"No. I--- I don't wish to press charges." There was panic in his voice.

Africa, Armand Grangier thought. They'll never find me in Africa.

Daniel Cooper was thinking, Next time. I'll get her next time.

Chapter 27.

It was Tracy who suggested to Gunther Hartog that they meet in Majorca. Tracy loved the island. It was one of the truly picturesque places in the world. "Besides," she told Gunther, "it was once the refuge of pirates. We'll feel right at home there."

"It might be best if we are not seen together," he suggested.

"I'll arrange it."

It had started with Gunther's phone call from London. "I have something for you that is quite out of the ordinary, Tracy. I think you'll find it a real challenge."

The following morning Tracy flew to Palma, Majorca's capital. Because of Interpol's red circulation on Tracy, her departure from Biarritz and her arrival in Majorca were reported to the local authorities. When Tracy checked into the Royal Suite at the Son Vida Hotel, a surveillance team was set up on a twenty-four-hour basis.

Police Commandant Ernesto Marze at Palma had spoken with Inspector Trignant at Interpol.

"I am convinced," Trignant said, "that Tracy Whitney is a one-woman crime wave."

"All the worse for her. If she commits a crime in Majorca, she will find that our justice is swift."

Inspector Trignant said, "Monsieur, there is one other thing I should mention."

"Si?".

"You will be having an American visitor. His name is Daniel Cooper."

It seemed to the detectives trailing Tracy that she was interested only in sightseeing. They followed her as she toured the island, visiting the cloister of San Francisco and the colorful Bellver Castle and the beach at Illetas. She attended a bullfight in Palma and dined on sobrasadas and camaiot in the Plaza de la Reine; and she was always alone.

She took trips to Formentor and Valldemosa and La Granja, and visited the pearl factories at Manacor.

"Nada," the detectives reported to Ernesto Marze. "She is here as a tourist, Commandant."

The commandant's secretary came into the office. "There is an American here to see you. Senor Daniel Cooper."

Commandant Marze had many American friends. He liked Americans, and he had the feeling that despite what Inspector Trignant had said, he was going to like this Daniel Cooper.

He was wrong.

"You're idiots. All of you," Daniel Cooper snapped. "Of course she's not here as a tourist. She's after something."

Commandant Marze barely managed to hold his temper in check. "Senor, you yourself have said that Miss Whitney's targets are always something spectacular, that she enjoys doing the impossible. I have checked carefully, Senor Cooper. There is nothing in Majorca that is worthy of attracting Senorita Whitney's talents."

"Has she met anyone here... talked to anyone?"

The insolent tone of the ojete! "No. No one."

"Then she will," Daniel Cooper said flatly.

I finally know, Commandant Marze told himself, what they mean by the Ugly American.

There are two hundred known caves in Majorca, but the most exciting is the Cuevas del Drach, the "Caves of the Dragon," near Porto Cristo, an hour's journey from Palma. The ancient caves go deep into the ground, enormous vaulted caverns carved with stalagmites and stalact.i.tes, tomb-silent except for the occasional rush of meandering, underground streams, with the water turning green or blue or white, each color denoting the extent of the tremendous depths.

The caves are a fairyland of pale-ivory architecture, a seemingly endless series of labyrinths, dimly lit by strategically placed torches.

No one is permitted inside the caves without a guide, but from the moment the caves are opened to the public in the morning, they are filled with tourists.

Tracy chose Sat.u.r.day to visit the caves, when they were most crowded, packed with hundreds of tourists from countries all over the world. She bought her ticket at the small counter and disappeared into the crowd. Daniel Cooper and two of Commandant Marze's men were close behind her. A guide led the excursionists along narrow stone paths, made slippery by the dripping water from the stalact.i.tes above, pointing downward like accusing skeletal fingers.

There were alcoves where the visitors could step off the paths to stop and admire the calcium formations that looked like huge birds and strange animals and trees. There were pools of darkness along the dimly lit paths, and it was into one of these that Tracy disappeared.

Daniel Cooper hurried forward, but she was nowhere in sight. The press of the crowd moving down the steps made it impossible to locate her. He had no way of knowing whether she was ahead of him or behind him. She is planning something here, Cooper told himself. But how? Where? What?

In an arena-sized grotto at the lowest point in the caves, facing the Great Lake, is a Roman theater. Tiers of stone benches have been built to accommodate the audiences that come to watch the spectacle staged every hour, and the sightseers take their seats in darkness, waiting for the show to begin.

Tracy counted her way up to the tenth tier and moved in twenty seats. The man in the twenty-first seat turned to her. "Any problem?"

"None, Gunther." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

He said something, and she had to lean closer to hear him above the babel of voices surrounding them.

"I thought it best that we not be seen together, in case you're being followed."

Tracy glanced around at the huge, packed black cavern. "We're safe here." She looked at him, curious. "It must be important."

"It is." He leaned closer to her. "A wealthy client is eager to acquire a certain painting. It's a Goya, called Puerto. He'll pay whoever can obtain it for him half a million dollars in cash. That's above my commission."

Tracy was thoughtful. "Are there others trying?"

"Frankly, yes. In my opinion, the chances of success are limited."

"Where is the painting?"

"In the Prado Museum in Madrid."

"The Prado!" The word that flashed through Tracy's mind was impossible.

He was leaning very close, speaking into her ear, ignoring the chattering going on around them as the arena filled up. "This will take a great deal of ingenuity. That is why I thought of you, my dear Tracy."

"I'm flattered," Tracy said. "Half a million dollars?"

"Free and clear."

The show began, and there was a sudden hush. Slowly, invisible bulbs began to glow and music filled the enormous cavern. The center of the stage was a large lake in front of the seated audience, and on it, from behind a stalagmite, a gondola appeared, lighted by hidden spotlights. An organist was in the boat, filling the air with a melodic serenade that echoed across the water. The spectators watched, rapt, as the colored lights rainbowed the darkness, and the boat slowly crossed the lake and finally disappeared, as the music faded.

"Fantastic," Gunther said. "It was worth traveling here j to see this."

"I love traveling," Tracy said. "And do you know what i I've always wanted to see, Gunther? Madrid."

Standing at the exit to the caves, Daniel Cooper watt Tracy Whitney come out.

She was alone.

Chapter 28.

The Ritz Hotel, on the Plaza de la Lealtad in Madrid, is considered the best hotel in Spain, and for more than a century it has housed and fed monarchs from a dozen European countries. Presidents, dictators, and billionaires have slept there. Tracy had heard so much about the Ritz that the reality was a disappointment. The lobby was faded and seedy-looking.

The a.s.sistant manager escorted her to the suite she had requested, 411-412, in the south wing of the hotel on Calle Felipe V.

"I trust this will be satisfactory, Miss Whitney."

Tracy walked over to the window and looked out. Directly below, across the street, was the Prado Museum. "This will do nicely, thank you."

The suite was filled with the blaring sounds of the heavy traffic from the streets below, but it had what she wanted: a bird's-eye view of the Prado.

Tracy ordered a light dinner in her room and retired early. When she got into the bed, she decided that trying to sleep in it had to be a modern form of medieval torture.

At midnight a detective stationed in the lobby was relieved by a colleague. "She hasn't left her room. I think she's settled in for the night."

In Madrid, Direccion General de Seguridad, police headquarters, is located in the Puerto del Sol and takes up an entire city block. It is a gray building with red brick, boasting a large clock tower at the top. Over the main entrance the red-and-yellow Spanish flag flies, and there is always a policeman at the door, wearing a beige uniform and a dark-brown beret, and equipped with a machine gun, a billy club, a small gun, and handcuffs. It is at this headquarters that liaison with Interpol is maintained.

On the previous day an X-D Urgent cable had come in for Santiago Ramiro, the police commandant in Madrid, informing him of Tracy Whitney's impending arrival. The commandant had read the final sentence of the cable twice and then telephoned Inspector Andre Trignant at Interpol headquarters in Paris.

"I do not comprehend your message," Ramiro had said. "You ask me to extend my department's full cooperation to an American who is not even a policeman? For what reason?"

"Commandant, I think you will find Mr. Cooper most useful. He understands Miss Whitney."

"What is there to understand?" the commandant retorted. "She is a criminal. Ingenious, perhaps, but Spanish prisons are full of ingenious criminals. This one will not slip through our net."

"Bon. And you will consult with Mr. Cooper?"

The commandant said grudgingly, "If you say he can be useful, I have no objection."

"Merci, monsieur."

"De nada, senor."

Commandant Ramiro, like his counterpart in Paris, was not fond of Americans. He found them rude, materialistic, and naive. This one, he thought, may be different. I will probably like him.

He hated Daniel Cooper on sight.

"She's outsmarted half the police forces in Europe," Daniel Cooper a.s.serted, as he entered the commandant's office. "And she'll probably do the same to you."

It was all the commandant could do to control himself. "Senor, we do not need anyone to tell us our business. Senorita Whitney has been under surveillance from the moment she arrived at Barajas Airport this morning. I a.s.sure you that if someone drops even a pin on the street and your Miss Whitney picks it up, she will be whisked to jail. She has not dealt with the Spanish police before."

"She's not here to pick up a pin on the street."

"Why do you think she is here?"

"I'm not sure. I can only tell you that it will be something big."

Commandant Ramiro said smugly, "The bigger the better. We will watch her every move."

When Tracy awakened in the morning, groggy from a torturous night's sleep in the bed designed by Tomas de Torquemada, she ordered a light breakfast and hot, black coffee, and walked over to the window overlooking the Prado. It was an imposing fortress, built of stone and red bricks from the native soil, and was surrounded by gra.s.s and trees. Two Doric columns stood in front, and, on either side, twin staircases led up to the front entrance. At the street level were two side entrances. Schoolchildren and tourists from a dozen countries were lined up in front of the museum, and at exactly 10:00 A.M., the two large front doors were opened by guards, and the visitors began to move through the revolving door in the center and through the two side pa.s.sages at ground level.

The telephone rang, startling Tracy. No one except Gunther Hartog knew she was in Madrid. She picked up the telephone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Buenos dias, senorita." It was a familiar voice. "I'm calling for the Madrid Chamber of Commerce, and they have instructed me to do everything I can to make sure you have an exciting time in our city."

"How did you know I was in Madrid, Jeff?"

"Senorita, the Chamber of Commerce knows everything. Is this your first time here?"

"Yes."

"Bueno! Then I can show you a few places. How long do you plan to be here, Tracy?"

It was a leading question. "I'm not sure," she said lightly "Just long enough to do a little shopping and sightseeing. What are you doing in Madrid?"