"If Amadori is there, they won't turn away Striker," McCaskey vowed. "Hell, they won't know what hit them. What does the prime minister's office have to say about the situation?"

"They're still not acknowledging, officially, that Amadori has effectively seized power," Luis replied. "What about unofficially?"

"Most of the top government officials have already sent their families to France, Morocco, and Tunisia." Luis frowned. A moment later the frown became a smirk. "You know, Darrell-I'll bet my family and I could get a table at the best restaurant in town tonight."

"I'll bet you could," McCaskey said, smiling weakly. He walked back to the table where Aideen was checking the equipment Interpol had provided for her. These included a camcorder-which was linked to a receiver in the communications office-a first-aid kit, a cellular phone, and a gun.

Aideen made sure the camcorder battery was fully charged. As she did, McCaskey checked the clip of the 9X19 Parabellum Super Star pistol she'd been issued. Aideen had already inspected it. But she realized that McCaskey was probably anxious and needed to keep busy. After examining the weapon he returned it to her backpack.

As the Strikers pulled on their backpacks, McCaskey studied Aideen to make sure that she looked like a member of a tour group. She wore Nikes, sunglasses, and a baseball cap. In addition to the backpack, she carried a guidebook and bottled water. She felt like a tourist-right down to the jet lag. As McCaskey looked at her, Aideen gazed longingly at the empty table behind him. She'd been able to sleep on the return flight from San Sebastián. But all the nap had done was take the edge off her exhaustion, and she knew it was just a matter of time before she crashed. She glanced behind her at the vending machines and contemplated a Diet Pepsi. She weighed the value of the caffeine against the risk that she'd have to find a bathroom before the mission was completed. That was something she'd learned to take into consideration during long, daytime stakeouts in Mexico City. Two hours could seem very, very long when you couldn't leave your post.

She decided to forgo the beverage.

McCaskey, on the other hand, looked as though he were ready to crash now. When she'd first briefed him about Martha's assassination, she remembered thinking how calm he sounded. She realized, now, that it wasn't calmness: it was focus. She doubted whether he'd shut his eyes since Martha Mackall's death. She wondered whether this reflected his determination to avenge her death, determination to punish himself, or both.