With a groan, she lay back in the soft bed. Thoughts of the fierce fight in the airport came crowd- ing into her brain, the tumult of sudden memories tightening her face as each thought brought its own lightning stab of pain.

Just as the pain became unbearable and Isabel began rolling about on the silk counter- pane, a large door clicked open, letting cool light enter the room.

"Oh, you're awake at last," Esteban's voice came out of the dark, for the door had closed almost as quickly as it had opened. "There's aspirin on the table beside you.

""

Swinging her feet again to the floor, Isabel noted that the pains were much less intense. She closed her eyes, as the curtains were pulled apart briskly. The iced water soothed her throat as it also eased the passage of the aspirins. She heard Esteban sit on the far end of the long, double bed. "Where are we?" Isabel croaked, her eyes still shuttered. "Did we get away?" "We got all the way to the Presidential Palace,' said Esteban's voice gloomily. "And you've been out for two days straight, since you were hit at the airport. Sancho and Alvaro are dead, as are all of the Interior Police who stopped us." His voice was bleak.

""

"So now we're the guests of your damned sister," Isabel's voice grated angrily.

"Not quite," said Esteban quietly. "Besides, there were bombing raids on the capital yesterday and today. It's still touch and go whether fighters can hold them off."

our

"Our fighters? Isabel's

voice was incredulous. She was able to open her eyes to a slit to place the water glass back on the side-table. "Since when have you been on your sister's side?” she asked.

"My sister is dead,' Esteban's voice continued to be quiet and low. "The attacks seem to have been coordinated

with the assassination."

"What!" exclaimed Isabel, turning her head viciously to look at Esteban. But it wasn't Esteban who sat on the end of the bed. It was Irena Varga her- self. Despite her aches and pains, Isabel jumped to her feet. "What the. . . .?" she began.

Irena shifted her weight on the end of the bed, leaning on an elbow, so that her long, blonde- streaked hair fell over her shoulder, reaching down to the top of the bed's covering. "Yes," Irena sighed, her voice identical to Esteban's, "See what they've done to me. They haven't told anyone that she's dead. They want me to replace her."

Isabel was stunned. This was Esteban Varga! She could hardly believe it. His eyes were beautifully shaded with blue and white, set off by thick lashes, surely false, and by soft pink lipstick on his lips. His facial skin was creamy. The thick gold rings dangling from his ears were those that Irena always wore. Isabel looked over the curvaceous figure intently. Esteban's thinness had disap- peared in the long, black dress. The waist was narrow, the hips broad, the breasts full and moving slightly as he breathed. At the front of the dress, the slit to the knee revealed light- colored hose, and black, patent high-heels. Esteban watched her look at his breasts. He touched the inserts with his pink, pointed fingernails. "I'm very much pad- ded everywhere," he muttered, embarrassed by the wide-eyed stare she was giving him.

"Of course," she said drily, "I'm afraid you're going to have to prove to me that you really are Esteban before. . ." She was cut off by the sudden opening of the heavy, inlaid bedroom door. "Do come in," she said. sarcastically to

Francisco

Salluca and Consuela Romo. "We all give way before the minions of the Revolution." She was pleased to see Consuela

28

blush, but Salluca's lined and dark-hollowed face scowled even more fiercely.

"You're alive right now, woman," he snarled, "only be- cause you are a friend of Irena." He glanced at the feminine figure sitting at the end of the bed. He slammed the door tight shut behind them. Even the courageous Isabel was cowed by the fero- city revealed in his expression.

"We have only only a few moments to discover your true feelings towards the People's State." His eyes bored into the now-cowering Isabel. “If we do not receive satisfactory answers to our queries, neither you nor your friend here can leave this room alive." He tapped the butt of the revolver at his belt. "There will shortly be yet another air raid. Either our President will die gloriously in the rubble of this unprecedented attack on the Residence; or she will escape injury in the bomb-proof cellars built below this place by the dictator, Reyes.'

,,

Isabel stared open-mouthed at the figure of Irena Varga now sitting up at the end of the bed. The wig was so excellent that there was no discernible line or cap that showed where the tresses joined Esteban's scalp. Esteban's soft, doe-eyes looked back at her tensely.

"They threatened to kill us before," he murmured. It sound- ed all wrong to hear Esteban's measured, lilting tones coming from that pretty pink mouth. Isabel nodded anxiously. So that was how they'd made him dress up as his sister. Her mind raced quickly. There must be a way to turn this strangeness to the advantage of the Democratic Opposition.

"What do you want of me?" Even to her, her voice was shaken and nervous. Her head pains were a dull, background aching as she fought to retain her coolness.

"Irena here," Consuela's