The captain checks her watch one more time, seems to come to a decision. “Warrant Officer…that’s the best offer I’ve had in days. If it’s a true offer.” She pauses. “But in the end, I don’t know you. I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone.”

She moves her hand, and Rosaria starts to cry out in fear when a wad of rolled-up tissue is shoved into her mouth.

I move quickly away from the cuffed CID officer and shove a couple of book carts in place, to conceal her, and then I slip the revolver into my bag and retrace my steps back through the library. In intelligence work sometimes information comes in bits and pieces, dribs and drabs, and sometimes information flies out at you like water coming from a fire hose.

I’ve just been soaked with lots of information, but I need to stick to my primary goal, my primary mission, and I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off with a CID officer bound back there who’s eventually going to get discovered.

What to do?

Another sweep of the library, of course, and then another, wider sweep outside, because I’ve got to get my hands on Archie right now, if not sooner. And if cops roll in as I’m leaving, and I don’t have Archie, well, I don’t what I’m going to do.

I’m heading back to the main desk area, hoping that the polite and cheerful woman back there has some information for me, and I approach two doors, one marked MEN and the other marked WOMEN, and I feel like I’ve just lost a hundred pounds of weight on my shoulders, for Archie is placidly standing in front of the door marked MEN.

I roughly grab his upper arm and we start heading out, and I whisper in his ear, “The next time you have to make a bathroom visit, let me know. Even if you have to tap on my shoulder and play charades. You pull something like this again, you’ll be going to Florida with two broken arms, not one.”

He doesn’t say a word, of course, but he puts up no resistance as we head out of the library. The woman at the main desk calls out cheerfully, “Oh, you found your grandfather! Lucky you!”

“You know it,” I say, as we quickly stroll past her and the curved desk.

She says, “Did your friend find you? The other Army officer?”

We’re at the doors.

“No, I’m afraid she didn’t,” I say.

One more foot to go and we’re free.

The librarian tries to have the last word. “Oh, too bad. Are you sure you can’t stay here until she shows up?”

I turn and smile. “I think the poor dear got herself lost back there.”

CHAPTER 75

IN A small meeting room at the Victoria Public Library, Rosaria Vasquez rubs one more time at her wrists, where her own handcuffs had dug into her flesh during the long minutes when she waited to be rescued. Truth is, though, it didn’t take that long, for while she couldn’t say anything with her mouth gagged, her legs were free, and she kicked and kicked until the book carts in front of her fell, and a library worker came over to check out just what in God’s name was making all that noise.