Gerrard turned and motioned for Tess and Craig to come down. 'The plane's just over there.'

At the bottom, Tess stared toward her right. She didn't know about planes, certainly not enough to be able to identify a model or its manufacturer. All she understood was that this one was smaller than she expected, streamlined, a two-engine, executive jet.

'But isn't it dangerous for you to travel in something so…?'

'Unprotected?' Gerrard said. 'You mean because it doesn't have special shielding and all kinds of sophisticated communication equipment?' He shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. The one on the right looked less irritated. 'I'm sure you're aware of what the political columnists say about me. I'm so inconsequential. In their opinion, who'd want to kill me?'

'But a terrorist might not care about what the columnists say. You are the vice president of the United States.'

'Not to worry,' Gerrard said. 'I've made this side trip before. And as far as security's concerned, only a very few trusted officials know that I arrived one day earlier than I was expected. I guarantee we're safe.'

Unable to resist Gerrard's hand on her arm – especially in the crowded presence of the numerous stern-eyed guards – Tess allowed herself to be escorted toward the few steps that led upward through the open hatch into the plane.

She felt assaulted by claustrophobia, seeing only a narrow aisle with a row of single seats on each side. Seized by alarm, she realized that with the pilot, the co-pilot, Gerrard, Hugh Kelly, Craig, and herself, there was room for only five Secret Service agents to join them. Her premonition increased as the security around her began to decrease.

Inwardly she winced from the clunking sound the hatch made when the co-pilot shut and locked it.

Again, as she had when she'd entered Air Force Two, she felt trapped. But more so. It took all her discipline to keep her fingers from trembling when she fastened her seatbelt.

Opposite Gerrard, she snuck a nervous glance back to her right, toward Craig who sat behind Gerrard.

Craig winked, and that made all the difference.

Tess smiled in return and realized how much she'd become attracted to him. Whatever was going to happen, no matter the risk, regardless of the possible imminent danger, she and Craig were in this together, and what they felt for each other was great enough that they could survive and defeat any enemy. They had to.

Please God, help us, she prayed. Please, help Father Baldwin. Did he manage to follow us to Madrid? Will he be able to receive the signals from the microphone and the homing device built into my shoes and follow us to wherever we're being taken?

The pilot was given clearance for take-off. Two minutes later, the jet streaked through the smog toward the sky.

Tess felt more helpless.

Trying to seem relaxed, she made herself peer out the window. As the jet reached its cruising altitude, she saw a vast arid plain below her and occasional slopes that rose to low flat plateaus, the soil of which had the tint of copper.

'Where are we headed?' She hoped she sounded casual.

'Toward Spain's northern coast,' Gerrard said. 'A district called Vizcaya. We'll land in Bilbao.'

'Bilbao?' She strained to make conversation, hoping that Father Baldwin was listening. 'Wasn't there a song about…?'

'"That Old Bilbao Moon"? Yes, but that goes back quite a while. I'm surprised you know it. I'm not sure that this Bilbao is the one in the song.'

'Is it far?'

'Just an hour or so.' Gerrard shrugged. Time enough for a nap.'

Craig leaned forward. 'Why didn't the president himself come for the funeral?'

'Normally he would have.' Gerrard turned. 'There'll be many European heads of state here, a chance for an unofficial summit. But his schedule's too complicated. He'll soon be leaving on a trip that he planned long ago and he can't postpone – to Peru, for a major drug-control conference similar to the one he went to in Columbia last year. You feel nervous, so imagine how he feels with all those drug lords determined to assassinate him. That's why he can't postpone the trip. The president refuses to make it seem as if the drug lords scared him off. His bravery's remarkable. No matter how much he and I don't get along, I hope to heaven that nothing happens to him.'

They settled back as the jet sped onward. Tess closed her eyes and, despite her uneasiness, tried to follow Gerrard's advice and nap. If her premonitions were justified, she knew she'd be needing all her strength.

EIGHT

The bump of the wheels touching down awakened her. Tess rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes and peered outside. Compared to the airport in Madrid, Bilbao's was small, its air less hazy. Perhaps a breeze from the nearby ocean dispersed the exhaust fumes of cars, she thought. Again they avoided the terminal and stopped at a remote section of the tarmac.

Outside, Gerrard spoke as enthusiastically as he had when they'd left Madrid. 'Are you ready for another flight?'

'Another? But I thought our destination was Bilbao.' Tess continued to hope that Father Baldwin was listening.

'Just so we could change to another aircraft. We'll be heading east now, past Pamplona.'

Tess repressed a cringe, remembering that Pamplona was close to where Priscilla Harding had said that she'd found images of Mithras hidden in caves, less sweated, wanting to run, but again Secret Service agents flanked her..

'My friend's estate doesn't have a landing strip,' Gerrard explained, 'so now we'll be using this.' He pointed.

The sight of the helicopter made Tess feel light-headed. Powerless, weak-kneed, disturbed by her lack of control, she was led aboard, and now with increasing panic, she discovered that there was space enough only for a pilot, Gerrard, Hugh Kelly, Craig, herself, and two Secret Service agents. Her protection kept dwindling, her isolation increasing. No matter the confidence that her attraction to Craig had earlier inspired in her, she suddenly felt doomed.

The helicopter's blades whined, turning, spinning, increasing speed until their sound was a whump-whump-whumping roar. With a mighty surge, the helicopter lifted straight up, and Tess, who directed a despairing glance toward Craig, noticed that his expression was equally intense.

He didn't wink this time, and she didn't smile in return. What she did was swallow something hot and bitter.

She forced herself to pay attention to her surroundings, knowing that every detail was important and that she had to regain her discipline.

Study the landscape, her mind insisted. If you get in trouble, you'd better know where you are.

In contrast with the arid, flat, middle portion of Spain, this area along the country's northern coast was lush and hilly. The valleys below her were occupied by farms in which stoop-shouldered men and women wielded scythes to cut tall grass. The men wore trousers, long-sleeved shirts, and wide- brimmed hats. The women had long dresses and handkerchiefs tied around their heads. The absence of motorized farm machinery, combined with the slate roofs and stone walls of the buildings, made Tess feel as if she was experiencing a time warp, that she was witnessing a scene from a previous century.

But those impressions were fleeting – brief, ineffectual attempts to distract herself from her terror.

'That's Pamplona past those hills on the right,' Gerrard said matter-of-factly. 'You can just make out a few tops of buildings. Northeast of us is the French-Spanish border. We're now in a district called Navarra, and those mountains ahead are the Spanish Pyrenees.'

Tess wondered fearfully how close the helicopter was to the Pyrenees in France, to the burned-out ruins of the heretic stronghold on Montsegur, to the site of the slaughter that the European crusaders had inflicted and from where more than seven hundred years ago, after a group of determined heretics had escaped with their precious statue, this insanity had begun.