She and Craig had received fresh clothes as well, a servant having arrived ten minutes before they were expected to leave their room. Craig's outfit was similar to Fulano's.
Her own, however, had not been to her liking. Granted, the garments were attractive: a blue scarf, a matching silk blouse, a red cotton skirt, and soft leather sandals that fit as comfortably as slippers.
But Tess had never liked wearing skirts, especially this one which came down to her ankles, interfering with her stride, and the sandals meant that she'd been forced to take off her sneakers and more important the homing device in one of the heels. She'd put the sneakers into her ample burlap purse, but she couldn't help suspecting that the outfit Fulano had chosen for her was intended to make it difficult for her to take the opportunity, when night came, of running with Craig toward the forest and attempting to escape across the mountains. Again she felt vulnerable, helpless.
'You look lovely, Tess,' Fulano said.
'Gracias, 'she told him, trying to look modest.
Fulano laughed. 'You're learning Spanish.'
'I'm afraid it's the only word I know. But really, thank you. These clothes fit me perfectly. They're gorgeous.'
'My pleasure.'
The doors to the windows of the dining room had been opened. The lowering sun tinted the room with crimson.
'I'm sure you're curious about the surprise I mentioned,' Fulano said.
'It sounds like a birthday party. I've always been fond of surprises.' As she smoothed her skirt and sat at the table, controlling her fear, Tess noticed that the two Secret Service agents positioned themselves near the door through which she and Craig had entered. She also noticed that outside the windows, armed guards patrolled a stone patio.
Gerrard and Fulano sat when Craig did.
A brief explanation,' Gerrard said. 'I get the impression that neither of you has been to Spain before.'
'Regrettably, now that I've seen it,' Craig said.
'One of the first things you have to understand,' Gerrard said, 'is that the Spanish have a daily schedule that's pleasantly different from what we're used to in America. They work from nine till one. Then they take a long break for lunch and what I'm sure you know is called a siesta.' He shrugged. They relax. 'Nap. Make love. Whatever. Then they come back to work at four and stop around seven, after which they greet their neighbors, eat, drink, and discuss the day's activities. What they eat is really a snack, because their main meal occurs very late compared to American customs. Around ten. The snacks they eat earlier are called tapas, and those snacks are one of the many glories of Spanish culture. The surprise we referred to is that you're about to experience tapas.'
Confused because she expected a confrontation, Tess watched Fulano tap his knuckles on the table. At once, three servants appeared, carrying trays from which they set down numerous dishes.
Not having eaten in a while, Tess couldn't help salivating from the aroma of the food on the ornate plates. It wasn't just that she was hungry. She knew she had to eat as much as she could in order to muster her strength in case she and Craig managed to find a chance to escape.
'First,' Gerrard said, 'calamari. Are you familiar with-?'
'They're deep-fried squid. Delicious.'
'Good,' Fulano said. 'And these are olives, and these are sardines. Not what you're used to in America. They're fresh and beyond compare.'
'And these,' Gerrard said, 'are delicate pieces of deep-fried chicken. And these are shrimp, and of course there's bread, and deep-fried potatoes with mayonnaise, and…"
'Enough!' Craig chuckled, although Tess knew that his enthusiasm was forced. 'If this is what you call a snack, I can't imagine what the main meal could possibly be.'
'You'll be amazed,' Fulano said.
'I bet.'
Beyond the windows, Tess continued to notice the sentries patrolling. She quickly pretended to pay attention to the row of various foods. That stack of plates. How do we…?'
'One type of food to each plate,' Gerrard said. 'It's important to separate each taste.'
'Then let's get to it. I'm starved.'
There wasn't any red meat, she noticed, a significant omission given the dietary beliefs of the heretics. With pretended delight, she nooned olives, calamari, and whatever else appealed to her onto various plates, spreading them in a row before her. The tapas indeed were delicious, perfectly prepared, each complementing the other.
'Would you like some vintage wine?' Fulano asked. 'Spanish wine is superb. Or perhaps some excellent cerveza.'
'Excuse me?' Tess looked confused.
'The Spanish word for "beer".'
'Thanks.' Craig swallowed hungrily. 'But I'd prefer water.'
'The same with me,' Tess said. 'Alcohol and I don't get along. It makes me groggy.'
'I have the same reaction. Interesting,' Fulano said. He filled her ceramic cup from a pitcher.
Tess didn't drink until Fulano filled his own cup and drank the same water.
'My God, I think I'm full,' Craig said.
'Exactly when to stop.' Fulano chewed and swallowed an olive, placing its pit at the side of his plate. 'Remember, the main course is later.'
'And now we have another surprise.' Gerrard touched a napkin to his mouth.
Here it comes, Tess thought. The condemned have had their final meal.
'Oh?' Craig lowered his fork. 'Another? This valley. This castle. These tapas. We've been surprised several times already. And now you're telling us there's more?'
'Something truly special. Extremely unusual. It happens only one time each year,' Fulano said. 'But it does require another helicopter ride to see what I mean. I'm sure you're still tired from your trip, but I promise you won't be disappointed. Indeed you'll find it remarkable.'
'In that case, being tired doesn't matter. Let's go.' Craig stood.
Uncertain about Craig's strategy, Tess followed his example.
The Secret Service agents stood as well.
With another rap of his knuckles on the table, Fulano summoned his servants. While they gathered the remnants of the tapas, Fulano Pointed Tess and Craig toward the corridor that led outside.
Five minutes later, as the sun touched the rim of the mountains, its glow more crimson, they reached the helicopter. When Tess climbed inside, carefully watched, she felt troubled that she hadn't seen Gerrard's assistant, Hugh Kelly, since they'd arrived.
Where was he? Why hadn't he joined them?
She had almost no time to analyze the possibilities. A minute later, as if on an urgent schedule, the helicopter lifted off, veered upward, and sped toward the northern mountains. The sun was now behind the peaks, its blood-red glow reflecting off a purple sky.
Her stomach already tense despite the energy-renewing meal, Tess clutched her tight, criss-crossing shoulder belt and expected that at any time the two Secret Service agents would grab her, unbuckle her restraints, and throw her, twisting and turning, into the valley.
Instead everyone stayed in position, the helicopter rising higher, nearing the shadowy mountains.
'Alan tells me that you've been threatened in America,' Fulano said. 'If it helps, I want to encourage you that what you're about to see will help take your mind off your troubles.'
The helicopter crested the northern mountains. Beyond, the sun had almost completely set behind farther ridges. A murky valley lay below them.
'We're approaching the Spanish-French border,' Gerrard said. 'We won't cross it, of course. Without advance diplomatic clearance, even I don't have the authority to violate French air space. But the surprise we want you to see is a custom in southern France that centuries ago drifted down to this area of Spain. It's quite remarkable.'