Tuesday, 11:50 a.m.

Madrid, Spain

When the soldiers in the courtyard suddenly withdrew, Darrell McCaskey silently thanked Brett August. The Strikers had to be the reason for the abrupt pullback.

After the helicopter took off, the soldiers on the rooftop kept McCaskey and María pinned down. At the same time the scattered soldiers around the perimeter regrouped. It appeared as if they were organizing for an assault. But the attack never came. Everyone seemed riveted by loud pops from inside the palace.

"It's begun," McCaskey said to María.

Yellow smoke filtered through several of the windows along the wall beside the arches. There were shouted commands at the far end of the courtyard, near the western side of the palace. Though it was difficult to see because of the high, bright sun and deep shadows, the bulk of the soldiers seemed to disappear. Not long after that, McCaskey heard gunfire behind the ornate white walls.

"What's going on?" María asked. She was leaning against the inside of the arch closest to the palace wall. Her legs were stretched in front of her. McCaskey had placed his handkerchief across the gunshot wound in her side and was holding it in place.

"It's the countercoup," he replied. He didn't want to say much in case they were overheard. "How are you doing?"

"All right," she replied.

As they spoke, McCaskey had squinted across the wide, sunlit space. To the south-McCaskey's left-a tall iron gate separated the palace courtyard from the cathedral. The church doors had been shut before but now it looked as though people were beginning to emerge-priests as well as parishioners. He assumed that they'd heard the helicopter and the shots that had been fired at it. Within the courtyard itself Luis was still lying across the captain. The Interpol chief was silent but the Spanish officer was moaning.

"We have to bring him in," María said.

"I know," McCaskey said. He continued to peer into the sunlight. He was finally able to pick out at least three soldiers who had remained behind. Two of them were roughly four hundred feet away. They were crouched behind a post that supported the gate on the southern side of the courtyard. A third soldier was squatting behind an old lamppost about three hundred feet straight ahead, to the north.

McCaskey put his gun in María's hand. "Listen, María. I'm going to try and get Luis. I'll see if the soldiers will trade him for that captain."

"That is not a trade," María declared angrily. "Luis is a man. The captain is una víbora. A snake that crawls on the ground." She glanced out at the captain and her swollen upper lip pulled into a sneer. "He is lying there just as he should-on his belly."

"Hopefully," McCaskey said evenly, "the soldiers won't see things quite the same way. Can you move around slightly so they can see the gun?"