'Spain.'

The word made Tess feel light-headed.

Spain. Where Father Baldwin had said that the heretics, fleeing France, had found a new home after the attack on Montsegur in 1244.

Spain! Did that mean Gerrard was her enemy?

Or was her destination merely a coincidence?

Tess felt frozen. At once, regaining control of her muscles, she braced herself. All of her instincts made her want to turn and run.

But to where?

And howl The sentries would stop her. She'd never be able to get off the base.

She fidgeted.

'Is something wrong?' Kelly asked.

'No.' Tess tried to recover, to seem natural. 'I'm just surprised is all. Everything's happening so fast. Two hours ago, I didn't expect to be coming here, and now you tell me I'm flying to Spain.'

'I understand what you mean about feeling surprised,' Kelly said. 'Until just after midnight, I wasn't aware we'd be having visitors.' He checked his gold Rolex watch. 'We'd better hurry. In ten minutes, we're scheduled to be air-borne.'

Tess pivoted toward Craig, keeping her face calm but knowing that her eyes revealed her panic.

Craig squeezed her hand, his eyes communicating. We're stuck. We've got to go through with this.

Kelly gestured, leading them onward toward the brightly lit jet.

They reached a tall boarding ramp on wheels.

Tess climbed, counting twenty-six steps, and entered an open hatch behind a massive swept-back wing.

Once inside, sickened by her speeding pulse, she realized that there was no turning back.

Behind, below her, on the tarmac, air-force personnel pulled away the boarding platform. Inside the jet, a uniformed flight attendant shut the hatch and secured it.

She was trapped on Air Force Two.

FIVE

As she studied her surroundings, Tess noticed that the cabin's width was emphasized by its reduced length. Ahead and behind, bulkheads with doors restricted the space. The seats – she counted seventy – resembled first-class airline accommodations, except that they were even larger, more comfortable looking, and the aisles seemed wider than usual. Numerous phones were attached to the fore and aft bulkheads.

This must be where the press and the president's – in this case, the vice president's – team stayed, Tess thought, although she was puzzled that the cabin was empty, except for the uniformed flight attendant.

'We'll be taking off soon,' the attendant said, 'but I think you have time to enjoy a glass of champagne.'

'Mineral water will be fine,' Tess said.

'Same for me,' Craig said.

'What are you serving?' Kelly asked the attendant.

'Dom Perignon.'

'I'll have some.'

'Very good, sir.'

'In the meantime,' Kelly said, 'I'd better tell the vice president that his guests have arrived.' He walked toward the front of the cabin, knocked on the door, and waited.

A discreet pause later, he knocked again.

The door opened.

'Sir, they're here,' Kelly said.

'Excellent,' a sonorous voice said. The door swung quickly farther open.

Alan Gerrard stepped through.

Although Tess had seen Gerrard often at receptions at her parents' home, and sometimes at less formal get-togethers, she hadn't met him since he'd become vice president.

As he approached her, smiling, he looked the same – movie-star handsome, with a perfect tan, glinting teeth, photogenic features, and magnificent hair. The only difference was that six years had made him look more responsible, more wise, more seasoned, despite his reputation for caring more about tennis than he did about politics.

No matter. Regardless of her suspicions about him, Tess couldn't help responding to his aura of achievement. The vice president. In her mind, the words had magic. She almost surrendered to his influence.

But didn't.

She had to keep reminding herself that he was very possibly her enemy.

Gerrard wore casual but impressive clothes – hand-sewn loafers, finely pressed linen slacks, a custom-made Sea Island cotton shirt, greens and browns. Coming nearer, he held out his arms. 'Tess.' He embraced her, kissing her cheek with affection, reassurance, and sorrow.

'Your mother.' He shook his head. 'She's a great loss to everyone, to every politician, including me, who ever enjoyed her gracious hospitality. But most of all, she's a loss to you. She'll be a legend of strength, of generosity, in this jaded community that needs every example of excellence they can possibly find to show them the proper way.'

Tess stepped back, rubbing her tear-stinging eyes. She resolved that the best, least suspicious, most natural thing to do was to treat him the way she had before her father had died. 'Thanks, Alan, but don't you think the rhetoric's a little extreme? You're not campaigning, after all. Your sympathy is appreciated. Really. But a simple, straight-forward "I'm sorry" will do.'

Gerrard studied her, evidently not used to irreverence. At once, his eyes twinkled, blue, Tess noticed, although the one on the right looked irritated, streaked with red. 'Good. I'm glad to see you're keeping up your spirits,' he said. 'Still as feisty as the last time I saw you.'

'I guess I can't help it. I got it from my parents.'

'And God bless both of them. They're sorely missed. Lieutenant Craig, I understand you've been a tremendous help to Tess in her danger and her grief. You're welcome here.'

'Thank you.'

The uniformed attendant brought glasses of mineral water to Tess and Craig, Dom Perignon for Kelly.

Gerrard seemed slightly self-conscious while they sipped. 'Well' - he rubbed his hands together - 'before I explain, before we strap on our seatbelts for take-off, why don't I show you the rest of the plane? I'm very proud of it.'

Tess desperately didn't care, but she acquiesced. 'Lead the way, Alan.'

She hoped that her voice didn't tremble.

'It'll be a pleasure and a privilege.'

With gracious movements, Gerrard proceeded toward the forward bulkhead and revealed his quarters. Tess, in spite of her fear, was amazed by the luxurious accommodations: electric window curtains, a lavatory, a shower-tub, a vanity, closets, twin beds, a TV system capable of receiving eight channels simultaneously including images from on-board remote-control cameras so

Gerrard could assess waiting crowds before he left the aircraft… and two unusual hooks on the bedroom ceiling.

Tess pointed toward them, confused.

'Those. Yes, those. They sometimes keep me awake at night,' Gerrard said. 'Their implication. I don't like to think about them. They're hooks for intravenous lines in case I'm – to put it delicately – injured. This jet also has a minihospital.' He paused, somber. 'And a place for a coffin. But' - his expression brightened - 'let's not be morbid. There's a great deal more for you to see.'

He escorted them back through the central cabin toward the rear bulkhead's door, and beyond it, Tess became even more impressed.

She'd wondered why the seats in the central cabin weren't occupied. Now she understood. In a conference room that looked as if it belonged in a Fortune 500 corporation's headquarters, a dozen men sat in high-backed upholstered chairs along a large rectangular table.

Secret Service agents, Gerrard explained. They were double-checking their tactics to protect him when he arrived in Spain. Phones and computers allowed them to coordinate their plans with the Spanish equivalent of the Secret Service.

Spain. Again the word sent tremors through Tess. She struggled urgently not to show her fear.

In a farther room, she saw another dozen men, vice-presidential aides using more phones and computers as well as printers and copying machines to polish speeches, verify itineraries, and prepare news releases. TV monitors flanked one bulkhead.