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datatime: 2022-09-25 15:40:15 Author:BZjkhHTi

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

The assistant 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."

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

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

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

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

"Buenos dias, se?orita." 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."

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

He hated Daniel Cooper on sight.

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.

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

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."

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

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

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

"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."

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.

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

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

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

In Madrid, Direcci¨®n 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.

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.

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

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.

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