Flight of the Raven Read Online Free PDF Page A

car, Julie reflected, the accident wasn’t all that rare. Supervision of public construction under the previous regime had been all too lax, and almost every other month a part of a building came crashing to the pavement.
    After thanking Paula for the hot sandwich and Coke, Julie turned quickly back to her newspaper. She didn’t really want to encourage any more sympathetic conversation about Dan, no matter how well-meaning. The subject was still too painful.
    Later in the afternoon she canvased her contacts again and wasn’t surprised to find that there were details the newspapers didn’t yet have. The type of bomb had been determined. It had been a plastic explosive detonated by a clockwork egg timer. Tentative identifications had also been made on the other four victims. If the authorities had discovered a KGB link to one of them, they were still treating the intelligence as confidential. Because Julie had no official reason to know either, she couldn’t ask.
    Hour by hour, she added bits and pieces of information to the file she was compiling, all the time trying to put the puzzle together.
    Fitz came in at five-thirty and found her staring vacantly at the folder. Giving her an understanding look, he closed the file and locked it back in the safe.
    “Enough for today,” he proclaimed.
    Julie scanned the new lines etched into his freckled brow. “You look about as wrung out as I feel. I’ll quit for the day if you will.”
    “Deal. I’ll even drive you home.”
    It was an offer she couldn’t refuse.
    As Fitz pulled his blue compact car up in front of her apartment, he put a hand on her arm. “I know this has really been an ordeal for you.”
    She nodded.
    “I wish I could say it was over, but I’m still getting pressure from Washington. There’s some extra research we’re going to have to do.”
    “What?”
    “We’ll talk about it in the morning—in the office. You just get some rest tonight.”
    She sighed. Fitz was the kind of guy who leveled with you, even if it kept you on pins and needles all night wondering what he was going to drop on you tomorrow.
    Julie was glad she’d opted for a building with an elevator as she leaned her head wearily against the brown-painted metal walls. Her eyes ached from perusing columns of tiny black type, her back ached from sitting in one position for too long, and her heart ached whenever she thought about Dan’s untimely death. After opening the front door to her apartment, she set her purse down on the carved-oak sideboard that she’d picked up at El Rastro, Madrid’s famous flea market.
    A very private person, Julie had taken special joy in making her apartment into a haven where she could reenergize her spirit after a hectic day at the embassy. Every piece of furniture and accessory, from the Icelandic fur throw rug to the embroidered pillows on her Shepherd’s bench sofa, was there because it brought her pleasure. She stopped for a moment in front of the shelves that held her porcelain menagerie. She’d collected the delicate little animals from around the world. Often their appealing expressions amused her. Tonight there was nothing that could make her smile.
    Sinking into a leather easy chair, she rubbed the throbbing tension spot between her brows. She’d been too busy to think about her surprise morning interview with Cal Dixon. Now the reaction was setting in.
    After almost three hours with Cal’s rogues’ gallery, she’d been relieved to tell him that she hadn’t seen any of the men and women. Many of the candid shots depicted Soviet chauffeurs and clerical staffers. Others could have been vacation photos snapped at nearby castles and cathedrals—except that the multilingual tour guides, not the tourists, were the focus of the camera’s lens. She hadn’t thought about it before, but of course it would be easy for congenial “guides” to pick up tidbits from businessmen and military personnel enjoying the local sights.
    The confirmation that