Bilbao, Spain
S
anchez parked on the street then strode toward the bustle of activity. The van the professors had escaped in had been found, and her people were going over it now with a fine-toothed comb. If they were lucky, they might find some clue as to where the professors were heading.
For they were heading somewhere, and that route was obviously well-planned. They had escaped moments before the blast, had made it past the police blockades because they hadn’t been properly set up yet, and had arrived here, undetected. Her guess was they had switched into another vehicle and were long gone, but the entire region was being cordoned off, and they wouldn’t be getting through.
It was only a matter of time.
“What have we got?”
The scene commander pointed at the van. “This is the terrorists’ vehicle. Security camera footage confirms it arrived at the museum only moments before the attack began. Six people exited, and it was left near the rear entrance. The man you’ve identified as the leader was already inside, and he let them in through a locked fire exit. Approximately fifteen minutes—”
“Yes, I know all that. The professors leave, with the keys, get in, then wind up here at some point. Any idea where they went from here? Were they met?”
“We’re pulling camera footage, but I think we know where they went.”
Her eyebrows popped. “Where?”
He pointed toward a marina. “One of my guys just reported that a boat was stolen less than an hour after the bombing.”
She turned to where he was pointing. “That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Agreed.”
“Okay, let’s find that boat.”
