Doubleshot

TWENTY - FOUR

BACK TO THE BEGINNING

THE RECEPTION WAS SCHEDULED FOR 10:00 A.M.

Margareta Piel and the assassin left Espada’s estate at 6:30 and drove into Marbella, and then on to La Linea, where Espada and Agustin were waiting for them. Jimmy Powers was already in Gibraltar. Nadir Yassasin was making his way to the Rock by way of Tangier. They would assume the identities of the slain delegates from Washington.

During the journey, Margareta had sight. She wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. If her suspicions were correct, it could mean that the Union’s plan might end in disaster. On the other hand, it was possible that she could be able to use her newly gained knowledge to her own personal advantage. She had been eager to break away from Espada for a long time. The opportunity to join the Union was a welcome one. This could be her chance to show them her resourcefulness. She decided to play it by ear, see how the morning progressed, and make her move when the time was right.

A Governor’s aide, an attractive brunette who might have been a Miss Gibraltar at one time, met them at the airport. The four Spaniards and the man from Britain piled into a limo and then went to the Convent. Main Street had been closed, blocked off to all traffic, both pedestrian and otherwise. It was 9:45 by the time they stepped through the impressive brick facade that framed the main entrance to what was at one time an old Franciscan convent. The name had stuck.

Security was extremely tight. Officers from the Gibraltar Regiment were everywhere. The four of them were directed to produce their papers, walk through a metal detector, and submit their bags to be searched. The assassin’s passport and documents bore the name “Peter Woodward.” One of the security officers spent a long time examining at the passport. There was a moment when Margareta doubted if any part of the Union’s plan could be pulled off. Finally, the imposter Bond was allowed to go through.

After signing the guest register, they were led up the red-carpeted wooden stairs to the first floor and upper Cloister. Margareta noticed a copy of the original Grant of Arms to Gibraltar by Queen Isabella of Castille in 1502. The first British Governor of Gibraltar later used these arms, which were eventually adopted as the castle and key symbols on the coat of arms of the City of Gibraltar. The colony’s flag, of course, grew from this.

They were led into the ballroom, where a number of people had already gathered.

It was a lovely room, surrounded by a collection of royal portraits of British monarchs commencing with Queen Victoria. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and large mirrors reflected the illumination. There was a stage at one end with a string quartet playing Mozart; at the other end was a table set up as a bar.

Margareta saw Nadir Yassasin near the bar, standing alone. Should she tell him about her suspicions? Their eyes met briefly, but she then made a point of ignoring him throughout the remainder of the reception.

Jimmy Powers was in an animated conversation with two other men who appeared to be American. She slowly made her way toward them so that she could overhear what they were saying.

“Mr. Bunyon, I’ve been with the State Department for ten years,” one gray-haired man was saying, “and I simply can’t recall your face. Forgive me. I thought I knew everyone in the Bureau of Mediterranean Activity.”

Powers chuckled and said, “Sir, I’ve been around since the Reagan administration. I’m often out of the country.”

Margareta was satisfied that Powers could handle the grilling. She moved on and asked a servant behind the bar for a glass of orange juice. A couple of men smiled at her, probably hoping she would introduce herself to them. One man staring at her was the Spanish Prime Minister. She gave him her best come-hither look and watched him swallow visibly.

An Arab woman in a full-length caftan and veil was sitting alone, near the quartet. Every part of her body was hidden, except for her brown eyes. Margareta decided to approach her and say hello. The woman introduced herself as a delegate from Morocco, but she didn’t offer much more information than that. Margareta made an excuse to continue mingling.

Espada, Agustin, and the assassin sat down near the bar and surveyed the room. Espada sat with his arms folded as if he were bored and annoyed with the entire proceedings.

What if she didn’t report her suspicions to Yassasin? Would the Union punish her if something went wrong? The important thing, she thought, was to save her own skin if it did.

To hell with it, she thought. She had better speak to Nadir. She approached him casually and said, “Hello, I’m Margareta Piel. I’m with Domingo Espada. I saw you standing here alone and thought I would introduce myself.”

He shook her hand. “Said Arif. I’m from Morocco, but I live in America.”

“I think we need to talk,” she said, lowering her voice.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you mad? What about?”

Before she could answer, a heated exchange in Spanish was heard in Espada’s corner of the room. The Spanish Prime Minister was standing in front of him. Everyone in the room turned to look at them, especially at the man who had caused all this trouble. Espada stood and glared at the Spanish PM and for a moment there was complete silence. Finally, the Spanish PM muttered something to the effect that he hoped their differences could be resolved today, and then he walked away.

Margareta had to admit that Espada looked splendid. He was wearing a uniform of his own design that closely resembled that of a Spanish officer at the time of the Second World War. Agustin, at his right, and the imposter James Bond, at his left, were dressed in smart Brioni suits. The assassin looked comfortable and relaxed, if a bit out of place as a bodyguard to Espada.

Espada noticed that he had the room’s attention. He cleared his throat and managed to say in English, “Thank you all for coming. I am happy to be here.”

The room seemed to relax then, and the conversations resumed. Margareta watched the assassin as he stayed close to Espada and kept his eyes on everything.

Perhaps she was wrong? Margareta wondered.

“What was it you wanted to say?” Yassasin asked.

“Never mind,” she said.

The aide-de-camp entered at 10:00 and made an announcement.

“We have arranged a small tour of the Convent for you that will commence at this time. If you do not care to join the tour, you may remain here. His Excellency the Governor and the British Prime Minister are due to arrive at ten thirty, at which time we’ll move into the Banqueting Room.”

Margareta slid next to the Americans from the State Department and introduced herself as they walked out of the ballroom to follow the brunette who had picked her up at the airport. Yassasin, Powers, and Espada’s entourage joined in as well.

The group of nearly twenty people paraded downstairs, passed the main entrance, then down another five steps to the open-air ground floor Cloister. The square was surrounded by an arched covered way, and a well had been built in the center. A black wooden statue of General Sir George Eliott, the Governor of Gibraltar during the Great Siege, was the dominating ornament in the Cloister. All around the square were samples of different kinds of shells and shot used during Gibraltar’s various skirmishes. The gardens were especially beautiful, boasting the largest “dragon tree” in all of Europe. Planted in 1484, the dragon tree has a skinlike texture and bleeds red sap when poked with a sharp stick.

The brunette lectured in English but was able to answer any questions in a variety of other languages.

The tour went through the Duke of Kent Room, back upstairs to the Drawing Room and Billiard Room, then back down to the main entrance. At this point, the group turned north, went through a small white door, and entered the King’s Chapel.

The guide told the tour participants that they had ten minutes to wander freely around the chapel and examine the various memorials and artwork. She even encouraged them to use the time for silent meditation. Some of the guests remained to do so, while others chose to go back upstairs.

Jimmy Powers casually sat in a specific pew, reached down, and removed the white silk bag he had planted there the day before.

Margareta walked slowly around the back of the chapel and sat down on a pew, pretending to examine a stained-glass window. She, too, groped for and found the bag that was meant for her.

Nadir Yassasin had become engaged in a discussion with delegates from the Middle East. He tactfully led them to the pew where his weapon had been planted, and they sat there for a moment. Just as the tour guide announced that the ten minutes were up, Yassasin retrieved the silk bag and put it in his waistband.

Espada and Agustin were also successful in picking up their planted weapons. It was easier than Espada had imagined. With so many delegates in the chapel, no one was paying any attention to what the others were doing.

The man who had entered the building as “Peter Woodward,” obviously an expat now working as a bodyguard for Espada, found his weapon under the designated pew. The weight was familiar—it was the Walther PPK. He placed the bag in his waistband under the jacket. As he walked back up the stairs to the first floor of the Convent, he carefully undid the string on the silk bag and removed the gun. Once he was led back into the Ballroom, the Walther was loose in his waistband with the safety off, ready to be fired.

There was still another ten minutes before the British PM and the Governor were scheduled to arrive. Nadir Yassasin found Jimmy Powers by the string quartet and spoke to him.

“They are wonderful, aren’t they?”

Powers shrugged. “If you like that kind of music … me, I prefer good ol’ American rock ’n’ roll.”

Yassasin lowered his voice, even though the music was loud and the acoustics of the large room assured that they would not be overheard. “So, this is the moment of truth, yes?”

Powers shrugged again, as if he were hedging on a political opinion.

Yassasin seemed to be talking to himself, as Powers certainly knew the drill. “Timing is crucial. First, the assassin takes out the PM’s and Governor’s bodyguards, then immediately shoots the PM and Governor. Espada and Agustin will draw their weapons and shoot any other guards in the room. They believe that they will secure the room and hold everyone else hostage until the Spanish Prime Minister signs a pact with Espada. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen.”

“Has the alternative plan been approved?” Powers asked.

“Yes. Le Gérant has given the order. Espada is to die. The assassin will kill him as soon as the PM and Governor are dead. Then Miss Piel will kill the assassin if the remaining guards in the room don’t blow him away first. The fool really thinks he’s going to get away with this.”

Powers shrugged again. “Such is life.”

“No, my friend,” Yassasin replied. “Such is death.”

At 10:30, everyone moved into the exquisite Banqueting Hall. Espada, Agustin, Margareta, and the assassin sat at the east end of the table. Espada took the seat at the head of the table. Agustin was on his right, the assassin on his left. Margareta sat next to the imposter Bond. The other delegates took various seats, but left designated chairs for the PM and Governor.

Margareta eyed the man sitting next to her and struggled once again with the resolve to make herself known. The man was a killer. He was unpredictable. If she didn’t defuse the situation right now, there was no telling what kind of carnage might erupt.

A minute went by, and she finally decided to confront the assassin with what she suspected.

Now.