More a sentry than a guard, Franco thought, as he wiped his hands on the man’s shirt. He’d had a soldier mentality and endurance, too. He hadn’t told Franco what he’d wanted to know until he’d cut off both his thumbs. He pulled the guard’s body into the bushes and carefully hid it. Then he started across the courtyard to the small side door facing the ocean. MacDuff’s castle towered over the surf, and Franco had verified there were sentries on that side, too. But he could avoid them if he moved fast enough. And then all he had to do was get inside and find the target. It was about time. It had taken too long, and Salazar was growing more impatient. None of MacDuff’s people would talk, and it wasn’t until he’d concentrated on the local village pub that he had hit pay dirt. He’d spent a few hours schmoozing the employees, telling them he was a tourist who had been told about this castle and had come to see for himself. It had not been easy, but he’d finally found a young waitress who had told him enough to get him started.
