CHAPTER 64

Madrid, Spain

September

THE PLAZA MAYOR WAS busy, even well after the summer tourist season. Grey had been here a handful of times over the years but had never seen this much of an armed security presence. Municipal and national police officers, soldiers, and even a pair of the nation’s Guardia Civil, mounted on horseback, patrolled the large public square and its surrounding streets wearing their distinctive tricorne hats. The security forces were out in a show of force to deter would-be terrorists. As he sipped his café con leche, he took in the sights and sounds of Spanish life and was reminded of his days in Buenos Aires. He ordered in lisping Castilian Spanish and, despite a slight Argentine accent, could pass as something close to a local.

All the trains for Paris departed in the morning and, after overnighting on the Lisbon-to-Madrid route, Grey needed a day to stretch his legs. His room at the nearby Hotel Carlos V would not be ready for a few hours, which gave him a chance to stroll the sidewalks of one of his favorite cities. He spent the day window-shopping and practicing his Spanish. He dined at Sobrino de Botí n, a favorite of Hemingway’s and reportedly the oldest restaurant in Europe, and devoured the roast suckling pig along with a nice bottle of reserve Rioja. His train would leave early in the morning, so, after just a couple of glasses of house red at a café on the plaza, he retired to his room. The hotel was nothing special, but their security cameras looked old and they didn’t ask too many questions.

The morning train to Paris left at seven and Grey spent his day staring at the countryside as it rolled by. He overnighted in La Ville-Lumiè re before traveling, again by rail, to Strasbourg, where he boarded one last train for the final leg of his long journey. Flying would have been faster and more direct, but this method was far more secure and allowed him to spend time with his new identity. He was shaking with excitement as he walked through the doors of Basel’s SBB station in search of his contact.

It didn’t take long to spot him, a severe-looking man with a shaved head dressed in all black. The man’s dead eyes were locked on him from across the room and, when Grey finally met his gaze, the man nodded without smiling. He didn’t offer to take Grey’s bag, but led him to a black Mercedes AMG G63 idling in front of the station. The driver, who looked about as friendly as his partner, stepped out of the SUV and loaded the bags into the rear cargo area. Grey climbed into the backseat and shut the door. After the long journey on public transportation and among so many strangers, the feel and smell of the soft leather interior was another indication that he had almost arrived.

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