Sarah still felt weird to be sharing a room with a stranger. Because he was a stranger, even after all she’d been through with him, events that she would never manage to erase from her memory, and that bonded her with Rafael in a way she hadn’t ever experienced with any other man. She went around the room wrapped in a white towel, and he sat there indifferently, which did not make her any less uncomfortable.

Suddenly the television offered the latest news report. Sarah heard her name.

“We have late-breaking news, just in. The Portuguese journalist Sarah Monteiro, who was being sought by English authorities as an eyewitness to the murder that took place in her home, has been taken into custody here in London this morning.”

The accompanying video showed a woman getting out of a car, her head covered with a jacket, and entering the famous Scotland Yard Building.

“That’s a surprise!” Sarah exclaimed, flabbergasted.

“We’re doubly clean,” Rafael commented.

“Why are they making up that story?”

“To keep outside forces from interfering. They’re absolutely convinced that we’ve left the country.”

“Is that what it means?”

“Yes,” Rafael answered, getting up. “I’m going to have a shower and then we’ll leave.”

When Rafael came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, he didn’t find Sarah in the room. The young woman came in just as he was starting to put on his pants.

“Where were you?”

“The reception desk.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to explain my every movement?”

“No. But if I don’t know where you are, I can’t protect you.”

“I only went to the reception desk. Now I’m back, safe and sound,” Sarah said sarcastically. “And now, are we leaving?” she asked, changing the subject.

“As soon as I finish getting dressed.”

Sarah saw the strange tattoo on his arm, and the bullet wound he’d bandaged. “That doesn’t look good.”

“It’s getting better.”

“Let me at least clean it.” Without waiting for a reply, Sarah headed for the bathroom, grabbed the soap, moistened a towel with hot water, and took another dry one. Returning to the room, she put everything on the bed.

“Sit here.”

“Leave it alone. It’s already better.”

“Sit down.”

Not wanting to argue, Rafael obeyed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Without alcohol, the best available disinfectant was the soap. Sarah began by cleaning the wound with the wet towel. Next she used the dry one to wipe it off, and then tore the fine hand towel into strips and bandaged it. After finishing, she stood up and looked at him. Rafael’s gaze had been fixed on her since the beginning of her work, so gently accomplished. Neither of them looked away for a few seconds. The situation was growing uncomfortable, at least for Sarah, but she kept her eyes steady.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah finally asked.

“Nothing,” Rafael answered, shifting his eyes off her as he finished putting on his shirt. “Thank you.”

“Always happy to be of service,” Sarah replied, standing up. “Hey, that’s quite a tattoo,” she commented, trying to ease the emotional tension.

“When you see one like it on somebody else, start running and don’t look back.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the Guard’s insignia.”

“The guard’s? What guard?”

“The P2’s Advance Guard. It’s a kind of small army, trained as an overland rapid response force. Today you’ve trashed the reputation of that elite corps.”

“Not me. You,” Sarah corrected. The serpent tattoo, extending down his arm to his wrist, was now hidden again by the long shirtsleeve.

“Let’s phone the desk to ask for a taxi.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Are we going to catch one somewhere else?”

“No. We’re not going by taxi. I have a car ready.”

A little while later they found themselves on the highway leaving Lisbon, headed north. Very soon Sarah was to see her father, and she could think of nothing else.