It was gone.
The enormity of it hit her then. The drugs in her purse weren't some hideous mistake. The man standing outside the bar wasn't an idle tourist. And chances were Daniel Travers was on the other side of the world, and the obscure messages she'd been receiving at her hotels were nothing more than a wild-goose chase, meant to bring her to this current crisis.
She'd heard about foreign prisons and the Spanish attitudes toward drags. And she had no doubt at all that she was going to be out of reach for a long time.
She sat back, numb with the horror of it. The men in the front seat were solid, implacable. Not the sort to listen to convoluted tales, particularly when she didn't even know what she was talking about. Was this the work of the Cadre? Was Michael part and parcel of them? If so, why had he saved her life? Why had Daniel seemed to know him?
But Daniel also knew the man who'd set her up. Maybe Daniel was nearer than she thought, part of this scheme. Maybe Michael, or whatever his real name was, was part of it, too.
She shivered in the stifling heat, forcing herself to be calm. She needed to be very reasonable, very patient. They couldn't just take an American citizen and lock her away with no lawyer, no trial, no hope of a quick release.
Could they?
It took him three days to track down Daniel Travers, two days longer than normal, because Travers obviously didn't want to be found. The True Blue was anchored near Athens, its radio communications conveniently out of commission as it rode the Aegean under the bright sun.
He posed as a United States customs agent, using his best, flattest American accent to get a ride out on an official boat and then talk his way aboard. He left his real counterpart to argue with Travers's captain, while he went in search of the reclusive millionaire himself.
He found him a darkened room, watching an old Michael Caine movie on a big screen TV. He entered the room silently, sneaking up behind the old man and putting the barrel of his Beretta to his temple before Travers even knew he was there.
"Where is she, old man?" he asked softly.
Travers froze, and in the darkened, air-conditioned room sweat broke out on his wrinkled skin. "Who are you?" he gasped. "Who are you talking about?"
Michael decided, quite sensibly, that if he scared the old man into a heart attack he wasn't going to find out anything. Lowering the gun, he moved into the man's line of vision. "Where is she?" he said again. "Don't ask who I'm talking about—you know perfectly well. And don't make me ask again. I'm not in a good mood."
Travers's shoulders relaxed marginally as he recognized the intruder. "Michael," he said. "Or is it Charlie?"
"Take your pick. It can also be Nigel, James, Erik, Lester or Arvin. Anything but Cougar."
"I can't imagine you as an Arvin."
"Old man…" His voice held a wealth of warning.
Travers leaned over and flicked off the big screen television, plunging the room into momentary darkness. Michael remained alert, ready to kill the man if he made a wrong move. A moment later he flicked a switch, flooding the paneled room with light. "I don't know where she is," he said wearily. "I only wish I did."
"Is she with the Cadre?"
"Good God, no! Why would you think such a thing?" Travers was aghast.
"She turned over a large sum of her money to a cover organization. Maybe she wasn't the innocent victim she pretended to be," he said evenly.
"You spent more than a week with her," Travers said. "How can you believe that?"
"Old man, I can believe anything of anybody. If she's not with the Cadre, where the hell is she? Don't try to fob me off. You'd be rotten at intelligence work—you can't even begin to fool me."
"I'm telling you the truth, Michael. I don't know. He wouldn't tell me."
Michael lowered his gun carefully, still ready to use it at a second's notice. "Cardiff," he said flatly.
Travers nodded miserably. "She was asking a lot of questions, Michael. She went looking for you at Willingborough, and then at the hospital you'd mentioned. She even had a photograph of you."
"Impossible. There hasn't been a picture taken of me since I was in the army."
"She's got one, apparently. Or she had one. I gather they got it away from her."
"Who are 'they,' Travers?" His voice was alarmingly gentle, and Travers blanched.
"I've tried to get Cardiff to tell me. He just said he's put her someplace where she can't cause any trouble. As soon as things are settled with the Cadre, he'll see that she's released. He promised me."
"I see." Michael dropped down on one of the leather-covered banquettes, his gun held loosely in his hand. "And where is Cardiff right now, Daniel?"