The plan was ingenious. Two minorities, the Basques and the Catalonians, would unite to take over Spain. The Basques would contribute their arms, muscle, and experience at terrorist tactics. The Catalonians would use their influence over the economy, winning political converts by threatening a massive depression. Once control over the nation was established, the Catalonians would grant autonomy to the Basque country, allowing those-like Serrador-who wanted self-rule to have it. And the wealthy Catalonians would continue to run Spain, keeping the other nonautonomous groups in check by controlling commerce.

It was ingenious-and foolproof.

The telephone rang a moment before there was a knock on the door. Serrador started as his reverie was interrupted-on two fronts, no less. Grumbling unhappily, the politician slid his feet into his slippers and rose. As he shuffled toward the telephone he shouted roughly for whoever was at the door to wait a minute. No one could come upstairs without being announced by the concierge. So he wondered which of the neighbors wanted a favor at this hour. Was it the owner of the grocery chain who needed to expand his stores? Or the Castilian bicycle manufacturer who wanted to ship more units to Morocco, the bastard. At least the grocer paid for favors. The bicycle maker asked for them just because he happened to live on the same floor. Serrador helped them because he didn't want to make an enemy. One never knew when the neighbors might see or hear something that could be compromising.

Serrador wondered why he was never visited by one of the beautiful concubines who lived here. There were at least three that he knew of, kept by government ministers who went home to their wives each night.

The antique telephone sat on a small drop-leaf table in the carpeted foyer. Serrador finished tying the red sash of his smoking jacket and picked up the receiver. Let them wait at the door another minute, whoever it was. He'd had a long and exhausting day.

"Si?" he said.

The pounding on the door grew more insistent. Someone outside was calling his name but he didn't recognize the voice.

Serrador couldn't hear whoever was speaking on the telephone. Annoyed, he turned from the mouthpiece and yelled at the door. "Just a moment!" Then he scowled down at the phone. "Yes? What is it?"

"Hello?" said the caller.

"Yes?"

"I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Ramirez."

Serrador felt a chill. "Who is this?"

"My name is Juan Martinez, seńor," said the caller. "Are you Deputy Serrador?"

"Who is Juan Martinez?" Serrador demanded. And who is at the door? What the hell is going on?

"I'm a member of the familia, Martinez said.

A key clattered against the door. The bolt was thrown back. Serrador glared over as the door opened.

The superintendent stood in the hallway. Behind him were two police officers and a sergeant.