near his heart throbbing so badly, he feared it might have reopened. Exiting the pen, he headed for the toilets where he could at least get the remainder of the blood off his clothes, but halfway there he saw two police rounding the corridor, heading toward the pens. Had someone in the corrida seen something and raised the alarm? Or perhaps the guard had regained consciousness. There was no time for speculation as he reversed course and headed, somewhat unsteadily, up the ramp into the spangled Seville twilight. Behind him, he heard someone calling. Was it to him? Without a backward glance, he turned to look for Tracy, but as if intuiting the increasing danger of the situation, she was already out of her seat, searching for him. The moment they saw each other, she headed not toward him but toward the nearest exit, leading him there by example.
The clamor around the corrida was of a more general nature as the crowd stood, stretched, milled, and talked among themselves or headed for the refreshment stands and the toilets. In the ring men dragged the fallen bull?s carcass away, raked over the dirt to cover the fresh blood, and generally prepared for the next bull.
Bourne felt the pain in his chest detonate like a bomb. He staggered and fell against two women, who turned back to glare at him as he righted himself. But even in his debilitated state he was conscious of a proliferation of police entering the stadium. There was no doubt now that the alarm had been sounded.
One of the police officers he?d seen coming toward him in the bowels of the corrida had emerged, looking around for him. He eeled his way through the crowd, thankful that virtually everyone was on the move, making it easier for him to lose himself as he made his way toward the exit where Tracy was waiting for him.
But the police officer must have caught a glimpse of him, because he was hurrying after Bourne, expertly threading his way through the people. Bourne tried to judge the distance to the exit and wondered whether he was going to make it, because the officer was closing fast. A moment later he saw Tracy appear out of the throng. Without a glance at him, she rushed past him, heading in the opposite direction. What was she doing?
Still picking his way forward, he risked a glance over his shoulder and saw her confront the police officer. In snatches he heard her voice, raised and plaintive, complaining of having her cell phone snatched from her handbag. The officer was understandably impatient with her, but when he tried to brush her off Tracy?s voice rose to such a pitch that everyone around her turned to stare and the officer was forced to deal with her.
Through his growing pain Bourne managed a small smile. Three strides later he came to the exit, but as soon as he turned into it, he felt a deeper stab of pain in his chest and fell against the rough concrete wall, gasping for breath as people pushed past him, coming and going.
?Come on,? Tracy urged in his ear as she slid her arm through his and drew him into the flow of the crowd, down the ramp, and into the enormous vestibule, where a mass of people were smoking and chattering away about the merits of the matador. Beyond the crowd, the glass doors to the street were directly ahead.
Somehow she?d disentangled herself from the officer to find him. It took all his concentration to breathe deeply, to breathe through the pain.
?Christ, what happened to you in there?? she said. ?How badly are you hurt??
?Not badly.?
?Really? You look like you?re already dead.?
At that moment, three police came crashing through the corrida?s front doors.
Moira and Veronica Hart decided to take the sedan Moira had rented, since the white Buick was as anonymous a car as possible. They found Humphry Bamber, the late Undersecretary Stevenson?s closest friend, at his health club. He had just finished his workout, and one of the attendants had fetched him from the sauna. He padded out in sky-blue flip-flops, a towel wrapped around his waist and another, smaller one around his neck, which he used to wipe sweat off his face.
Really, Moira thought, he had no reason to wear anything more. His body was rock-hard, as well formed as a professional athlete?s. In fact, he looked as if he spent the majority of his time in the gym