At midnight a detective in the lobby was relieved by a colleague. “She hasn’t left her room. I think she’s settled in for the night.”
“I’m not sure. I can only tell you it’s going to be something big.”
“I believe that will be satisfactory, Miss Whitney.”
The assistant manager escorted her to the suite she had requested, 411-412, in the south wing of the hotel on Calle Felipe V.
When Tracy awoke in the morning, sleepy from a torturous night’s sleep in the bed designed by Tom’s de Torquemada, she ordered a light breakfast and hot, black coffee, and went to the window overlooking the Prado. It was an imposing fortress, built of stone and red bricks from the native earth, and surrounded by grass and trees. Two Doric columns stood in front and, on either side, twin staircases led to the front entrance. At street level there were two side entrances. Students and tourists from a dozen countries lined up in front of the museum, and at exactly 10:00 a.m., the two large front doors were opened by guards and visitors began to move through the revolving door in the center and through the two side passages to ground level.
Commander Ramiro, like his counterpart in Paris, did not like the Americans. He found them rude, materialistic and naive. This, he thought, might be different. I’ll probably like it.
Commander Ramiro, like his counterpart in Paris, did not like the Americans. He found them rude, materialistic and naive. This, he thought, might be different. I’ll probably like it.
“I’m not sure. I can only tell you it’s going to be something big.”
“I’m not sure. I can only tell you it’s going to be something big.”
The previous day an XD Urgent cable had come for Santiago Ramiro, the police chief in Madrid, informing him of Tracy Whitney’s imminent arrival. The commander had read the last sentence of the cable twice and then called Inspector Andró Trignant at Interpol headquarters in Paris.
“Why do you think he’s here?”
“He’s not here to pick up a pin in the street.”
“He’s not here to pick up a pin in the street.”
At midnight a detective in the lobby was relieved by a colleague. “She hasn’t left her room. I think she’s settled in for the night.”
The previous day an XD Urgent cable had come for Santiago Ramiro, the police chief in Madrid, informing him of Tracy Whitney’s imminent arrival. The commander had read the last sentence of the cable twice and then called Inspector Andró Trignant at Interpol headquarters in Paris.
“Buenos dias, se?orita.” It was a familiar voice. “I’m calling the Madrid Chamber of Commerce and they’ve instructed me to do everything I can to make sure you have an exciting time in our city.”
“He’s not here to pick up a pin in the street.”
Tracy ordered a light supper to her room and retired early. When he got to bed, he decided that trying to sleep in it must be a modern form of medieval torture.
He hated Daniel Cooper on sight.
The phone rang, startling Tracy. No one but Gunther Hartog knew he was in Madrid. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“I believe that will be satisfactory, Miss Whitney.”
“Why do you think he’s here?”
At midnight a detective in the lobby was relieved by a colleague. “She hasn’t left her room. I think she’s settled in for the night.”
He hated Daniel Cooper on sight.
