María turned. "Sir!" she shouted and started limping through the crowd, toward the major general. She was still thinking that if she could get into the throne room there might be something she could do-

She felt herself yanked back by the hair.

"You'll come outside as you've been ordered," the captain said as he tugged her from the crowd.

María was too weak to argue. She stumbled and nearly fell as she was pulled toward the hallway door.

"Bring him as well," the captain commanded, pointing to Juan.

Two of the guards came forward and grabbed Juan under the armpits. The Ramirez familia member grimaced with pain as they hoisted him to his feet and dragged him forward.

Behind them, the major general returned quietly to the throne room. He shut the door.

The click of the latch was the only sound in the otherwise silent hall. To María it was a noise as loud as the closing of a tomb door. It not only marked the end of her efforts to get inside the throne room, very possibly it marked the end of Spain itself. She was angry at herself for having blown the mission. For having gotten so damn close and screwing up.

The captain turned María around. Still holding her by the hair, he walked her toward the door. She went painfully, each step sending a lance of pain up her left side from heel to jaw.

"What-what are you going to do?" María demanded.

"We're going to take you outside to see what you know."

"Why outside?" María asked.

The captain didn't answer, and that in itself was an answer. They were being taken outside because that was where the plain, unadorned walls were.

The walls which condemned prisoners were put against to be shot.

THIRTY-FOUR

Tuesday, 10:46 a.m.

Madrid, Spain

As soon as he heard gunshots inside the palace, Colonel August casually removed his cellular phone from his deep pants pocket. He punched in Luis's office number but kept his face turned toward the warm sun as it crept over the buildings-soaking it up like any young vacationer. Behind him, except for Private Pupshaw, the other Strikers were pretending to study a tour book. Pupshaw was down the street, tying his shoe on the fender of a car. One of the aglets at the end of his shoelace contained a highly compressed irritant agent, primarily Chloroacetophenone-a mild but smoky form of tear gas. The other aglet contained a tiny heating coil that was activated when removed from the shoelace. It would cause the gas to be released two minutes after being placed inside the other aglet.

"This is Slugger," August said. "We've just heard from three of the players in the stadium." That meant he'd heard three shots in the palace. "Sound like they're pretty close to the spot where we want to go."