Estación de Cabanyal
Valencia
2330 horas
17 de marzo

"Valencia! Tony, we’re in Valencia!" For the first time since noon, Trixie felt a small glimmer of hope.

Tony groaned, "We’re back?"

"Yes! They just announced Valencia." Her voice softened, echoing the concern that showed on her face as she continued, "Can you walk?"

"Claro," Tony responded with a false smile, "Let’s get out of here."

Leaning heavily on Trixie, Tony made his way down the step from their car to the platform. He sank down on the first bench they came to, already worn out from the exertion.

Panic descended upon Trixie as Tony’s eyes fluttered closed and he slumped against the back of the bench.

Biting her lip to keep from crying, Trixie reached for Tony’s wrist. As she felt the slow pulse, she relaxed slightly. After taking a couple of deep breaths, she took a moment to look at her surroundings. The awful feelings of fear and despair swept back over her as she looked at their empty and unfamiliar surroundings. It had taken them so long to disembark that all the other passengers had already gone upstairs. That little detail – stairs – is what really worried her. She didn’t remember the morning’s train station from which they’d departed having stairs or a subway-like tunnel. And that’s what they were in now.

 

Piso de Hans y Juliana
Valencia
2315 horas
17 marzo

"Mart, stop pacing!" Di said sharply from her huddled position on the couch.

Ignoring her, Mart continued to walk back and forth in front of the open balcony doors. He couldn’t sit still any longer. He needed to be doing something, anything. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever been more concerned about Trixie – and he’d worried about her plenty of times before.

"Mart!" Di’s voice rose and then cracked as he looked at her. The expression of naked fear on his face that he wasn’t even trying to hide frightened her. In the past year, Mart and Trixie had both grown up to a point where they had become friends. Their spats of sibling arguments had dwindled. There had been a resurgence of their old teasing relationship during this trip with all of the Bob-Whites. Amusingly enough, each member of the group had seemed to fall back into the old pattern that had been established in the beginning. Di knew that the "almost-twins" were just teasing each other out of habit.

Tears sprang to Di’s eyes as she watched Mart fight with his emotions. Wordlessly she stood and held out her arms. Mart stepped into them and let her embrace encircle him. For several moments, they stood in silence as Mart regained his composure.

Stepping back as Di released him, Mart smiled slowly. "Thanks Di…I don’t know what got into me."
" Worry and love," Di stated matter-of-factly. She elaborated at Mart’s quizzical look. "Your worried about your sister whom you love. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

With a sigh, Mart sank down on the couch Di had vacated a short time before, "I feel so ineffective just sitting here and waiting."

Seating herself nest to Mart, Di squeezed his hand. "I know what you mean. I almost wish we had made a last minute decision like Honey and we were at the train station with Jim and Agent Yepes also."

"Yeah, but that would’ve been too many of us in one place to be inconspicuous."

Di laughed slightly. "That’s true. Too bad, there aren’t more train stations so we wouldn’t…" she broke off at Mart’s sharp intake of breath.

"Diana, that’s it – there must be another train station – Valencia is huge." Leaving Di speechless on the couch, Mart hurried down the short hall to Hans’ office.

Agent Calderón had commandeered the office to write up a report using the information gleaned from Bob-Whites about the events of the last few days. Crossing his fingers that the agent from Alumbres spoke fluent English, Mart burst into the tiny room.

"¿Qué?" Came the sharp response, followed by, "What do you need?"

"Agent Calderón, sir, is there another station in Valencia?" Mart queried rapidly.

The agent turned from Hans’ computer and replied, "Station? Like train station?"

Mart nodded while peering around Calderón to see what was on the computer screen. The agent quickly closed the window he’d been working on, but not before Mart had a chance to see that the Interpol agent had been hard at work on a solitaire game, not an official report.

Slightly embarrassed, Calderón murmured, "Helps me uh, relax and uh, sort out details on a case." Clearing his throat, he turned the conversation back to Mart’s question. "Another train station is located at the end of Blasco Ibáñez – Estación de Cabanyal – but not all trains stop there." Shrugging he added, "It’s not very large – and it is mostly underground – like the metro."

"We need to go there," Mart said quickly, already heading for the door.

"There’s no need," Agent Calderón said, "I’m sure that every base, as you say, has been covered."

Mart shook his head vigorously, "No – no one has mentioned there being another station." Sensing the agent’s reluctance, Mart persisted, "Sir, my sister, unfortunately, is not a novice at escaping from dangerous situations. If she were trying to lose someone, she’d bail out when least expected."

Calderón pondered Mart’s words for what seemed like an eternity to Mart, recalling as he did so the information on Beatrix Belden and her friends that he had just downloaded from the FBI – she was pretty familiar with espionage.

Losing patience, Mart began, "If you’d rather stay here and play solitaire, we can go ourselves."

"One minute," the agent murmured, ignoring Mart’s comment. Di, who had joined Mart in the doorway, shifted anxiously from one foot to another, as they waited. Calderón quickly scanned the train schedule that Mart had found on the train on their return from Sagunto. Yes, a southbound train was stopping briefly at Cabanyal at 2330 hours before it continued on to the main station. A look at his watch showed that they had fifteen minutes until the train arrived.

A brief smile lit his face as he looked at the two American teenagers waiting for his response. Their face showed their relief as he said, "Vale, we’ll go. If we hurry we will get there shortly after the passengers get off."

 

The streets of Valencia
2330

Mart leaned forward, shoving his face between the shoulders of the men in the front seat of the small car. Hans and Caldéron were quiet, as the agent’s BMW sped through the streets. Every few minutes fireworks went off in one barrio or another as all the falleras and falleros celebrated on into the night. Mart knew that I about half an hour the whole city would rock with the explosions as the valencianos celebrated – and if they had Trixie back safe and sound, he might just join in.
" Shouldn’t we be there yet?" Di murmured.

Mart sat back in his seat and frowned. "While Hans and Caldéron were debating if we should go or not, I checked out our map – it’s really not that far. It’s just that instead of taking back streets we had to get out to Cardenal Benlloch and deal with traffic out here – all of the back streets get blocked with fallas and their participants. We jut now turned on to Blasco Ibáñez, so it shouldn’t be much longer."

Mart’s frown suddenly changed to a grin. "You know what, Di – Trixie’s going to be there – I know she is!"

Before Di could respond, Mart returned to his earlier position – almost as if he thought that by leaning forward he could make the car move more quickly through the traffic. ‘Hang on Trix, we’re coming…’

 

Cabanyal
2335

"Tony, where are we?" Trixie pleaded for the third time. Still he made no effort to respond.

"Should I leave him here and go for help? Should I wait and see if someone comes down here and ask them for help?" She tossed that idea away with a shudder, what if the someone was Arabe?

Trixie was at her wit’s end, when she suddenly recalled Tony’s prayer on the hillside and the subsequent lighting of the trail.

"I might as well," she murmured and lowered her head. "Dear God, please help us. Please help me do what I can to help Tony. And please God, don’t let him die." She sat motionless for a minute, hoping for some kind of answer.

"Great, nothing," she sighed, "I still don’t know what to do."

"Cabanyal," Tony said suddenly.

Trixie jumped, "What!?"

"Cabanyal," Tony repeated. "Upstairs to street. Help me."

Quickly Trixie arose and then supported Tony as he headed toward the stairs. As he slowly lifted one foot and then the other to each step, he told Trixie, "Cabanyal Station…Valencia." His voice was low and his breathing labored, but he was determined to make it up the stairs.

 

Outside Cabanyal
2340 horas

Ignoring Agent Caldéron’s protest and freeing himself form Hans’ detaining grasp, Mart rushed toward the automatic doors of the small station. Unconsciously taking note of how much smaller this station was than the main station he was familiar with, Mart scanned the benches looking for Trixie.

There was only a handful of people in the station. Most looked like businessmen returning from Barcelona. He skipped over a bedraggled pair at a bench near the stairs as he surveyed the small group. Then for some reason he was drawn back to the beat up looking couple – it was Trixie and Tony!

Tony was slumped over on a bench and looked half dead, whereas Trixie was at least moving, but she was missing the sleeves of her shirt and her hair looked like Bobby had styled it. Her face was filthy and streaked where a few tears of desperation had slipped out. With a shout of joy, Mart bounded across the semi-empty waiting area to his sister.

*     *     *

Cabanyal
2340 horas

just as Trixie and Tony reached the top of the staircase, Tony’s last reserve of energy ran out. Using all her strength, Trixie half dragged him to a chair and let him collapse.

Her deep breath of relief was cut short as she heard the "whoosh" of the automatic doors opening from the street. In panic she looked for somewhere to hide – what if somehow Arabe had made it back to Valencia before they had!

Forcing herself not to appear frightened, Trixie turned to see who had entered the station. Relief flooded her entire being when she saw that it was Mart.

Her small gasp of surprise was drowned out by his shout and seconds later she was engulfed in the biggest bear hug of her life.

The flood of tears she’d been suppressing since Tony had been shot finally won out. Leaving Tony to Hans and Agent Caldéron, Mart and Di led Trixie past the curious on-lookers to the fresh air and relative calm outside. Mart continued to hold Trixie as she sobbed and Di silently stroked the tangled and knotted curls on her friend’s head.

Mart noted the marks on her arms and realized that most of the "dirt" he’d noticed on her face was actually bruises. There were traces of blood, most likely Tony’s, on her hands. Gently he rocked her back and forth and silently promised her that he’d find the man who had done this to her.

 

Piso de Hans y Juliana
18 marzo
1500 horas

‘What time is it?’ Trixie wondered as she cautiously opened her eyes. Squinting against the bright sunlight that filtered in through the curtains, she rolled to her right side to look at the travel clock that Honey always brought on their trips.

Pain shot through her leg. Moaning softly, she returned to her original position on her back as the events of the previous day rapidly replayed in her mind.

After the ordeal in Sagunto and their arrival at the Cabanyal station, everything had moved quickly. Within minutes, an ambulance had come to whisk her and Tony to a hospital. The others had followed in Agent Caldéron’s car. Trixie didn’t know which had been worse – the pain from her bruise or the confusion she had felt as the paramedics had rattled off questions to her in Spanish. Apparently the Interpol agent who had been with Mart at the train station had neglected to mention to the ambulance crew that she didn’t speak Spanish. Eventually they had worked out a primitive procedure – the paramedic had touched or moved a body part and had asked "This hurt?" To which she had responded yes or no.

At the hospital, Tony had been taken in one direction and she in another. After examining Trixie, the doctors had told Hans that other than bruises and abrasions from the ropes that had bound her, she would be fine with rest, food and good care.

Tony was suffering from more than just the gunshot to the shoulder. Besides a loss of blood and a concussion, he had several broken ribs. Di had told Trixie that Tony’s mother had arrived in time to donate blood for her son’s transfusion. She also told Trixie that the nurses, who were all nuns, were quite impressed with the makeshift bandage she had made. Di had giggled as she mimicked the expression on Mart’s face when the conversation had been translated and he realized that Tony’s bandage had consisted of the sleeves of his little sister’s shirt. Trixie had been able to smile, but fatigue had been winning out.

She slightly remembered leaving the hospital and being driven back to the piso. Once back at the Juliana’s they had been joined by Honey, Jim and another agent. Trixie had kept herself awake long enough to tell the two southern agents about the caretaker’s body she had stumbled across and roughly where that had been located. As they sipped hot Cola Cao, she explained that Arabe had been unconscious and tied up in a remote corner of the ruins when they escaped. When asked how long ago they had left him, Trixie wasn’t sure, it had seemed like years.

She had a vague recollection of one of the agents placing several phone calls – for the Spanish equivalent of an APB – and also informing the others that she and Tony had returned. Soon she had felt her mind growing fuzzy and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

Seeing the exhaustion and pallor on Trixie’s face as she sat huddled on the couch between Jim and Mart, Juliana had taken charge. Trixie remembered that with a smile. Petite Juliana had quite forcefully informed the two agents that they were welcome to stay, but they would be asking Trixie no more questions. At the hospital, the nuns had washed what showed of Trixie, but no one had attempted to brave the tangles of her hair. With the help of Di and Honey, Juliana had removed Trixie’s filthy and torn clothing. Being too shaky to stand, Trixie had sat in the bathtub and soaped herself up and scrubbed her hands until the last traces of dirt and blood were gone.

After rinsing herself off, she had taken the large towel Juliana handed her and wrapped it around her body. Reseating herself in the tub, she had let Honey and Di gently comb the refuse from her hair and wash it. Closing her eyes, she had pretended she was being pampered at some fancy spa.

Half asleep, she had stumbled to her bed and pulled on the sweats and T-shirt that she had left there years before, so long ago the morning had seemed. Her last conscious thought had been of Tony.

 

Now it was the next day, she hoped. She wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but it had certainly helped. She felt much better, except when she had rolled on her right leg. Deciding that it would be easier to just get up instead of rolling over to look at the clock, she cautiously swung her feet over the side of the bed. Not too bad. Sitting up made her ribs hurt slightly, but she could stand it.

"Okay, girl, you can do it," she told herself as she stood up. Not as bad as she had feared. Shuffling a little as the blood got flowing to her legs, she opened the door. She needed two things – bathroom and food, and in that order. But most importantly, she wanted to find out about Tony’s condition.

"Good morning," she said hesitantly as she joined her friends in the living room.

"Afternoon, you mean, sleepyhead," Brian said affectionately, his dark brown eyes growing concerned as he surveyed his sister’s bruised countenance for the first time.

"Afternoon?"

"Yep, it’s a little after three," Mart replied.

"Here Trix, sit down," Dan added solicitously as he slid to floor, leaving a vacant spot on the couch by Jim.

"No thanks, I’m on my way to the restroom. But first I wanted to find out how Tony is doing."
"He’s doing fine," Honey answered, smiling. "His dad just called. He’s awake and doing fine. His shoulder and the cracked ribs are giving him some pain, but other than that…" her voice trailed off as she saw a smile of relief sweep across Trixie’s face.

"Good," she sighed and continued on her journey to the bathroom.

As they heard the door close, Brian let out a low whistle, "You guys were right, Arabe sure knocked her around."

"She looks a lot better now than she did last night," Jim interjected, "Before the girls washed her hair she looked awful."
Mart glowered and said, "All I know is that if I get a hold of that guy…"

"You’ll what, Mart, give him a taste of his own medicine?’ Dan countered.

Mart turned his angry glare at his best friend. "What of it?"

Jumping into the conversation Diana said, "What of it? Mart, what do you expect to do to a professional terrorist who has no qualms about killing someone? Look what he did to a trained intelligence officer?"

Mart opened his mouth to respond and then realized that both Di and Dan were right…violence in the face of violence wasn’t going to get them anywhere except in Tony’s position or worse.

*     *     *

 

Plaza de Toros – Sección de Sol
Valencia
18 marzo
1800 horas

Honey looked around and smiled. Good, everyone was here. Everyone included: all seven Bob-Whites, Hans and Juliana with Betje, and three Interpol agents. The agents and the Vorwalds had been against the already planned excursion to the bullfights. Trixie, as usual, had bounced back from her injuries pretty well, and really wanted to go. Even Jim, who was usually Mr. Cautious, felt that they’d be safe in a large group that included the agents. In the end, the pleas of the Bob-Whites won out and the agents agreed that the group could go, provided that they were allowed to attend. There had been a couple of tense minutes just as they were leaving the piso when Agent Francis had received a phone call from Sagunto. The teams that had been searching for the body of the caretaker and Arabe had had no luck. There was no sign anywhere of a body. The small campsite where Tony and Trixie had been held captive had been located, but Arabe was no where to be found.

With Arabe and Pedro at large, Agent Francis had almost cancelled the plans for the evening, but decided that he and Agents Yepes and Caldéron would be able to provide plenty of protection for the Bob-Whites. Agent Garcia was left at the piso in case someone tried to break in once again. Other agents had arrived that evening from France and were positioned outside Tony’s room at La Fe – the hospital – just in case.

The excited hum that filled the air in the arena was surprising. Diana shifted on the hard stone bench to find a more comfortable position as she blinked in the bright sun. Longingly, she looked at the other side of the ring that was in the shade. Tickets were sold for either side – sol, the sunny side where they were seated, being the cheaper side. The sombra, shade, would be nice right now, but being as it was six o’clock, the sun wouldn’t bother them much longer. In amazement, she took in how many people fit into the bull ring. She couldn’t believe that all these people were here to watch animals being slaughtered. She couldn’t believe she was here for it. Casting a sidelong glance at Honey, she wondered how Honey with her squeamishness concerning blood was going to handle things. Honey, however, looked excited to be there. ‘Maybe she just wants to see the guys in their tight pants and traje de luces,’ Di thought with a wicked little grin. As the parade of participants began it’s way around the arena, Di saw why the matadors outfits were called ‘suits of light’ – not only were they gold in color, but they were covered in sequins and other sparkly things that reflected the sun’s light.

On her right, she heard Mart muttering to himself. "What’s wrong, Mart?" she asked.

"I can’t believe it – they’re all wearing neon pink socks!"

"What’s wrong with that, Mart?" Di asked with a grin.

Before Mart could respond, Dan spoke up from her other side. "It’s part of the traditional costume…I think they just want to dress as garishly as possible. Maybe it calms the bull or something."

The three fell silent as they watched the paseíllo, the parade, and saw all the people that would be involved in the corrida. Hans had explained to them that afternoon, while they were waiting for Trixie to wake up, what they would be seeing at the bullfight – and what the different people would be doing. There were three matadors – the men who would actually kill the bulls. The matador on the left was the most veteran of the three, on the right was the next "oldest" veteran and in the center was the newest matador. Each matador would kill two bulls. There were several men on horses. Two of these men, the alguacilillos who were on either side of the matadors, would present themselves to the presidency of the corrida and ask for the keys – keys to the doors the bulls were kept behind. This was all symbolic because they really had nothing to do with opening the doors. Behind these five were the three banderilleros of the veteran matador, followed by two rows of the banderilleros of the other two matadors, in order of their years of experience. Two more men followed them on horses, the picadores of the veteran, also followed by the picadores of the other matadors. Bringing up the rear of the parade were the men who would later help remove the dead bulls from the ring.

It was during the presentation of the keys that the crowd began to get unruly. Hearing a lot of murmuring and what sounded like complaints from the people in the arena, Jim looked around. Figuring out what was causing the commotion, Jim turned to his cousin.

"Juliana, what does that sign say?" he asked, motioning to a large poster raised in the air by two shirtless men.

"La tortura – Ni arte, ni cultura," Juliana read, then translated to, "The torture - neither art nor culture. Undoubtedly those are some animal rights activists – eventually they will get thrown out of the plaza. Watch."

Moments later the crowd began to yell and gesture angrily at the men with sign.

Honey burst out laughing when she saw an elderly man wave a huge barra de pan in the direction of the protestors. She could hear him bellowing along with the rest of the crowd, "¡Fuera! ¡Fuera!"

"Fuera?" she muttered.

"Get out," Dan softly in her ear, at the same moment as two police officers approached the protestors. As the crowed watched the men argued with he police, obviously refusing to lower their sign. The shouts of ‘fuera’ had died down some, but still echoed around the arena.

Suddenly the noise level raised again as the police cuffed the two men and removed them, along with their sign. The Bob-Whites realized that the angry tones had changed to those of pleasure, and the crowd was now shouting "¡Olé!"

Agent Francis shook his head, "The Spanish take their sports too seriously – especially this one."

"This is a sport?" Mart remarked incredulously.

Before anyone could respond, action on the sand drew everyone’s attention back to the corrida – the fight was beginning.

"We’re lucky, according to Agent Yepes," Jim commented to Trixie as the first bull was let into the ring to where a matador was waiting.

"How’s that?" Trixie asked, hardly taking her eyes from the scene before her. The man appeared to be playing with the bull. Leading him this way and that. Dodging behind a small wall, the matador escaped a charge by the bull. It reminded her of a Bugs Bunny cartoon when Bugs had surfaced in the middle of a bull ring instead of Pismo Beach or somewhere. The bull in the cartoon had rammed his horns into that little wall several times.

"Jesulín is one of the matadors today. I guess he is supposed to be really good."

Taking her eyes off the ring for a split second, Trixie glanced at Jim, "What is good supposed to mean? That they kill the bull right off?"

"Kind of the opposite of that," Brian interjected from his position on Trixie’s left, "A good bullfighter teases and plays with the bull for quite some time before going for the kill. The spectators want their money’s worth, after all. Jesulín has gotten a lot of ears."

"A lot of what’s?" Trixie could’ve sworn Brian had said "ears."

"Ears. If a fight is good, the matador is presented with an ear of the bull. If it is really good, he receives both ears. If it is exceptionally good, he receives the tail. I’ve heard something about the tongue too, but I can’t remember what that meant…and they used to give the matador the hooves."

"How do they determine if the fight is a good one or not?" Trixie asked curiously.

"The crowd," Brian said simply. "If the crowd is pleased they let him know…"

Interrupting Trixie said, "By throwing flowers in the ring, like in Ferdinand the Bull, where he sits down to smell the flowers instead of charging the matador?"

"Something like that," Brian responded with a chuckle, "But women throw in other things – bras, etc."

"You’re kidding," Jim said in surprise.

"Weren’t you listening to Hans? He was talking about that this afternoon…Dan was wondering what the matadors do with the underwear and stuff afterwards."

"Okay, this conversation is going places I don’t want to go," Trixie said laughing, then wincing as her jaw hurt from the action.

"Are you hurting, Trix," Jim asked forgetting immediately about bullfighters and underwear.

"Just a little twinge, nothing really." Trixie turned pointedly back to the bullfight so she wouldn’t have to answer anymore questions. She had been shocked almost to tears when she had seen her reflection in the mirror a few hours earlier as she had been getting ready. There were so many bruises. Knowing that this was going to require more than her skill for make-up application, after dressing, she had asked Diana to help her tone down the angry colors of the bruises. They were still noticeable, but not quite so bad. The bruises and cuts actually looked worse than they felt, unless she laughed or moved too suddenly and jarred her body too much. She’d put off everyone’s questions and concerns and tried to do a Pollyanna act concerning her feelings – physical and mental – probably not fooling anyone, but she hadn’t wanted to miss this bullfight for anything.

"Are they wearing armor?" Honey asked Hans, as the horses came out carrying the picadores.

"Not exactly, Honey," he replied, "It’s a kind of protective padding – like big mattresses. They will be carrying the men close to the bull so that the men can reach the bull with their lances. There is a chance that the bull may be gored, so they try to protect them. The men themselves are wearing armor on their legs to ward off the bull’s horns."

"Why do they get to wear protective coverings and the other men who are on foot don’t?" It didn’t quite make sense to Honey. "You’d think that the men on horses would be safe enough and that the men on foot would need the armor."

"Good question, Honey," Hans acknowledged, "I’m not really sure why it is that way, but I do know that horses wearing "mattresses" didn’t begin until the late 1920’s, so they weren’t always armored. And it’s just always been that the matadors wore only their trajes de luces, and that’s it. It’s part of the challenge and thrill."

"They just stab at the bull?" This definitely wasn’t like the rodeos that they’d seen in Arizona several years before.

"Actually, what they’re doing is for two reasons. First, they want to weaken his neck muscles so that in the end he is easier to kill. Second, they also want him to become enraged from the pain so that he puts on a better show."

Honey knew that she should be enraged herself about this whole spectacle – and she knew that since blood made her squeamish this should be making her pass out – but she was enthralled by the whole process. It was like art. Hans had explained to them earlier that every pass that the matador makes with the cape had a name and a proper way to execute it. Some were easier than others were, some were quite daring – especially the ones that were made with the matador’s back to the bull. She’d been quite surprised to learn that matadors attended special schools to become matadors. These men, especially those like Jesulín, were revered like movie stars and royalty.

The picadores finished their tercio, or third, of the fight, and it was time for the banderilleros to do their part. Dressed very similar to the matadors, three men carrying what appeared to be two foot long daggers entered the chalk-drawn ring in the sand. The handles of the daggers were covered in multi-colored streamers that mirrored the colors that the men were wearing in their costumes. From what she had learned earlier, Honey knew that the ends were barbed so that they would stick in the bull’s flesh. Once again, she watched as if she were at a play or ballet. The men were quite graceful in the ways that they approached the bulls. At first it looked like they were just running around and then jabbing the banderillas into the shoulder of the bull, but after a moment one realized that each step was part of a certain sequence that was planned out like any choreographed dance. The banderilleros plunged the banderillas into the flesh of the bull with such flourish, that Honey forgot to be squeamish.

"Ugh!"

Hearing a groan at her side, she turned to Dan and saw that he was growing pale.

"What’s wrong, Dan?" she asked in concern.

"This is gross!" He looked at Honey in amazement, "You’re not even flinching! What’s up with that?"

"I don’t know…the only thing that I find unpleasant is how they’re twisting the knife things into the bull’s back…that seems cruel."

Rolling his eyes, Dan retorted, "That seems cruel – none of the rest does?"

Not sure how to explain her thoughts, Honey just nodded, "I can’t quite explain, so don’t ask me to. But if this ever comes up in a conversation with my mother, don’t tell her I enjoyed it – if she doesn’t freak out when we mention the whole stabbing part, that would definitely get her."

Shaking his head, Dan just patted her on the arm and turned back to watch this side of Spanish culture unfold.

*     *     *

High up on the sombra side of the ring, a young Spanish man sat and watched. If anyone had looked closely, they would’ve seen that the binoculars that he was using were not pointed to the arena below like those around him, but were directed at a group of seats across the ring in the sol section. They would have also noticed that he appeared to have not slept for days and his eyes had a strange glint to them. The seats near him were empty. A few people had sat near him, but had moved for a reason that they wouldn’t have been able to explain if they had been asked.

Pedro didn’t care. He was concentrating on just one thing, the large group of people sitting directly across from him. He saw that they were all there – all seven. One girl, the blonde, looked a little strained. She had a hard time staying focused on what was going on in the arena, every few minutes her eyes scanned the crowd as if she were on the lookout for someone. Well, she wouldn’t see him all the way over here.

Contreras wasn’t with them, but that wasn’t a surprise. He most likely was still in the hospital after what Arabe had done to him yesterday. There were a couple men that looked like agents with the Americans and their hosts. They were being protected now. Pedro swore softly. That made it little more difficult. He’d have to be on his toes, ready for any opportunity to get what he was after. It was pretty much up to him to complete this assignment. Sergio was dead now, as was Pablo. Pedro felt the anger begin to boil once again as he thought of his younger brother. Shaking his head, he thought of Arabe. After yesterday’s disaster, he was hidden so well that he wouldn’t be surfacing until the end.

Jesulín was re-entering the ring for the last tercio of the fight. He was good, so it shouldn’t last more than ten minutes. He played to the crowd and he worked the bulls beautifully. After he was awarded ears and tail, if the crowd so deemed fitting, and he had collected the flowers, bras, shirts, panties and whatever else the crowd threw him, it would be chaos. If he, Pedro, wanted to be near his quarry, he’d need to make his move now and position himself close to the stairwell exit that they would be using.

Plaza de Toros
Valencia
18 marzo
2030 horas

"Wow! That was something else!" Brian exclaimed as the Bob-Whites and their group exited the stands to reassemble in the outer passageway that circled each level of the ring.

"You were right, Hans, Jesulín was excellent," Jim added, "The way he would be as still as a statue up on his toes, and then in one swift movement plunge the sword into exactly the right place...he made it appear almost effortless. And he got the ears and a tail!"

"Not to mention enough lingerie to open a boutique," Di remarked with a giggle.

As the light-hearted laughter died down, Juliana spoke up, "Unless you want to go see what happens to the bulls afterwards," she paused, there’s nothing else to see." Shifting a sleepy Betje from her right hip to her left, she continued, "We need to get this tired out kid home, but you can stay with the agents."

Mart and Dan both expressed an interest in seeing what befell the heroic animals after being dragged out of the ring. Quickly it was decided that Hans would return home with his family, Agent Caldéron would take whichever Bob-Whites wanted to go over to the slaughter area, and the other two men would stay with the rest of the group. When Agent Yepes was asked if he wanted to go or stay, he immediately declined with a shudder, "They are literally wading in blood, it is not a pleasant sight at all."

 

In the commotion of all the departures, Honey became separated from the body of the group. There were so many people hurrying to exit the plaza, that she lost sight of her friends before she realized what was happening.

"Great," she said to no one in particular, "Trixie will think that I’ve gone with Dan and Mart and vice versa." She continued in the direction that the group had gone in and looked for the stairwell that had brought them to their seats a few hours earlier. Unfortunately, every portal looked the same in the old stone walls.

So focused had she been on looking for the way down, that she neglected to pay attention to her surroundings. Suddenly she realized that the crowd had thinned considerably. Trying not to panic she plunged down the closest staircase. "Eventually they all lead down and outside somewhere," she rationalized.

As she crossed the corridor to the next stairwell, Honey saw a vaguely familiar face peering out of the shadows. She hesitated for an instant and it was long enough for Pedro to grab her wrist.

Before she could scream or even whistle, his other arm snaked around her throat and his hand pressed against her mouth so harshly that her teeth began to cut into her lips. Pinning her to the stone wall, Pedro asked, "Where is it? I know you have it!"

The accent sounded similar to Tony’s but the face was that of the man who had taken the backpack from her two days earlier. ‘Okay, Madeleine, deep breath. Jim and Trixie will notice that you’re not there soon. They’ll know that you didn’t go see what happens to the remains of the bulls. Someone will be here any minutes.’

Pedro tightened grasp on her wrists. "Where is it?" he repeated slowly.

Shaking her head to indicate that she didn’t have it, Honey strained against his hands. How could she tell him where anything was if she couldn’t open her mouth?

Growing exasperated with the whole situation, Pedro growled, "I need U2 – where is it?"

 

‘You too?’ Honey was really confused now. Once again, she shook her head. This time Pedro’s hand slipped and she quickly whistled, "Bob, bob-white!"

The note echoed off the ancient stones and Pedro slapped his hand back over her mouth. Honey tasted blood as her tongue was sandwiched between her teeth.

Pedro could hear voices and footsteps float up the stairs and knew he had to leave. Hurriedly he whispered, "Tomorrow, a las once, bring it to the Santo Brazo. Only you."

Just as Jim’s redhead came around the corner, Pedro pushed Honey to the floor and ran through the nearest portal. A faint scrambling sound came back as he leapt over benches in the stands.

With a weak sigh, Honey leaned back against the wall and waited for her friends to join her.

Trixie and Diana sank down next to her and hugged her tightly.

"What happened?" Agent Francis asked with an angry glare at Honey, "Why did you go off alone?"

Ignoring his questions, Honey gestured toward the portal, "He went there. Pedro."

Francis wasted no time with more questions. He motioned to Yepes to follow and the two ran swiftly in the direction that Pedro had gone.

"Thank you señor, muchas gracias," Brian said, shaking the hand of the plaza official that had accompanied them on their search for Honey.

"Are you alright, Sis?" Jim asked as he knelt down by the three girls.

"I’m fine. I just bit my tongue." Accepting his proffered hand, Honey rose carefully to her feet. "Let’s just get out of here."

The official led them down a few sets of worn stone stairs until they exited on the street. Mart and Dan were waiting anxiously with Agent Caldéron.

Quickly Brian recounted what had occurred and then turned to Honey, "Did Pedro say anything to you?

Honey nodded, "Yeah, it didn’t make much sense, but this is what he said." Slowly she repeated his questions and request. Upon ending she added, "I couldn’t figure out what he meant by ‘you too’ – he already had me."

Mart slapped his hand against the outer wall of the bullring in frustration. He couldn’t believe that they had been so dense. Listening to Honey right then explain how Pedro had questioned her had made everything fall into place in his mind.

"What’s wrong, Mart," Trixie queried, eyeing her almost twin carefully.

"We’re all a bunch of idiots! That’s what’s wrong." Looking closely at his best friends and siblings he continued, "These crazies haven’t been after a floppy disc – they’re after a compact disc – namely…"
Di broke in, "U2 – the band U2! Oh my gosh, we are idiots!"

As Mart and Diana’s explanation began to sink in, the same question formed in every one’s mind, "Why would terrorists want a U2 album?"

*     *     *

The piso
18 marzo
2200 horas

"What an evening!" Trixie sighed as she flopped down carefully on the couch. She still hurt from her own experiences of the day before, but she didn’t want anyone to remember that and make her go to bed. They were finally getting somewhere with this whole mess and whether she liked it or not she was in it for the finish.

"You can say that again," Honey replied as she joined Trixie on the couch. Due to Pedro’s appearance at the bullring an hour earlier, the Bob-Whites had been forced to abandon the rest of their plans for the evening and return back to the piso. They had caught a brief glimpse of the festivities in the streets near the bullring and train station, but had been unable to participate. Honey had wanted to check out the bands from Peru and other South American countries that were playing pan pipes and other such instruments. It seemed strange to find them at a festival in Spain – she associated the groups with Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. But instead of experiencing more of fallas, they were once again "safe" in the confines of the piso.

"Has Mart found the CD yet?" Honey asked casually. Once they realized that the disc Sergio had been pursuing them for since their arrival in Spain was a CD not a floppy, they’d been trying to find it. The only U2 album they remembered was the one that Jim had and Mart had borrowed on the train from Barcelona. Mart couldn’t recall if he had returned the disc to Jim or not - and Jim’s CDs had all been stolen along with his backpack by Sergio from the train in Sagunto. If he hadn’t returned it, it should be in his Discman…which he could not find. If the CD had been in the backpack, the men should be leaving them alone instead of continuing to trail them.

"No, he hasn’t," Trixie answered, unconsciously rubbing the bruises on her jaw lightly.

"This trip hasn’t been quite what we expected, has it," Honey said softly. "Didn’t we just want to come and bask in the Mediterranean sun and check out Spanish guys?"

Trixie laughed shortly. "I seem to recall a conversation we had about that a few weeks ago. We were hoping to run into an Enrique Iglesias or Antonio Banderas look-alike…"

"Tony isn’t bad," Honey said nonchalantly, watching Trixie from the corner of her eye. As she had expected, Trixie blushed slightly. "Added to his looks he’s got the mystique of being a foreign agent…that surpasses even Mulder."

Trixie sat silently. She wasn’t sure how to respond to Honey’s comment. True, Tony was incredibly good-looking and exciting. He seemed to understand her. But she loved Jim, right. She’d just received her first kiss from the man she’d loved since she set eyes on him almost four years earlier. He was her boyfriend for goodness sakes, what she’d dreamed of for years. Then why did Tony affect her the way he did?

Realizing that she had pushed a little too far with her joke, Honey went back to safer ground. "Do you thing Pedro meant 11 a.m. or 11 p.m. tomorrow?" That was the other problem they were trying to figure out – when exactly they were supposed to hand off this disc.

Silently thanking Honey for changing the subject, Trixie replied, "Well, since we are in Spain and they usually use military time, I’d guess that it was morning."

"True," Honey mused, "but if you were to ask someone what time it is at eleven o’clock at night, they’d say ‘son las once’ not ‘son las veintitrés.’ Right, Juliana?" Honey added as the older woman entered the room.

"Correct. What did Agent Caldéron decide?"

Honey snorted indelicately, "Nothing. He says he can’t decide anything until he’s talked with Francis – who is still out chasing Pedro, I guess. I think I should go there in the morning and if Pedro’s a no-show, go back at night."

"Tomorrow night is going to be beyond insane, Honey, with the crema. You can’t seriously be thinking of going there alone." Juliana had seen the girls in action three years earlier, but she didn’t want to have to witness it again. Oh how she hoped, Betje would grow up to be a quiet non-adventurous girl.

"We’ll all be there – how could we miss the crema, that’s one of the reasons we came to Valencia. There’s tons of tourists around right now, everyone else will be nearby and just blend in."
Juliana laughed, "You’re right about there being a lot of tourists, but Americans are the hardest to "blend in." You Americans stand out, your clothes are different; your whole appearance is different than that of a European. Even how you carry yourselves is different, not to mention that none of you speak the language." Watching Honey closely, she continued, "And the Santo Brazo isn’t out in the open, it’s in the cathedral. At eleven o’clock tonight there won’t be very many people – tourists or otherwise – in there. That’s when it would be dangerous."

Subdued, Honey thought for a few minutes. Then she said, "Did the agents ever get any information from Señor Contreras’s informant in London. Were they able to find out if he was involved in this in any way?"

When the answer was negative, Honey reached for the phone and then paused in mid-action. "Um, Juliana, could you make the call for me, I don’t know if Tony’s mom speaks English."

A short time later, Juliana hung up the phone. The expression on her face was grim. "Señor Contreras was at the hospital with Tony," seeing the question in Trixie’s face she added, "Tony is doing well and will be released in a couple of days." Continuing she said, "But Señora Contreras knew the answer to your question. Bernard, the informant in London, finally spilled some more information. The list that he had earlier confessed to compiling had been planted on the Bob-Whites in the form of a compact disc. The list had been encoded on a U2 album. Honey guessed it was like the "Backstreet Boys" album Diana had that you could load into your computer and read information about the different band members and also play on your stereo and listen to the music.

"That would be why Jim was surprised to find the U2 album and didn’t remember packing it. It was planted on him, it wasn’t one that he brought from home," Trixie interjected, "If he’d looked closely at the case, he’d have seen that his initials weren’t on it, like they were on his other cases."

"Where is that CD?" Honey moaned and shook her head, "They can’t have it or they wouldn’t be bothering us."

"Where is it indeed," Mart said as he entered the room, followed by the other boys and Diana, "We’ve searched all of our luggage, and just about everything else in this entire house. I found my Discman and it isn’t there and that’s where I last remember having it. Jim doesn’t have it…"he shook his head, "This isn’t looking good."

The Bob-Whites and Juliana sat quietly, staring at one another, hoping for the disc to magically appear in front of them. They could hear Agent Caldéron speaking on the phone in Hans’ office. Hans’ voice drifted in from the bedroom where he was singing a Dutch lullaby to Betje, trying to get her back to sleep.

Slowly Dan yawned, then Brian. Next was Diana, followed by Jim. Soon everyone was yawing or trying to contain a yawn. Looking sheepishly at one another, they all began to laugh. "I guess we should get some sleep," Jim said, "I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be one heck of a day."

No one had noticed Caldéron join them from the hallway, and all jumped as he spoke, "That’s a good idea. Agent Francis just called. He and Yepes lost Pedro shortly after he left the plaza de toros, but they continued to search the area. They will be returning soon and we will make some plans for tomorrow. We will need your cooperation of course," he smiled a little, "so it would be best to be rested. Bona nit." Leaving as quietly as he had entered, the Interpol agent returned to the office. Wordlessly the Bob-Whites stood and went to their respective sleeping areas. They had no idea what they would be facing the next day, but sleep would definitely help them to be prepared.

P.S. Having Trixie and Tony get off at the wrong station is based on another experience of my own…though nothing quite as dramatic as theirs J