Read THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series) for Free Online

already here.”
    Craig spotted Elizabeth across the room, seated at a round table adjacent to the side wall. A glass of champagne in front of her, she seemed preoccupied, deep in thought, looking radiant, her honey brown hair pulled back, the magenta suit snug enough to reveal her good figure.
    “Mind if I join you?” he said.
    She snapped back to reality. He kissed her on the lips, then sat down.
    The tuxedo-clad sommelier wheeled over a cart with half a dozen bottles of champagne on ice. “I’ll have what she’s drinking.”
    When Craig had a glass, he raised it, “Congratulations. Now tell me about the book deal.”
    “I will in a minute. First, I want to know what happened with Dalton. Did they try again?”
    He shook his head. “Nothing else. As I just told Pierre Moreau, it’s over.”
    “Do you know who was responsible?”
    “I understand why you’re such a good reporter.”
    “I take that as a compliment.”
    “According to my source, the Iranian government. If they try again, it won’t be on my turf. Since Dalton hates Europe, I doubt if he’ll be back.”
    “Did Dalton thank you for saving his life?”
    “Yeah, right.” Smiling, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket. “Maybe I missed the call when I was in the Metro.” He glanced at it. “Nope. No call.”
    “Dalton’s a jerk.”
    “So you and Jacques are in agreement about something.”
    A waiter came over with menus. They ordered. He selected an ’05 Chambolle Musigny from Dujac.
    “Okay,” he said. “I won’t wait a second longer. What’s the deal?”
    “Harold got Virginia to agree to an advance of six hundred K.” She was flushed with excitement.
    “Yes!” he cried out. Too loud for the dignified dining room. People stared at them. He didn’t care. He ignored them. She had put a lot of work into the book proposal.
    “That is fabulous,” he said.
    “So I’m buying dinner this evening.”
    “You won’t get an argument from me. What’s your deadline?”
    “You always ask the practical questions.”
    The wine arrived. He tasted it. Perfect for their seared fois gras with caramelized apples, which came right behind. They paused to eat.
    “This is spectacular,” she said. “I’m glad you picked this place.”
    While he sipped wine, she said, “They want a detailed outline in thirty days. A draft in twelve months.”
    “Can you do that while working at the paper?”
    “I talked to Rob, who’s now running the foreign news department. He said they’ll lighten my reporting load. Even give me a little time off to do research and write, if I need it.”
    “Very generous.”
    “He said he’s not being altruistic. They want me to have the expertise. The topic will become even more important over time.”
    “I agree. Rob’s being smart.”
    “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to turn the study in the apartment into my writing center.”
    “Sure. Whatever works. I’ll do anything to help.”
    They were midway through the fois gras when Craig felt the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Sometimes, he hated that phone. As he yanked it out of his pocket, she said, “Dalton, calling to thank you.”
    “I doubt it.” He checked caller ID. General Jose Alvarez, the Spanish Defense Minister.
    “Sorry,” he said to Elizabeth. “I have to take this. I’ll keep it short.”
    “Don’t worry. I understand. If you take too long, I’ll drink all the wine.”
    “Hold on a minute,” he said to Alvarez. Then with the phone plastered to his ear, he headed out of the dining room and into a quiet corner of the lobby.
    “We have a situation,” Alvarez said. “And Prime Minister Zahara insisted that I call you.”
    Alvarez sounded hostile. Craig got the drift. Regardless of the threat to Spain, Alvarez would never have called for Craig’s help. But Prime Minster Zahara was a different matter. On the two occasions they had met, Craig and Zahara hit it off.
    “Tell me about it,” Craig said.
    “About two hours ago, a