue workers had unlocked some doors in the old tunnels and broken through a wall.
“How did you ever find me?” she finally asked. “How? How?”
“Your wallet,” he said.
“What?”
He made a motion to where her wallet rode in her back pocket. She pulled the wallet out and handed it to him. From it, he pulled the Swiss consular ID card that he had forced upon her the day before.
“I doctored it,” he said. “Homing device. After you disappeared once in Switzerland, I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. So instead, she did both.
Distantly, as they evacuated her, the sound of demolition grew louder from underneath the embassy.
SEVENTY-TWO
MADRID, SEPTEMBER 21, AFTERNOON
Two days later, after a single night of hospital recovery, Alex found herself at Madrid International Airport, seeing Peter off on his return flight to China.
They stood together at the departure gate. She saw some emotion in his eyes, but she equally saw him retreat from it, as if it would be a dangerous place for him to go.
“I guess I better get moving,” he said.
“Guess so,” she said.
For a moment they stood apart. Peter took her hand, and there was something in his eyes that she still couldn’t fathom. Again, he didn’t smile, not at first, but then he did. The small gesture served to only confuse her more.
In assessing Peter Chang, she had come to know him quite well, yet not know him at all. She didn’t know whether the man before her was large and grand or small and mean. Nor could she fathom his moral compass, though she was certain he had one somewhere.
He had murdered savagely and vengefully, something that she couldn’t accept. Yet he had twice saved her life. There were aspects of him that reminded her of Yuri Federov and yet there were strains in him that reminded her-unless she was deluding herself-of her late Robert. Or even herself.
After all, weren’t they all in the same line of work?
Wasn’t everyone imperfect? Wasn’t life a daily compromise? Were there absolutes? Were all ethics at least partially situational? Weren’t we all sinners?
He reached under his jacket and removed his firearm. He bundled it and gave it to her, concealing it. She pulled it into her purse.
“That’s a heck of a souvenir,” she said with half a smile.
“I’d say put it to good use,” he said. “But don’t take that the wrong way.”
“I won’t,” she said.
“Are you going to be okay getting out of Spain?” she asked, eying the security controls.
“Oh,” he laughed. “Sure. Your pal. McKinnon. Another little souvenir,” he said.
Peter pulled out a passport from his inside jacket pocket. American. He flipped it open and showed her. He was now William Kao, a native-born American who was an IT expert from New York.
She shook her head. “Do you ever lose sight of who you really are?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Same as who I’d really like to be. Sometimes it’s confusing.”
She allowed that it was.
He continued. “Hey,” he said, “if you’re going to the safety deposit box, you might want to stash this for me also,” he said. “Never know when I might be back. If ever.”
“Probably sooner than you think,” she said, “but I wasn’t planning to go to the safety deposit box.”
“Maybe you could. For me. As a final favor.”
“All right,” she said.
“Oh, and listen,” he said. “There’s something I’d like you to have.”
He reached into his pocket. His strong hand came out with a small jeweler’s bag, a light blue one. She had seen it before, held it in her hand before.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“Open it.”
She did. Into her hand fell the eighteen-karat étoile bangle that had been in the jeweler’s box in the safety deposit box.
“Put it on,” he said.
She did.
“There,” he said with an approving smile. “If that doesn’t make your Russian hood jealous next time he sees you, I don’t know what will.”
“Peter, it’s gorgeous,” she said, reaching to take it off, “but you bought it for someone else.”
His hand stopped hers. “No, I bought it for you,” he said, “the first day we met. Then I rewrapped it with paper from Switzerland. I figured ahead of time that I’d want to give you a souvenir of our ‘vacation’ in Spain. I do things impulsively and ahead of time, as you know.”
“But you said there was a woman in China.”
“From time to time, I lie-,” he said, “to protect everyone. And now I will be deeply insulted if you don’t keep it.”
“All right.” She relented and admired it on her wrist. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s exactly where it belongs.”
He laughed. Then he did something that shocked her.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and she allowed him.
He held her for several long seconds. Then she pulled back.
He took her into his arms again, holding her tightly. This time the embrace was longer and lingered. She stepped back and stepped away.
“Travel safe,” she said.
“You too.”
“I’m anxious to get home,” he said. “Ever been to China?”
“No.”
“You should come visit someday. There are ways to let me know if you visit. Channels.”