Hood obviously didn't share his feelings. He had been extremely down since before the operation began, something Herbert had never seen before. Of all of them. Hood was usually the most even-keeled, always ready with an encouraging word or smile. This morning there was none of that. He had also become uncharacteristically angry when he learned that Darrell McCaskey had choppered over to the palace. And even worse, that McCaskey had taken Luis García de la Vega with him. Unlike Striker, McCaskey could easily be traced to Op-Center. Through Luis, Op-Center's involvement with Interpol on this mission could be ascertained. With all of the nations connected to Interpol-a few of which were not exactly America's best friends-the political mess could be horrendous. It was Hood, not By-the-Book Rodgers, who had thought out loud about disciplinary action against McCaskey. It was the usually skittish Coffey who had pointed out that it might not be as bad as Hood thought. Since María Corneja was a prisoner at the palace, a rescue attempt might be entirely justified under Interpol's charter. Hood calmed down upon hearing that. The mood in the room returned to being merely apprehensive.

And through it all, through the heavy silence and gnawing concern, there wasn't a word from Spain or Interpol. Not until 4:30, when they got a call from a groggy Ann Farris at home. She told them to turn on the television and have a look at CNN.

Coffey hopped from the sofa and walked to the back of the room. While he opened the TV cabinet in the back of the office. Hood pulled the remote control from his desk. As everyone turned around, he punched the television on. At the top of the news on the half-hour was a report on a shootout at the Royal Palace in Madrid. An amateur videotape had captured the Interpol helicopter leaving the courtyard south of the palace while gunfire was heard in the distance. Then the report cut live to a camera crew on the scene in a helicopter. There were faint traces of yellow smoke rising from several windows.

"That's Striker's IA," Herbert said, referring to the irritant agent.

Rodgers was sitting in the armchair next to Hood's desk. He reached for the small color map that had been downloaded from the Interpol computer. Herbert rolled his chair over.

"That smoke on TV looks awfully close to the courtyard, doesn't it?" Rodgers asked.

"Right where the throne room should be," Herbert said.

"So the Strikers are definitely in there," Hood said. He looked at the clock on his computer. "And on time."

Herbert turned back to the TV and leaned an ear toward the screen. The onsite announcer had nothing to offer but dire superlatives about the event. The usual drone. There was no information about the cause or the nature of the struggle. But that wasn't what he was listening for.

"I'm hearing gunfire," Herbert said cautiously. "Muted-like it's not coming from the courtyard."