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officer finally landed on a grin. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Tom Rennsol. We don’t get many feds this way. You think someone’s trying to kill this Dr. Mollur?”
    “It’s a distinct probability,” Tolen responded. “Did Dr. Mollur arrive with any personal effects we need to collect?”
    Rennsol nodded. “Yeah, a laptop, clothes, and some manila folders with papers in a PC case. They’ll be waiting for you at Sarge’s desk as you leave.” Rennsol stood in place as if expecting to field another question.
    Tolen was anxious to secure Dr. Mollur and be on their way. They had a long flight ahead of them to Costa Rica. “May we see the prisoner?” he prodded, his tone firm yet personable.
    “Certainly, certainly,” Rennsol said stirring. He turned and waved them through another secured door with a porthole window to a series of holding cells and then followed behind. Once inside the corridor, they heard a succession of faint clicks. An unexpected fragrance filled the air.
    “This smells much better than our Spanish jails,” Diaz said to Tolen.
    “And most of ours,” Tolen added.
    The first cell on the left held a shoddily dressed man asleep on the low rack. The next cell was empty. They approached the third, and last, cell.
    Tolen had conjured up an image of Dr. Jade Mollur as a frumpy, scholarly woman in her fifties. Instead, an attractive woman with short black hair stood behind the bars glaring at them with hazel eyes. Her left hand was cocked on her hip; her right hand turned sideways drumming her fingernails incessantly on one of the iron bars: the source of the clicks. She looked no more than thirty-five years old, medium height, with a smart figure, wearing black dress pants and a black, long–sleeved blouse. She had obviously not changed clothes since Dr. Phillip Cherrigan’s funeral. The woman eyed Tolen and Diaz with an uncompromising glare. She spoke with an edge to her decidedly British accent. “Are you with the British consulate?” The finger drumming stopped as she waited on their response with steely eyes.
    Rennsol had halted at the door, watching the interaction. Tolen ignored the question, instead speaking to Rennsol in an easy voice. “We have transportation waiting.”
    “Right, one second,” Rennsol said, roused back to action. He momentarily fumbled with the keys, found the right one, sprung the lock and pulled the cell door open. Dr. Jade Mollur remained in the cell, eyeing the two men. She reiterated her question in a callous tone; each word enunciated slowly. “Are…you with…the British…consulate?”
    Diaz stepped forward, extending his hand. “Madam, would you please come with us? We’re in a rush,” he said curtly.
    She arched her eyebrows and looked at him incredulously. “You’re in a rush? You’re in a rush?!” she fumed. “I’ve been in this cell for two days, detained without cause, after someone ran me off the road! For TWO DAYS! And now you’re in a rush! Excuse the bloody hell out of me if I don’t take your hand and dance away with you!”
    Diaz dropped his hand with a disgruntled exhale and turned away. “English women,” he jeered under his breath.
    Dr. Mollur looked to Tolen. She stepped out of the cell to within inches from his face. Tolen did not budge.
    “Who are you?” she asked.
    Tolen spoke casually as he looked her straight in the eyes, unblinking. “I’m Agent Samuel Tolen with the CIA. The man you just annoyed is Spanish Inspector Pascal Diaz,” he said, pointing to Diaz. Diaz acknowledged her with a dismissive wave and turned away.
    Tolen had expected her frustration. She had, in fact, been detained at the jail without so much as an explanation after the attempt on her life. It would not be easy dealing with her, since they were under strict orders not to divulge the murder of Pascal’s brother, Javier, or the theft of the Sudarium. At best, they would share partial truths, focusing on the threat to her