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"Something's
wrong." Whenever she passed by, her past was like a magnet to
him. He couldn't help but be attracted to her long black hair, her
athletic body, and he never doubted it. "She's hiding
something."
    He
even thought he knew when and where the secret began. Her time in
Zurich.
    He
navigated a detour and turned down Silvano. Slowing down, he began to
search for a parking place. No luck. He saw a man behind the wheel of
a parked car, but the guy waved him on, signaling that he wasn't
leaving.
    Victor
passed Elisa's building and kept looking. Suddenly he saw a great
spot, braked, and started to back up.
    That's
when it all happened.
    A moment
later, he wondered what made the human brain react the way it did in
these extreme situations. Because the first thing that occurred to
him when she appeared out of nowhere and knocked on the passenger
window was not how petrified she looked, or that she was as white as
a sheet; nor was it how odd it was that she'd practically leaped into
the car the second he leaned over to open the door. She whipped her
head around to look behind her as she shouted, "Go! Go! Drive!"
    He
did not stop to think about the irate honking that his maneuver had
caused, or the headlights in his rearview mirror, or the screeching
of tires behind him that brought to mind—oddly—the parked
car he passed moments earlier, with its lights off, its driver behind
the wheel. He felt all
of those things, but none of them made it above his spinal cord.
    There,
in his brain, his intellect was entirely focused on one thing.
    Her
breasts.
    Elisa
was wearing a low-cut T-shirt under her leather jacket, something
she'd clearly just thrown on at the last minute, too summery for the
cold March night. And her magnificent, round breasts were in plain
view. He couldn't tell if she was wearing a bra. When she leaned in
the window before climbing into the car, he'd stared at them. Even
now, as she sat beside him and he breathed in the smell of her soap
and leather jacket, feeling dizzy, he couldn't stop himself from
glancing sidelong to peek at her gorgeous chest.
    He
didn't think it was wrong. He knew it was the only way his brain
could deal with the situation, set the world back in its place after
having suffered the terrible experience of seeing his friend and
colleague leap into the car, crouch down, and begin shouting
desperate orders. Sometimes men have to clutch at straws in order to
preserve their sanity. He'd clutched at Elisa's breasts. Correction:
he used the image of her chest in his mind to help himself calm down.
    "Are
we... are we being followed?" he stammered as they reached Campo
de las Naciones.
    She
turned to look back and said, "I don't know."
    "Where
do you want me to go?"
    "Take
the Burgos highway."
    And
suddenly she crumpled, her shoulders shaking spasmodically.
    Her
howling was horrific. Seeing her like this, the image of her breasts
vanished from Victor's mind. He'd never seen an adult cry like that.
Forgetting everything, including his own fear, he spoke with a
determination that surprised even himself.
    "Elisa,
you've got to calm down. Listen to me. I'm here for you. I always
have been. I'm going to help you. Whatever it is, I'm going to help
you. I swear."
    She
recovered suddenly, but he had the feeling it wasn't his words that
had that effect on her.
    "I'm
sorry to drag you into this, Victor, but I had no choice. When I'm
scared to death, I'm evil. A total bitch."
    "No,
Elisa, I..."
    "Anyway,"
she cut him off, "I don't want to waste time apologizing."
    That
was when he noticed the long, flat, plastic-wrapped object in her
hand. It could have been anything, but the way she held it was
intriguing: her right hand wrapped around one end of it, and the left
one stroked it almost imperceptibly.

    THE two
men, having just arrived at Madrid's Barajas International Airport,
were not asked to show any identification or go through security.
They didn't take the same tunnel to the terminal as the rest of