Balance of Power

THIRTY-THREE

When María finally reached the corridor outside the Hall of the Halberdiers, she was no longer able to proceed cautiously. The room was located toward the near end of the long hallway. The corridor was crowded with groups of soldiers, who were methodically searching the palace rooms. She had no doubt that they were looking for her.

It had been relatively easy getting this far. There were a number of interconnected rooms along the way and she’d been able to stay out of the corridor. The only stop she’d made was to try to telephone Luis to brief him. But the palace phones had been disconnected and she didn’t want to risk trying to get a radio from one of the communications officers.

Swallowing her pain, she marched ahead quickly, purposefully. Her arms swung stiffly at her sides, her cap was pulled low, and her eyes peered straight ahead. Look official, she kept reminding herself.

María believed that in most cases an infiltration should be done quietly. The rules were enter in the dark, don’t make noise, and blend in with the shadows. In the present situation she wouldn’t be able to sneak through. The only approach to take was to act as though she belonged. Unfortunately, while there were women in the Spanish army, none of them were assigned to combat units. And as far as María could tell, none of them were here. Which is why she jogged toward the Hall of the Halberdiers. The cap hid her hair and the tunic hid her arms and chest. All she wanted to do was to get back to the room. If she could get inside, she had a plan that might get her through to the throne room.

If she ran too fast, María knew that she’d attract attention. If she ran too slowly, she was afraid that someone would stop her and ask why she wasn’t with her unit. Her heart seemed to be pounding in all directions at once. Her body ached from the beating and she was frightened for Spain. But the danger and hurt and most of all the responsibility made her feel alive. These moments were like the instant before pulling a parachute ripcord or stepping onstage. They were hyperintense and unlike anything else in life.

A few heads turned to look at her but she was gone before anyone had a chance to see her face.

As María was about to turn into the doorway of the Hall of the Halberdiers, a familiar figure strode out, nearly colliding with her. It was the captain who had had her beaten. The officer stopped and glowered at María as she saluted and sidled past him. She tried to hide her face with the salute and didn’t look up. All she needed was a few more seconds.

María saw Juan and Ferdinand ahead. They were sitting cross-legged along the near side of the crowd, looking down. The number of prisoners had thinned somewhat since she was last here. The prisoners were also more restless. That was probably a result of concern over where the others had been taken and the fact that the ranks of guards also had thinned. María assumed the soldiers were out looking for her. None of the guards in the room looked at her as she made her way toward the two Ramirez familia members.

“Wait!” the captain’s voice broke loud and hard from the doorway behind her.

Juan and Ferdinand looked up. María continued walking toward them.

“I said you!” the captain bellowed into the room. “Sergeant! Stop where you are!”

María was about twenty paces from Juan. She wasn’t going to make it before she had to deal with the captain. She swore silently and continued walking toward Juan. The prisoner was looking directly at her. It was frustrating that the captain may have recognized her but Juan didn’t. The door to the throne room was about forty feet straight ahead, through the crowd. There were still guards on either side of the door. They were looking at her now, too. She had to get there and she wouldn’t be able to do it alone.

“Sir, I have a report for the general,” she said angrily without stopping or turning.

Right now, seconds mattered. She needed to get closer to Juan. She also wanted him to hear her voice and know who she was. The captain would know who she was too, for certain, but there was no way of avoiding that.

“It is you!” the captain roared when María spoke. “Stop at once and raise your arms!”

María slowed but she didn’t stop. She needed to be in front of Juan.

“I said stop!” the captain cried.

María reached the edge of the crowd. She stopped.

“Now,” the captain said, “raise your arms slowly with your hands out. If you make any sudden motions you will be shot,” the captain said.

The young woman did as she’d been told. She watched Juan’s eyes as they widened with surprised recognition. The soldiers stationed around the room still hadn’t gone for their own weapons. She only had a few moments before they would be ordered to do so.

“You,” the captain barked. “Corporal.”

One of the noncommissioned officers standing beside the throne room door came to attention. “Sir?”

“Take her weapon!” the captain ordered.

“Yes, sir!”

“My — my legs,” María said. She stopped in front of Juan and started to wobble. “May I sit down?”

“Stand where you are!” the captain snarled.

“But they were hurt when I was beaten—”

“Silencio!” he yelled.

María trembled for a moment more. The soldier had entered the crowd of prisoners on the opposite side and was making his way toward her. She couldn’t wait any longer. She didn’t think they would shoot her here, especially if she were down. That might start a riot. Moaning loudly, she dropped to her knees and fell forward against Juan.

“Get up!” the captain yelled.

María attempted to rise. As she pretended to struggle back to her feet, she drew the guns from her waistband. She shoved them into Juan’s hand.

He took them clandestinely. Ferdinand had leaned over to help María. Juan slid a gun under his bent knee.

“Amadori’s in the throne room,” María whispered as hands helped her to her knees.

“We’ll never make it—” Juan whispered back.

“We must!” she hissed. “We’re dead anyway!”

Just then, the guard finished making his way through the crowd. He bent over María and yanked her up by the collar. She grunted as she stood and then pretended to stumble to one side. As soon as she was out of the way, Juan raised his gun, pointed at the soldier’s thigh, and fired. The guard shrieked and staggered backward on a spray of blood. His gun dropped to the floor and one of the prisoners snatched it up. Regaining her balance, María unholstered her own weapon and turned toward the captain.

But the captain had already drawn his own weapon. He fired two rounds, one of which struck María in the left side. She twisted in pain and her own shot went wide. She landed on the man who had picked up the gun. Her hat tumbled off and her hair spilled out.

Juan rose as María fell. “¡Asesino!” Juan shouted. “Assassin!”

Before he could fire, a bullet struck him in the left shoulder. He twisted as he fell, his arms flying outward. His gun went spinning along the floor toward the hallway. The captain picked it up as he stalked toward them. The man who had fired, the other soldier standing guard at the throne room, came forward.

“Stay at your post!” the captain yelled.

The crowd of prisoners began to murmur loudly and the guards unholstered their weapons. Suddenly, the throne room door opened. General Amadori’s personal aide, Major General Antonio Aguirre, stepped out. He was holding a 9mm automatic, which looked only slightly less intimidating than his scowl. The tall, lean, broad shouldered man took a moment to look around the room.

“Is there a problem, Captain Infiesta?” he asked.

“No, sir,” the captain replied. “Not any longer.”

“Who is he?” Aguirre asked, pointing the gun toward the man he’d shot.

He pointed to María. “Her accomplice,” he said.

Aguirre’s dark eyes settled on the woman. “Who is she?”

“I believe she’s a spy,” the captain informed him.

María stood unsteadily. “I am not… a spy, Major General,” she insisted. She was clutching her side just below her ribs and leaning into the wound. It was bloody and it throbbed hotly. “I am Maria Corneja from Interpol. I came here with information for the general. Instead of listening to me, this man had me beaten.” She raised a hand weakly and gestured toward the captain.

“I will listen to you,” said the major general. “Talk.”

“No,” María said. “Not here—”

“Here and now,” Aguirre said curtly.

María shut her eyes for a moment. “I’m dizzy,” she said truthfully. “Can I sit down somewhere?”

“Certainly,” Aguirre said. His scowl remained fixed. “Captain — take her and her accomplice outside. Let her talk and then conclude your business with her.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said.

María turned. “Sir!” she shouted and started limping through the crowd, toward the major general. She was still thinking that if she could get into the throne room there might be something she could do—

She felt herself yanked back by the hair.

“You’ll come outside as you’ve been ordered,” the captain said as he tugged her from the crowd.

Maria was too weak to argue. She stumbled and nearly fell as she was pulled toward the hallway door.

“Bring him as well,” the captain commanded, pointing to Juan.

Two of the guards came forward and grabbed Juan under the armpits. The Ramirez familia member grimaced with pain as they hoisted him to his feet and dragged him forward.

Behind them, the major general returned quietly to the throne room. He shut the door.

The click of the latch was the only sound in the otherwise silent hall. To María it was a noise as loud as the closing of a tomb door. It not only marked the end of her efforts to get inside the throne room, very possibly it marked the end of Spain itself. She was angry at herself for having blown the mission. For having gotten so damn close and screwing up.

The captain turned María around. Still holding her by the hair, he walked her toward the door. She went painfully, each step sending a lance of pain up her left side from heel to jaw.

“What — what are you going to do?” María demanded.

“We’re going to take you outside to see what you know.”

“Why outside?” María asked.

The captain didn’t answer, and that in itself was an answer. They were being taken outside because that was where the plain, unadorned walls were.

The walls which condemned prisoners were put against to be shot.