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“Not they,” he said, his voice devoid of feeling. “Just one. Maria Number Three was five months pregnant when she was killed. Someone trying to get to me, of course, but she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Isobel had to look at him, to see whether he was really as unfeeling as he seemed to be. His face gave away nothing. “I’m—”
“If you say you’re sorry for my loss I might hit you,” he said in an even voice. “It was long ago, and it’s of no importance. I was annoyed for a week or so, but then I moved on.”
“Annoyed?” She could almost believe him. The legendary Serafin would be annoyed. But this wasn’t the notorious monster sitting beside her. It was Killian. He’d overplayed his hand, trying to convince her just how ruthless he was.
“That may have been your first mistake,” she said finally.
If he was worried he didn’t show it. “I don’t make mistakes.”
“Are you serious? You’ve barely gotten out of your various career moves in one piece. If it hadn’t been for you, three hundred ethnic Albanians would have been butchered. If you hadn’t screwed up, Ideo Llosa would have wiped out entire cities. Your mistakes ruined the plans of some of the most vicious dictators of the last twenty-five years. And no one, not even Hitler himself, would consider the death of his child an annoyance. If nothing else, there’s the factor of pride.”
“Oh, I’m singularly devoid of pride. It gets in the way of doing business. And you can romanticize me all you want, princess. You can tell yourself I’m a cock-up who’s mourning his lost love and their unborn child, if that’s what makes you happy. Though I’d think you’d prefer me to be totally devoid of feeling.”
“I’d prefer honesty.”
He turned to look at her, and his smile was dazzling. “You may as well ask for the moon.”
They arrived at the resort city of Santander sometime in the afternoon, dumping the car in a busy alleyway and taking off on foot. Mahmoud could walk, and he seemed singularly unhappy to be deprived of any sort of weapon, but he kept up with them, silent, glowering. Isobel kept silent as well—she’d already ducked into a public loo to text Peter with their new arrival plans, but she didn’t dare wait long enough to receive a reply. She’d just have to hope things were still working efficiently at the London office. Thomason had been doing his best to interfere, but he was an ineffectual nuisance. He wouldn’t be
able to distract Peter from getting done what needed to be done.
The ferry terminal, in the center of town, was blessed with a cafeteria and a newsstand. She had to force herself to eat the food Killian bought for them, but Mahmoud had no qualms, devouring everything in sight. She had no idea where he’d pack it all in his slender body, but that wasn’t her problem. She drank her tea and nibbled at the fruit and rolls, waiting for Killian to return.
Something wasn’t right. There were too many heavily armed police with trained dogs wandering around, not to mention a number of camera crews. Isobel ducked her head as an earnest Spanish reporter stood in front of them and rattled off information into the camera. Too fast for her to translate; she really needed to work on her languages. The news crew moved on, and she ducked her head further when she felt the curious eyes of the police checking them out.
A moment later a newspaper was dropped in front of her and Killian took the chair beside her. “Trouble,” he said.
She looked at the paper. There was a grainy photograph of their abandoned airplane, presumably with the dead pilot still inside, and another of what appeared to be wreckage. Terroristas! The headline was in screaming red.
She handed the paper back to him. “What’s happening?”
“We’re fine, if we play it cool. Someone bombed the ferry terminal in Bilbao. I expect they were looking for us, trying to slow us down. In the meantime, security is heightened all over the country, and they’re on the lookout for Basque separatists. Our nice nuclear family should have no problem—I’ve got our paperwork and tickets. Mahmoud there is a war orphan we’re taking to England for rehabilitation and an adoptive family. You and I are aide workers helping out.”
She took a breath. “The bombing at Bilbao couldn’t have anything to do with us. No one knew we were headed there.”
“No one but your office.”
“I told you, Peter’s trustworthy.”
“No one’s trustworthy.” Killian took her cup of tepid Earl Grey and drained it. “Madsen might not be the mole. Things just might not be as secure as you thought they were. Do you have anyone new in the office?”
“Just Taka’s cousin,” she said reluctantly. “I haven’t met him as yet, but Taka’s among the best we have. I have complete faith in anyone he’d recommend.”
“But you haven’t met the guy.”
“No.”
“So you can’t be certain.”
“I’ll ask Peter—”
“You won’t ask anybody anything. We’re not going to have any problem getting on the ferry, and once we’re at sea no one’s going to bother us. In the meantime, why don’t you give me your PDA.”
“What PDA?”
“The one you’re keeping in your bra. Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice, but I happen to have a particular interest in your breasts. Give it to me.”
