“Visiting a museum, right now.”
“He likes to cultivate his mind,” the man in black sneered.
“Where would you like to go, sir?” the Pole asked shyly.
“Let’s be tourists for a while,” the old man answered. “Take us for a drive.”
His words were orders.
A hushed exchange, not intended for the servant’s ears, was under way in the backseat.
Once this was over, the Master made a call and had to wait a few seconds for a response.
“At what point are we going to meet?” he asked directly, without any prior greeting. He listened to the response, and spoke in a curt tone. “Mr. Barnes, pay close attention to my orders.”
50
For a while now, the three occupants of the Volvo had remained silent, speeding along at nearly ninety miles an hour on the Lisbon access routes. Only at this hour was such speed possible on one of Europe ’s most congested highways.
Sarah looked out, distracted. They went past farms, stadiums, business districts, cars, trucks, but she didn’t really see any of it. What schemes were being plotted right at this moment, she wondered, so that some people would control others, or certain countries would dominate weaker ones? She felt there were two types of politics, the kind offered for public consumption, a pure facade, and the other hidden, the truly decisive one.
“Are you all right, dear?” her father asked, turning his head.
“As well as you might expect.” Her response was distant, still absorbed in her thoughts. “I was thinking. The P2 killed the pope, and surely many other people. Who else have they disappeared?” She emphasized the last words, staring at Rafael, who sensed it, in spite of keeping his eyes on the road.
“It’s hard to know for sure. But you would probably find Olof Palme, the Swedish prime minister who was assassinated, among their victims.”
“Yes, it’s easy to see they don’t have any trouble doing away with whoever interferes with their plans.”
“That you can be sure of.”
“And why did they kill him?”
“Because he was impeding some of their major operations. Probably arms sales.”
“And what does the CIA have to do with all of this?”
“A lot. Those deaths occurred because they seemed convenient at the time.”
“Did the death of John Paul I interest them?”
“As allies of the P2, the CIA was interested, but it’s an unusual case, because the U.S. Justice Department had John Paul I as a collaborator. And his death did a lot of damage to the progress of their investigations.”
“So much confusion.”
Her father turned to Rafael.
“Which way from here?”
“South. We’ll cross the Twenty-fifth of April Bridge and then go straight to Madrid.”
“Sounds good to me,” Raul agreed.
“I just want to make sure they’re not following us.”
Sarah immediately became agitated. “How can we know?”
“By taking a narrow or a dead-end street. That way, if anyone’s behind us, he’ll give himself away.”
“But then we wouldn’t have any escape, either,” Sarah objected.
“True, but we would know whether they were following us. It’s a tactic drug traffickers use. That way they don’t risk getting caught in the act. If nobody is following them, they go on. Every so many miles they repeat the maneuver. If anybody’s watching them, they abort the operation. They get into a shooting match with the police, are trapped, and the drug kingpins are left untouched in their mansions, comfortably planning the next deal.”
Dazed, Sarah listened.
“I don’t have the slightest intention of getting into a shoot-out. The one yesterday was more than enough.”
“I said that’s what usually happens in these situations, not that we’re going to do it. There are other solutions.”
“Such as?”
Rafael stopped sharply in the middle of the road. There was a clamor of honks protesting his grossly irresponsible move.
“Are you nuts?” Sarah yelled.
“Calm down, Sarah,” her father said reassuringly. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Rafael looked back, but she was right behind him, her eyes blazing.
“Would you mind moving to one side?” he asked her.
Sarah glared at him. Rafael saw three cars at the edge of the highway, about sixty yards back. There was a continuing chorus of honks from those that barely avoided ramming the Volvo.
“Three cars,” Rafael announced.
“Maybe there was an accident,” Sarah suggested nervously.
Rafael turned around and put his seat belt back on.
“Please check to make sure you have your seat belts securely fastened.”
Sarah quickly obeyed, getting more and more alarmed. “My God, I don’t like this one bit.”
“Me neither, Sarah, but listen closely.” Rafael looked at her in the rearview mirror. “So you won’t tell me later that I didn’t warn you, we’re going into an urban zone at high speed. Try not to worry. Please hang on tight.”
The Volvo’s tires burned the asphalt and the motor roared menacingly. The brutal acceleration threw Sarah back into her seat. She looked behind and saw the three cars following them. The Volvo got off the highway and ran a red light. Weaving in and out, they dodged traffic at seventy, eighty miles an hour.
Rafael maneuvered the car with professional skill, Sarah noted. Looking at her father, she observed his apparent calm, reflecting on how little she knew him. Two strangers and, at the same time, so close to her. The captain gave precise feedback to Rafael concerning their pursuers, now openly chasing them. Like Rafael, they were speeding through central Lisbon, racing along the Avenue of the Republic.
Upon reaching Duke of Saldanha Square, they followed a long avenue toward the huge Marquis of Pombal Square. Red lights meant nothing to the four cars involved in the chase. Dozens of shouted insults and honking horns accompanied them. Rafael, ignoring all of this, continued at full speed.
“Hang on,” he warned. “Hang on tight.”
He had barely finished speaking when suddenly he braked, so that the pursuer on his tail almost rammed them. The two on both sides overtook them, and before they could reposition themselves next to the Volvo, Rafael made a fast left, crossing into oncoming traffic.
Her nerves frazzled, Sarah looked around her. They were moving against traffic on a one-way street. The approaching cars honked and, as best they could, dodged the Volvo and its pursuer.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Sarah moaned.
After a crazed run, they came out on Commerce Square, still closely tailed by the other car. When they reached the east side of the plaza, the car got close to the Volvo. There was no option but an all-out race. Rafael accelerated to a suicidal speed as they entered 24th of July Avenue. The street was long and wide, but winding, forcing him to slow down and then speed up, over and over again.
The car behind them moved with equal dexterity, but the Volvo began gaining. Gaining too much.
“This doesn’t look good. They’re lagging too far behind.”
“Maybe they’re having some mechanical trouble.”
“Let’s hope that’s it.”
On Avenida da India an intense light from above encircled them. A helicopter beamed its spotlight onto the car.
“Now what?” Sarah asked, struggling to control her rising panic. “What are we going to do?”
“We can’t run anymore,” Rafael explained matter-of-factly.
“It’s over?”
Rafael gave her a very sober look.
“It’s over.”
“They’re going to kill us,” Sarah said, deathly pale.
“Not yet. If they wanted to kill us, they would have already.” He turned to Raúl.
“What now, Captain?”
“Let them capture us.”
Still moving on the avenue, they now passed the majestic Belém Palace, official residence of the president of the republic. A bit farther on, Rafael glimpsed the lights of a vehicle barricade cutting off the street near the Jerónimos Monastery. There was no escape. The barricade was getting closer and closer.