[b]Madrid, Spain[/b]

Juan could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he escorted Mariana down the long marble hallway toward the Royal Chambers that had been set aside by Delgado in the greatest Spanish palace of them all. Cazadores, dressed in traditional yellow uniforms with red pleated sleeves, silver breastplates, and Morion helmets lined the long hallway, halberds at dutifully ceremonial angles, pistols mounted on their thighs. 

The portraits of ancestors stared down at him as they went and lanterns flickered in the breeze that always seem to curl through the palace, the electric lights had been turned off for effect this evening. His court shoes were loud on the marble, offset slightly by the tap of Mariana's high heels beneath her dress.

She was next to him, leaning on his arm, her white teeth flashing beneath long black hair and deep brown eyes as she smiled up at him. Her dress, which fit her as if it had been sewn onto her body, left little to the imagination and he was already mentally undressing her as they passed between the twin line of statuesque Cazadores. Juan was happy, even seeing Delgado at the wedding had not ruined his mood. The Dictator had not arrived until after the ceremony and well into the evenings course of events. His arrival had been to minimal fanfare and he had simply wished the newlywed his congratulations and then vanished again.

The smell of Mariana's perfume was intoxicating and he leaned in to take a deep breath even as she laughed and pretended to slap him as he did so. He could have sworn one of the Cazadores cracked the barest smile as she did. He pulled her closer to him, hand encircling her thin waist, possessing her as his. He could think of no prettier bride worthy of his station.

The doors at the end of the hall were pulled open by a final set of Cazadores. The room beyond was the ante-chamber of the Royal Apartment. It was a huge space and Juan could see the servants standing in a neat line as they waited for their masters. The room would be perfect, of that he had no doubt. He had done little himself, that was beneath the King after all. This night he was going to dominate Mariana as Spain had dominated Portugal. Already he planned to tie her arms above her head and fuck her like she had never been fucked before. It was possible that she was a virgin from what he had heard, and that only excited him more. 

As they swept into the apartment the servants bowed in unison, turned, and filed out of the door which closed behind them with a heavy hollow boom as the sound echoed down the long hallway they had just walked. Juan stepped forward to pick up a bottle of wine from the table that overflowed with gifts from their guests. Mariana on the other hand had made for the bedroom and he mentally kicked himself as he quickly put down the wine and hurried after her. 

She turned at the door and he reached for her, intending to take her into his arms. Instead pain exploded between his legs as she kneed him viciously in the groin. He gasped for air, clutching at her and then collapsed with a thud to the floor as she stepped back. His hands went instinctively to cup his balls as he curled into the fetal position, staring at her in confusion. In return he only saw disgust and naked disdain. 

"Do not touch me, pig! You will not share my bed. Sleep on the couch!" She hissed the words at him as she slammed the bedroom door in his face. 
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[b]Sao Paolo, Brasil[/b]

Isabel cracked her door slowly with the key she had taken, allowing it fall open without stepping into the door way herself. No sound came from within the room. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, though was likely less than thirty seconds, until she was certain she could detect no movement from inside. 

When she did finally enter the room it was on her belly as she slid over the doorframe like a snake, eyes sweeping the deep darkness of the room. A line of light showed under her door where it led into the hallway and it cast just enough for her to be sure that no strange boots waited for her. She lay still once again, watching the light but nothing moved across it. 

Slowly she stood, made her way across the room and to the door. She pressed an eye to the peephole and scanned the hallway. She white walled space was empty save for a porter who was collecting dished from outside the door of the room across the hall. He paid her room no attention as he walked away. 

Satisfied for the moment that she wasn't under direct observation she snapped on the small lamp perched on the desk near the door. Her room looked much as she had left it. Her travel dress was still draped over the chair, her shoes beneath it. Her bag was on the bed as she had left it and it took her a second to realize that it had been resealed, she purposely left it open. She opened it slowly. All of her things were still neatly folded but certainly not in the order in which she had put them in when she had been packing inside her room on the [i]Graf Zepplin[/i]. There was no doubt about it now, someone knew who she was, though maybe not why she had come. 

The sound of a foot scuffing outside the room made her step quickly to the door again and press her eye to the peephole. It was brief but she caught the shape of a man moving off quickly down the hall toward the far door. She hurried back to her suitcase, pulled out a new dress, some comfortable shoes, snapped off the light, and repeated her earlier drop from the balcony into the brush. She changed quickly in the shadows, carefully using her "work mans" shoes to dig in the garden big enough to bury her clothes. 

Dressed in her new outfit she stepped out onto the sidewalk and began to walk toward the hotel entrance. The man she had seen earlier in the car looked up startled as she went by and she pretended not to notice him. She climbed the stairs to the hotel lobby and loudly greeted the porter as she stepped inside. Glancing to her left she saw the man who had been in the lobby earlier pretending to tie his shoe outside her room. The look of confusion on his face as she appeared in the entranceway was nothing short of fantastic as he glanced her, then at the door, before standing and walking toward her. She gave him a friendly nod, which he returned, and stepped up to the front desk.

The woman behind the desk, different from the gentleman who had checked her, in smiled warmly.

"Evening ma'am. Are you a guest?" 

Isabel nodded as she placed her hat on the counter and leaned forward so she was standing on her tip toes. This had the desired effect of distracting her watchers with her calves as her dress rode up higher than usual.

"I am." She said loudly. Then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Please pretend to give me my room key." She raised her voice again. "Room 21." The key had been beneath her hat and fell onto the other side of the desk with a quiet jingle.

"As yes, here you are." The front desk staffer covered her confusion quickly when she saw that the key had been dropped with a twenty Peseta note. She plucked the keys up, pocketed the note with a practiced hand, and passed them across to Isabel with a smile.

"Thank you. I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to have someone come around to my room and pick up my laundry do you?"

"I will see to it myself ma'am." 

"Thank you!" She smiled cheerily and began to walk down the hallway.

She had barely slipped into her room and slipped off her shoes again when a knock sounded. She opened the door to find the front desk agent standing before her, a worried look on her face but she spoke slightly louder than one might expect.

"I thought I'd grab it now, miss."

"Thank you, come in." Isabel stepped back to allow the agent into her room. The woman immediately leaned forward and whispered frantically, worry plain on her face.

"That man in the lobby was asking about you. I didn't tell him anything so he became angry and said he was going to get the Police!"

Isabel felt her heart skip a beat. "Okay, thank you." She passed the woman another fifty peseta note. "Take this, and this." She quickly handed over the travel dress from the day. "I won't be coming back for it, so keep it if you like."

She shooed the woman out of the room, with another thank you, and moved quickly to her suitcase. She neatly slit the inner lining, pulled out several hundred peseta's and slid them into her bra along with a passport of a different name. Her hand bag she filled with a change of underwear, a small Polaroid camera, and her actual passport, which she would keep until she was forced to get rid of it. She regretted leaving the suitcase, she was terribly fond of it, but she could buy another.

In two quick steps she was out the balcony door again, over the edge, and was already beyond the lights of the hotel when the first of the police cars flashed past. She couldn't leave Brasil yet, there was a mystery to solve.