The Sands of Time by Sidney Sheldon.
Back Cover.

Four nuns find themselves suddenly thrust into a hostile world they long ago abandoned for the safety of
the convent. Unwittingly they become pawns in a battle
between the charismatic Jaime Miro, leader of the
outlawed Basque nationalists, and the ruthless
Colonel Ramon Acoea of the Spanish Army.
FOUR WOMEN -AND THE MEN THEY ARE
FORBIDDEN TO LOVE
MEGAN
the orphan, who feels an overpowering
attraction to Jaime Miro
LUCIA
the fiery Sicilian beauty on the run for
murder - and Rubio Arzano, the freedom fighter
who risks his life to save her
TERESA
whose guilty conscience finally drives
her to betray her friends
GRACIELA
who bears a terrible secret that almost destroys her and
the courageous Ricardo Mellado who loves her.
The Sands of Time is an unforgettable
adventure and a heartstopping romance,
set against the timeless and dramatic
landscape of Spain.
By the same author
THE NAKED FACE
THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT
A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR
BLOODLINE
RAGE OF ANGELS
MASTER OF THE GAME
IF TOMORROW COMES
WINDMILLS OF THE GODS
MEMORIES OF MIDNIGHT
THE DOOMSDAY CONSPIRACY
THE STARS SHINE DOWN
NOTHING LASTS FOREVER
MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT
THE BEST LAID PLANS
SIDNEY SHELDON
THE SANDS OF TIME

jjjj
HarperCdmsPublishers

HarperCoWmsPiiblishers 77-85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
This paperback edition 1993
579864
Previously published in paperback by Fontana 1990
Special overseas edition 1989
Reprinted four times
First published in Great Britain by Collins 1988
Copyright  Sheldon Literary Trust 1988
Grateful acknowledgement is made to
Marcelle Bernstein for use of material from Nuns.
Grateful acknowledgement is made for use of 'Gacela of Desperate
Love' by Frederico Garcia Lorca, from Selected Poems ofFrederico
Garcia Lorca, copyright  1952 by New Directions Publishing
Corporation. Translated by W.S. Merwin. Reprinted by permission
of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Grateful acknowledgement is made for use of the
Ernest Hemingway epigraph to the New Masses Magazine.
ISBN 000 617443 4
Set in Times
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Caledonian International Book Manufacturing Ltd, Glasgow
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent
in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it
is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
To Frances Gordon,
with love.

GLASGOW CITY COUNCIL
LIBRARIES  ARCHIVES, BJ.S Barcode
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rT-

My special thanks go to Alice Fisher,
whose assistance in helping me research this novel
was invaluable.
'm,
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the Sands of Time.
HENRY WADSWORTH
LONGFELLOW

The dead do not need to rise.
They are a part of the earth now and the earth
can never be conquered for the earth endures
forever, it will outlive all systems of tyranny.
Those who have entered it honourably, and
no men entered earth more honourably than
those who died in Spain, have already achieved
immortality. ernest hemingway

AUTHOR'S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. And yet ...
The romantic land of flamenco and Don Quixote and
exotic-looking senoritas with tortoise-shell combs in their
hair is also the land of Torquemada, the Spanish Inquisition
and one of the bloodiest civil wars in history. More than half
a million people lost their lives in the battles for power
between the Republicans and the rebel Nationalists in Spain.
In 1936, between February and June, 269 political murders
were committed, and the Nationalists executed Republicans
at the rate of a thousand a month, with no mourning permitted.
One hundred and sixty churches were burned to the
ground, and nuns were removed forcibly from convents, 'as
though,' wrote the Due de Saint-Simon, of an earlier conflict
between the Spanish government and the church, 'they were
whores in a bawdy house'. Newspaper offices were sacked
and strikes and riots were endemic throughout the land. The
Civil War ended in a victory for the Nationalists under
Franco and, following his death, Spain became a monarchy.
The Civil War, which lasted from 1936 to 1939, may be
officially over, but the two Spains that fought it have never
been reconciled. Today another war continues to rage in
Spain, the guerrilla war fought by the Basques to regain the
autonomy they had won under the Republic and lost under
the Franco regime. The war is being fought with bombs,
bank robberies to finance the bombs, assassinations and
riots.
When a member of ETA, a Basque guerrilla underground
group, died in a Madrid hospital after being tortured by
FR1;FR2;the police, the nationwide riots that followed led to the
resignation of the Director General of Spain's police force,
five security chiefs and two hundred senior police officers.
In 1986, in Barcelona, the Basques publicly burned the
Spanish flag, and in Pamplona thousands fled in fear when
Basque nationalists clashed with police in a series of mutinies
that eventually spread across Spain and threatened the stability
of the government. The para-military police retaliated
by going on a rampage, firing at random at Basques' homes
and shops. The terrorism that goes on is more violent than
ever.
Dealing with two turbulent weeks in 1976, this is a work
of fiction. And yet . . .
10

Chapter 1
Pamplona, Spain 1976
If the plan goes wrong, we will all die. He went over it again
in his mind for the last time, probing, testing, searching for
flaws. He could find none. The plan was daring, and it called
for careful, split-second timing. If it worked, it would be a
spectacular feat, worthy of the great El Cid. If it failed . . .
Well, the time for worrying is past, Jaime Mir6 thought
philosophically. It's time for action.
Jaime Mir6 was a legend, a hero to the Basque people
and anathema to the Spanish government. He was six feet
tall, with a strong, intelligent face, a muscular body, and
brooding dark eyes. Witnesses tended to describe him as
taller than he was, darker than he was, fiercer than he
was. He was a complex man, a realist who understood the
enormous odds against him, a romantic ready to die for what
he believed.
Pamplona was a town gone mad. It was the final morning
of the running of the bulls, the Fiesta de San Fermin, the
annual celebration held from 7 July to the 14th. Thirty
thousand visitors had swarmed into the city from all over
the world. Some had come merely to watch the dangerous
bull-running spectacle, others to prove their manhood by
taking part in it, running in front of the charging beasts. All
the hotel rooms had long since been taken, and university
students from Navarra had bedded down in doorways, bank
entrances, cars, the public square, and even the streets and
pavements of the town.
11
me tourists pacKea me cares ana noieis, watcmng me
noisy, colourful parades of papier machegigantes, and listening
to the music of the marching bands. Members of the
parade wore violet cloaks, some with hoods of green, others
garnet, and still others wearing golden hoods. Flowing
through the streets, the processions looked like rivers of
rainbows. Exploding firecrackers running along poles and
wires of the tramways added to the noise and general confusion.

The crowd had come to attend the evening bullfights, but
the most spectacular event was the Encierro - the early
morning running of the bulls that would fight later in the
day.
Ten minutes before midnight in the darkened streets of
the lower part of town, the bulls had been driven from the corrales de gas, the reception pens, to run across the river
on a bridge to the corral at the bottom of Calle Santo
Domingo, where they would be kept for the night. In the
morning they would be turned loose to run along the narrow
Calle Santo Domingo, penned in the street by wooden barricades
at each corner until at the end they would run into the
corrals at the Plaza de Hemingway, where they would be
held until the afternoon bullfight.
From midnight until 6.00 a.m., the visitors stayed awake,
drinking and singing and making love, too excited to sleep.
Those who would participate in the running of the bulls wore
the red scarves of San Fermin around their throats.
At a quarter to six in the morning, bands started circulating
through the streets, playing the stirring music of Navarre.
At seven o'clock sharp, a rocket flew into the air to signal
that the gates of the corral had been opened. The crowd was
filled with feverish anticipation. Moments later a second
rocket went up to warn the town that the bulls were running.
What followed was an unforgettable spectacle. First came
the sound. It started as a faint, distant ripple on the wind,
almost imperceptible, and then it grew louder and louder
until it became an explosion of pounding hoofs, and suddenly
bursting into view appeared six oxen and six enormous bulls.
12

Each weighing 1,51)0 pounds, they charged down the Calle
Santo Domingo like deadly express trains. Inside the wooden
barricades that had been placed at each intersecting street
corner to keep the bulls confined to the one street, were
hundreds of eager, nervous young men who intended to
prove their bravery by facing the maddened animals.
The bulls raced down from the far end of the street, past
the Calle Estafeta and the Calle de Javier, past farmacias and clothing stores and fruit markets, towards the Plaza de
Hemingway, and there were cries of '{Olef from the frenzied
crowd. As the animals charged nearer, a mad scramble began
to escape the sharp horns and lethal hoofs. The sudden
reality of approaching death made some of the participants
run for the safety of doorways and fire escapes. They were
followed by taunts of 'cobardori - coward. A few in the path
of the bulls stumbled and fell and were quickly hauled to
safety.
A small boy and his grandfather were standing behind
the barricades, both breathless with the excitement of the
spectacle taking place only a few feet from them.
'Look at them!' the old man exclaimed. 'fMagnificor
The little boy shuddered. 'Tengo miedo, abuelo. I'm
afraid.'
The old man put his arm around him. '5i, Manuel. It is
frightening. But wonderful, too. I once ran with the bulls.
There's nothing like it. You test yourself against death, and
it makes you feel like a man.'
As a rule, it took two minutes for the animals to gallop
the 900 yards along the Calle Santo Domingo to the arena,
and the moment the bulls were safely in the corral, a third
rocket would be sent into the air. On this day, the third
rocket did not go off, for an incident occurred that had never
happened in Pamplona's 400-year history of the running of
the bulls.
As the animals raced down the narrow street, half a dozen
men dressed in the colourful costumes of the feria shifted
the wooden barricades and the bulls found themselves forced
off the restricted street and turned loose into the heart of
13
the city. What had a moment before been a happy celebration
instantly turned into a nightmare. The frenzied beasts
charged into the stunned onlookers. The young boy and his
grandfather were among the first to die, knocked down and
trampled by the charging bulls. Vicious horns sliced into a
baby's pram, killing an infant and sending its mother down
to the ground to be crushed. Death was in the air everywhere.
The animals crashed into helpless bystanders, knocking
down women and children, plunging their long, deadly horns
into pedestrians, food stands, statues, sweeping aside everything
unlucky enough to be in their path. People were
screaming in terror, desperately fighting to get out of the
way of the lethal behemoths.
A bright red truck suddenly appeared in the path of the
bulls and they turned and charged towards it, down the Calle
de Estrella, the street that led to the carcel, Pamplona's
prison.
The carcel is a forbidding-looking two-storey stone building
with heavily barred windows. There are turrets at each of its
four corners, and the red and yellow Spanish flag flies over
the door. A stone gate leads to a small courtyard. The second
floor of the building consists of a row of cells that holds
prisoners condemned to die.
Inside the prison, a heavyset guard in the uniform of the policia armada was leading a priest garbed in plain black
robes along the second floor corridor. The policeman carried
a sub-machine-gun.
Noting the questioning look in the priest's eye at the sight of the weapon, the guard said, 'One can't be too
careful here. Father. We have the scum of the earth on this
floor.'
The guard directed the priest to walk through a metal
detector very much like those used at airports.
'I'm sorry. Father, but the rules '
'Of course, my son.'
As the priest passed through the security portal, a
14

snneKing siren cut through the corridor. The guard instinctively
tightened his grip on his weapon.
The priest turned and smiled back at the guard.
'My mistake,' he said as he removed a heavy metal cross
that hung from his neck on a silver chain and handed it to
the guard. This time as he passed through, the machine was
silent. The guard handed the cross back to the priest and the
two continued their journey deeper into the bowels of the
prison.
The stench in the corridor near the cells was overpowering.
The guard was in a philosophical mood. 'You know, you're
wasting your time here. Father. These animals have no souls
to save.'
'Still, we must try, my son.'
The guard shook his head. 'I tell you the gates of hell are
waiting to welcome both of them.'
The priest looked at the guard in surprise. 'Both of them?
I was told there were three who needed confession.'
The guard shrugged. 'We saved you some time. Zamora
died in the infirmary this morning. Heart attack.'
The men had reached the two farthest cells.
'Here we are. Father.'
The guard unlocked a cell door, then stepped cautiously
back as the priest entered the cell. The guard locked the
door again, and stood jn the corridor, alert for any sign of
trouble.
The priest went to the figure lying on the dirty prison cot.
'Your name, my son?'
'Ricardo Mellado.'
The priest stared down at him. It was difficult to tell what
the man looked like. His face was swollen and raw. His eyes
were almost shut. Through thick lips, he said, 'I'm glad you
were able to come. Father.'
The priest replied, 'Your salvation is the church's duty,
my son.'
"They are going to hang me this morning?'
The priest patted his shoulder gently. 'You have been
sentenced to die by the garrotte.'
15

Ricardo Mellado stared up at him. 'No!'
'I'm sorry. The orders were given by the Prime Minister
himself.'
The priest placed his hand on the prisoner's head and
intoned:' Dime tus pecados...'
Ricardo Mellado said, 'I have sinned greatly in thought,
word and deed, and I repent all my sins with all my heart.'
Ruego a nuestro Padre celestial por la salvacion de to
alma. En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espiritu
Santo . . .'
The guard listening outside the cell thought to himself:
What a stupid waste of time. God will spit in that one's eye.
The priest was finished. 'Adios, my son. May God receive
your soul in peace.'
The priest moved to the cell door and the guard unlocked
it, then stepped back, keeping his gun aimed at the prisoner.
When the door was locked again, the guard moved to the
adjoining cell and opened the door.
'He's all yours. Father.'
The priest stepped into the second cell. The man inside
had also been badly beaten. The priest looked at him a long
moment. 'What is your name, my son?'
'Felix Carpio.' He was a husky, bearded man with a fresh,
livid scar on his cheek that the beard failed to conceal. 'I'm
not afraid to die. Father.'
'That is well, my son. In the end none of us is spared.'
As the priest began to hear Carpio's confession, waves of
distant sound, at first muffled, then growing louder, began
to reverberate through the building. It was the thunder of
pounding hoofs and the screams of the running mob. The
guard listened, startled. The sounds were rapidly moving
closer.
'You'd better hurry. Father. Something peculiar is happening
outside.'
'I'm finished.'
The guard quickly unlocked the cell door. The priest
stepped out into the corridor and the guard locked the door
behind him. There was the sound of a loud crash from the
16

front of the prison. The guard turned to peer out the narrow,
barred window.
'What the hell was that noise?'
The priest said, 'It sounded as though someone wishes an
audience with us. May I borrow that?'
'Borrow what?'
'Your weapon, por favor.'1
As the priest spoke, he stepped close to the guard. He
silently removed the top of the large cross that hung around
his neck, revealing a long, wicked-looking stiletto. In one
lightning move he plunged the knife into the guard's chest.
'You see, my son,' Jaime Miro said, as he pulled the
sub-machine-gun from the dying guard's hands, 'God and I
decided that you no longer have need of this weapon.'
The guard slumped to the cement floor. Jaime Miro took
the keys from the body and swiftly opened the two cell doors.
The sounds from the street were getting louder.
'Let's move,' Jaime commanded.
Ricardo Mellado picked up the machine gun. 'You make
a damned good priest. You almost convinced me.' He tried
to smile with his swollen mouth.
'They really worked you two over, didn't they? Don't
worry. They'll pay for it.'
Jaime Miro put his arms around the two men and helped
them down the corridor.
'What happened to Zamora?'
'The guards beat him to death. We could hear his screams.
They took him off to the infirmary and said he died of a
heart attack.'
Ahead of them was a locked iron door.
'Wait here,' Jaime Miro said.
He approached the door and said to the guard on the other
side, 'I'm finished here.'
The guard unlocked the door. 'You'd better hurry, Father.
There's some kind of disturbance going on out -' He never
finished his sentence. As Jaime's knife went into him, blood
welled out of the guard's mouth.
Jaime motioned to the two men. 'Come on.'
17
Felix Carpio picked up the guard's gun, and they started
downstairs. The scene outside was chaos. The police were
running around frantically trying to see what was happening
and to deal with the crowds of screaming people in the
courtyard who were scrambling to escape the maddened
bulls. One of the bulls had charged into the front of the
building, smashing the stone entrance. Another was tearing
into the body of a uniformed guard on the ground. The
red truck was in the courtyard, its motor running. In the
confusion, the three men went almost unnoticed. Those who
did see them were too busy saving themselves to do anything
about them.
Without a word, Jaime and his men jumped into the back
of the truck and it sped off, scattering frantic pedestrians
through the crowded streets. The guardia civil, the paramilitary
rural police decked out in green uniforms and black
patent leather hats, were trying in vain to control the hysterical
mob. The policia armada, stationed in provincial capitals,
were also helpless in the face of the mad spectacle. People
were struggling to flee in every direction, desperately trying
to avoid the enraged bulls. The danger lay less with the bulls
and more with the people themselves as they trampled
one another in their eagerness to escape, and old men and
women were pushed aside under the feet of the running
mob.
Jaime stared in dismay at the stunning spectacle. 'It wasn't
planned for it to happen this way!' he exclaimed. He stared
helplessly at the carnage that was being wreaked, but there
was nothing he could do to stop it. He closed his eyes to shut
out the sight.
The truck reached the outskirts of Pamplona and headed
south, leaving behind the noise and confusion of the rioting.
'Where are we going, Jaime?' Ricardo Mellado asked. "There's a safe house outside Torre. We'll stay there until
dark and then move on.'
Felix Carpio was wincing with pain.
18

Jaime Miro watcned mm, ms race nnea witn compassion.
'We'll be there soon, my friend,' he said gently.
He was unable to get the terrible scene at Pamplona out
of his mind.
Thirty minutes later they approached the little village of
Torre, and skirted it to drive to an isolated house in the
mountains above the village. Jaime Mir6 helped the two men
out of the back of the red truck.
'You'll be picked up at midnight,' the driver said.
'Have them bring a doctor,' Jaime replied. 'And get rid
of the truck.'
The three of them entered the house. It was a farmhouse,
simple and comfortable, with a fireplace in the living room
and a beamed ceiling. There was a note on the table. Jaime
Mir6 read it and smiled at the welcoming phrase: Mi casa es
su casa. On the bar were bottles of wine. Jaime Mir6 poured
drinks.
Ricardo Mellado said, 'There are no words to thank you,
my friend. Here's to you.'
Jaime raised his glass. 'Here's to freedom.'
There was the sudden chirp of a canary in a cage. Jaime
Mir6 walked over to it, and he watched its wild fluttering for
a moment. Then he opened the cage, gently lifted the bird
out and carried it to an open window.
'Fly away, pajarito,' he said softly. 'All living creatures
should be free.'
19
Chapter 2
Madrid
Prime Minister Leopoldo Martinez was in a rage. He was a
small, bespectacled man, and his whole body shook as he
talked. 'Jaime Miro must be stopped,' he cried. His voice
was high and shrill. 'Do you understand me?' He glared at
the half dozen men gathered in the room. 'We're looking for
one terrorist, and the whole army and police force are unable
to find him.'
The meeting was taking place at Moncloa Palace, where
the Prime Minister lived and worked, five kilometres from
the centre of Madrid, on the Carretera de Galicia, a highway
with no identifying signs. The building itself was green brick,
with wrought iron balconies, green window shades, and
guard towers at each corner.
It was a hot, dry day, and through the windows, as far as
the eye could see, columns of heat waves rose like battalions
of ghostly soldiers.
'Yesterday Miro turned Pamplona into a battleground.'
Martinez slammed a fist down on his desk. 'He murdered two
prison guards and smuggled two of his terrorists out of prison.
Many innocent people were killed by the bulls he let loose.'
For a moment no one said anything.
When the Prime Minister had taken office, he had declared,
smugly, 'My first act will be to put a stop to these
separatist groups. Madrid is the great unifier. It transforms
Andalusians, Basques, Catalans and Galicians into
Spaniards.'
20

He had been unduly optimistic. 1 he fiercely independent
Basques had other ideas, and the wave of bombings,
bank robberies and demonstrations by terrorists of the
ETA organization, Euzkadi ta Azkatasuna, had continued
unabated.
The man at Martinez's right said quietly, 'I'll find him.'
The speaker was Colonel Ramon Acoca, head of the
GOE, the Grupo de Operaciones Especiales, formed to
pursue Basque terrorists. Acoca was a giant, in his middle
sixties, with a scarred face and cold, obsidian eyes. He had
been a young officer under Francisco Franco during the
Civil War, and he was still fanatically devoted to Franco's
philosophy, 'We are responsible only to God and to
history.'
Acoca was a brilliant officer, and he had been one of
Franco's must trusted aides. The Colonel missed the iron-
fisted discipline, the swift punishment of those who questioned
or disobeyed the law. He had gone through the
turmoil of the Civil War, with its Nationalist alliance of
Monarchists, rebel generals, landowners, church hierarchy
and the fascist Falangists on one side, and the Republican
government forces, including Socialists, Communists, liberals
and Basque and Catalan separatists on the other; It
had been a terrible time of destruction and killing in a
madness that pulled in men and war materiel from a dozen
countries and left a horrifying death toll. And now the
Basques were fighting and killing again.
Colonel Acoca headed an efficient, ruthless cadre of antiterrorists.
His men worked underground, wore disguises
and were neither publicized nor photographed for fear of
retaliation.
If anyone can stop Jaime Miro, Colonel Acoca can, the
Prime Minister thought. But there was a catch: Who's going
to be the one to stop Colonel Acoca?
Putting the Colonel in charge had not been the Prime
Minister's idea. He had received a phone call in the middle
of the night on his private line. He recognized the voice
immediately.
21
(W a .
"we are greatly disturbed by the activities of Jaime Mir6
and his terrorists. We suggest that you put Colonel Ramon
Acoca in charge of the GOE. Is that clear?'
Yes, sir. It will be taken care of immediately.'
The line went dead.
The voice belonged to a member of the OPUS MUNDO.
The organization was a secret cabal that included bankers,
lawyers, heads of powerful corporations and government
ministers. It was rumoured to have enormous funds at its
disposal, but where the money came from or how it was used
or manipulated was a mystery. It was not considered healthy
to ask too many questions about it.
The Prime Minister had placed Colonel Acoca in charge,
as he had been instructed to, but the giant had turned out
to be an uncontrollable fanatic. His GOE had created a reign
of terror. The Prime Minister thought of the Basque rebels
Acoca's men had caught near Pamplona. They had been
convicted and sentenced to hang. It was Colonel Acoca who
had insisted that they be executed by the barbaric garrote
vil, the iron collar fitted with a spike which gradually
tightened, eventually cracked the vertebra and severed the
victim's spinal cord.
Jaime Miro had become an obsession with Colonel
Acoca.
'I want his head,' Colonel Acoca said. 'Cut off his head
and the Basque movement dies.'
An exaggeration, the Prime Minister felt, although he had
to admit that there was a core of truth in it. Jaime Miro was
a charismatic leader, fanatical about his cause, and therefore
dangerous.
But in his own way, the Prime Minister thought. Colonel
Acoca is just as dangerous.
Primo Casado, the Director General de Seguridad, was
speaking. 'Your Excellency, no one could have foreseen
what happened in Pamplona. Jaime Mir6 is '
'I know what he is,' the Prime Minister snapped. 'I want
to know where he is.' He turned to Colonel Acoca.
'I'm on his trail,' the Colonel said. His voice chilled the

room. 'I would like to remind Your Excellency that we are
not fighting just one man. We are fighting the Basque people.
They give Jaime Mir6 and his terrorists food and weapons
and shelter. The man is a hero to them. But do not worry.
Soon he will be a hanging hero. After I give him a fair trial,
of course.'
Not we. I. The Prime Minister wondered whether the
others had noticed. Yes, he thought nervously. Something
will have to be done about the Colonel soon.
The Prime Minister got to his feet. "That will be all for
now, gentlemen.'
The men rose to leave. All except Colonel Acoca. He
stayed.
Leopoldo Martinez began to pace. 'Damn the Basques.
Why can't they be satisfied just to be Spaniards? What more
do they want?'
'They're greedy for power,' Acoca said. 'They want
autonomy, their own language and their flag '
'No. Not as long as I hold this office. I'm not going to
permit them to tear pieces out of Spain. The government
will tell them what they can have and what they can't have.
They're nothing but rabble who . . .'
An aide came into the room. 'Excuse me. Your Excellency,'
he said apologetically. 'Bishop Ibanez has arrived.'
'Send him in.'
The Colonel's eyes narrowed. 'You can be sure the church
is behind all this. It's time we taught them a lesson.'
The Church is one of the great ironies of our history, Colonel Acoca thought bitterly.
In the beginning of the Civil War, the Catholic Church
had been on the side of the Nationalist forces. The Pope
backed Generalissimo Franco, and in so doing allowed him
to proclaim that he was fighting on the side of God. But
when the Basque churches and monasteries and priests were
attacked, the Church withdrew its support.
'You must give the Basques and the Catalans more freedom,'
the Church had demanded. 'And you must stop
executing Basque priests.'
(Jeneralissimo Franco had been furious. How dare the
Church try to dictate to the government?
A war of attrition began. More churches and monasteries
were attacked by Franco's forces. Nuns and priests were
murdered. Bishops were placed under house arrest, and
priests all over Spain were fined for giving sermons that
the government considered seditious. It was only when the
Church threatened Franco with excommunication that he
stopped his attacks.
The goddamned Church! Acoca thought. With Franco
dead it was interfering again.
He turned to the Prime Minister. 'It's time the bishop is
told who's running Spain.'
Bishop Calvo Ibanez was a thin, frail-looking man with a
cloud of white hair swirling around his head. He peered at
the two men through his pince-nez spectacles.
'Buenos tardes.'
Colonel Acoca felt the bile rise in his throat. The very
sight of clergymen made him ill. They were Judas goats
leading their stupid lambs to slaughter.
The bishop stood there, waiting for an invitation to sit
down. It did not come. Nor was he introduced to the Colonel.
It was a deliberate slight.
The Prime Minister looked to Acoca for direction.
Acoca said curtly, 'Some disturbing news has been brought
to our attention. Basque rebels are reported to be holding
meetings in Catholic monasteries. It has also been reported
that the Church is allowing monasteries and convents to
store arms for the rebels.' There was steel in his voice.
'When you help the enemies of Spain, you become an
enemy of Spain.'
Bishop Ibanez stared at him for a moment, then turned to
Leopoldo Martinez. 'Your Excellency, with due respect, we
are all children of Spain. The Basques are not your enemy.
All they ask is the freedom to '
"They don't ask,' Acoca roared. "They demand! They
go around the country pillaging, robbing banks and killing
policemen, and you dare to say they are not our enemies?'

I admit that mere nave oeen inexcusable excesses. But
sometimes in fighting for what one believes '
"They don't believe in anything but themselves. They
care nothing about Spain. It is as one of our great writers
said, "No one in Spain is concerned about the common
good. Each group is concerned only with itself. The
Church, the Basques, the Catalans. Each one says fuck the
others.'"
The bishop was aware that Colonel Acoca had misquoted
Ortega y Gasset. The full quote had included the army and
the government; but he wisely said nothing. He turned
to the Prime Minister again, hoping for a more rational
discussion.
'Your Excellency, the Catholic Church '
The Prime Minister felt that Acoca had pushed far enough.
Don't misunderstand us. Bishop. In principle, of course,
this government is behind the Catholic Church one hundred
per cent.'
Colonel Acoca spoke up again. 'But we cannot permit
your churches and monasteries and convents to be used
against us. If you continue to allow the Basques to store
arms in them and to hold meetings, you will have to take the
consequences.'
'I am sure that the reports that you have received are
erroneous,' the bishop said smoothly. 'However, I shall
certainly investigate at once.'
The Prime Minister murmured, 'Thank you. Bishop. That
will be all.'
Prime Minister Martinez and Colonel Acoca watched him
depart.
'What do you think?' Martinez asked.
'He knows what's going on.'
The Prime Minister sighed.  have enough problems right
now without stirring up trouble with the Church.
'If the Church is for the Basques, then it is against us.'
Colonel Acoca's voice hardened. 'I would like your permission
to teach the bishop a lesson.'
The Prime Minister was stopped by the look of fanaticism
111 me man s eyes. Me became cautious. 'Have you really had
reports that the churches are aiding the rebels?'
'Of course. Excellency.'
There was no way of determining if the man was telling
the truth. The Prime Minister knew how much Acoca hated
the Church. But it might be good to let the Church have a
taste of the whip, providing Colonel Acoca did not go too
far. Prime Minister Martinez stood there thoughtfully.
It was Acoca who broke the silence. 'If the churches are
sheltering terrorists, then the churches must be punished.'
Reluctantly, the Prime Minister nodded. 'Where will you
start?'
'Jaime Miro and his men were seen in Avila yesterday.
They are probably hiding at the convent there.'
The Prime Minister made up his mind. 'Search it,' he said.
That decision set off a chain of events that was to rock all
of Spain and shock the world.
26

Chapter 3
Avila
The silence was like a gentle snowfall, soft and hushed, as
soothing as the whisper of a summer wind, as quiet as
the passage of stars. The Cistercian Convent of the Strict
Observance lay outside the walled town of Avila, the highest
city in Spain, 112 kilometres north-west of Madrid. The
convent had been built for silence. The rules had been
adopted in 1601 and remained unchanged through the centuries:
liturgy, spiritual exercise, strict enclosure, penance
and silence. Always the silence.
The convent was a simple, four-sided group of rough stone
buildings around a cloister dominated by the church. Around
the central court the open arches allowed the light to pour
in on the broad flagstones of the floor where the nuns glided
noiselessly by. There were forty nuns at the convent, praying
in the church and living in the cloister. The convent at Avila
was one of seven left in Spain, a survivor out of hundreds
that had been destroyed by the Civil War in one of the
periodic anti-Church movements that took place in Spain
over the centuries.
The Cistercian Convent of the Strict Observance was
devoted solely to a life of prayer. It was a place without
seasons or time and those who entered were forever removed
from the outside world. The Cistercian life was contemplative
and penitential; the divine office was recited daily and
enclosure was complete and permanent.
All the sisters dressed identically, and their clothing, like
27
everything else in the convent, was touched by the symbolism
of centuries. The capucha, the cloak and hood, symbolized
innocence and simplicity, the linen tunic the renouncement
of the works of the world, and mortification, the scapular,
the small squares of woollen cloth worn over the shoulders,
the willingness to labour. A wimple, a covering of linen laid
in plaits over the head and around the chin, sides of the face
and neck, completed the habit.
Inside the walls of the convent was a system of internal
passageways and staircases linking the dining room, community
room, the cells and the chapel, and everywhere there
was an atmosphere of cold, clean spaciousness. Thick-paned
latticed windows overlooked a high-wailed garden. Every
window was covered with iron bars and was above the line
of vision, so that there would be no outside distractions. The
refectory, the dining hall, was long and austere, its windows
shuttered and curtained. The candles in the ancient candlesticks
cast evocative shadows on the ceilings and walls.
In four hundred years nothing inside the walls of the convent
had changed, except the faces. The sisters had no personal
possessions, for they desired to be poor, emulating the
poverty of Christ. The church itself was bare of ornaments,
save for a priceless solid gold cross that had been a long-ago
gift from a wealthy postulant. Because it was so out of
keeping with the austerity of the order, it was kept hidden
away in a cabinet in the refectory. A plain, wooden cross
hung at the altar of the church.
The women who shared their lives with the Lord lived
together, worked together, ate together and prayed together,
yet they never touched and never spoke. The only exception
permitted was when they heard mass or when the Reverend
Mother Prioress Betina addressed them in the privacy of her
office. Even then, an ancient sign language was used as much
as possible.
28

The Reverend Mother was a religieuse in her seventies, a
bright-faced robin of a woman, cheerful and energetic, who
gloried in the peace and joy of convent life, and of a life
devoted to God. Fiercely protective of her nuns, she felt
more pain when it was necessary to enforce discipline, than
did the one being punished.
The nuns walked through the cloisters and corridors
with downcast eyes, hands folded in their sleeves at breast
level, passing and re-passing their sisters without a word
or sign of recognition. The only voice of the convent was its
bells - the bells that Victor Hugo called 'the Opera of the
Steeples'.
The sisters came from disparate backgrounds and from many
different countries. Their families were aristocrats, farmers,
soldiers . . . They had come to the convent as rich and poor,
educated and ignorant, miserable and exalted, but now they
were one in the eyes of God, united in their desire for eternal
marriage to Jesus.
The living conditions in the convent were spartan. In
winter the cold was knifing, and a chill, pale light filtered in
through leaded windows. The nuns slept fully dressed on
pallets of straw, covered with rough woollen sheets, each in
her tiny cell, furnished only with a straight-backed wooden
chair. There was no washstand. A small earthenware jug
and basin stood in a corner on the floor. No nun was
ever permitted to enter the cell of another, except for the
Reverend Mother Betina. There was no recreation of
any kind, only work and prayers. There were work areas
for knitting, book binding, weaving and making bread.
There were eight hours of prayer each day: Matins, Lauds,
Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline. Besides
these there were other devotions: benedictions, hymns and
litanies.
Matins were said when half the world was asleep and the
other half was absorbed in sin.
Lauds, the office of daybreak, followed Matins, and the
29
,,.,,g sun was nailed as the figure of Ch triumphant and
glorified.
Prime was the church's morning pra asking for the
blessings on the work of the day.
Terce was at nine o'clock in the morning consecrated by
St Augustine to the Holy Spirit.
Sext was at 11.30 a.m., evoked to qnch the heat of
human passions.
None was silently recited at three in e afternoon, the
hour of Christ's death.
Vespers was the evening service of th ,-ch, as Lauds
was her daybreak prayer.
Compline was the completion of the Iie Hours of the
day. A form of night prayers, a preparation for death as well
as sleep, ending the day on a note of l, submission:
Manus tuas, domine, commendo spiritum meum Redemisti
nos, domine, deus, veritatis.
In some of the other orders, flagellation ad been stopped,
but in the cloistered Cistercian convents  monasteries it
survived. At least once a week, and sometigg every day the
nuns punished their bodies with the Discipg 3 twelve-inch
long whip of thin waxed cord with six knotted tails that
brought agonizing pain, and was used to 13 e back legs
and buttocks. Bernard of Clairvaux, the aic abbot of the
Cistercians, had admonished: The body o-Qt is crushed
... our bodies must be conformed to thg eness of our
Lord's wounded body.'
It was a life more austere than in an, prison vet the
inmates lived in an ecstasy such as they  ngyg,. known
in the outside world. They had renounce   (owe,
possessions and freedom of choice, but i giving yp those
things they had also renounced greed nd competition,
hatred and envy, and all the pressures and temptations that
the outside world imposed. Inside the co  ned an
all-pervading peace and the ineffable seng of joy at being
one with God. There was an indescribabg serenity within
the walls of the convent and in the hearts c ose who lived
there. If the convent was a prison, it was  pion in God's
30

Eden, with the knowledge of a happy eternity for those who
had freely chosen to be there and to remain there.
Sister Lucia was awakened by the tolling of the convent bell.
She opened her eyes, startled and disoriented for an instant.
The little cell she slept in was dismally black. The sound of
the bell told her that it was 3.00 a.m., when the office of
vigils began, while the world was still in darkness.
Shit! This routine is going to kill me. Sister Lucia thought.
She lay back on her tiny, uncomfortable cot, desperate for
a cigarette. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed. The
heavy habit she wore and slept in rubbed against her sensitive
skin like sandpaper. She thought of all the beautiful designer
gowns hanging in her apartment in Rome and at her chalet
in Gstaad. The Valentines and Armanis and Giannis.
From outside her cell Sister Lucia could hear the soft,
swishing movement of the nuns as they gathered in the
passage. Carelessly, she made up her bed and stepped out
into the long corridor, where the nuns were lining up, eyes
downcast. Slowly, they all began to move towards the chapel.
They look like a bunch of penguins. Sister Lucia thought.
It was beyond her comprehension why these women had
deliberately thrown away their lives, giving up sex, pretty
clothes and gourmet food. Without those things, what reason
is there to go on living? And the goddamned rules!
When Sister Lucia had first entered the convent, the
Reverend Mother had said to her, 'You must walk with your
head bowed. Keep your hands folded under your habit. Take
short steps. Walk slowly. You must never make eye contact
with any of the other sisters, or even glance at them. You
may not speak. Your ears are to hear only God's words.'
'Yes, Reverend Mother.'
For the next month Lucia took instruction. "Those who come here come not to join others, but to dwell
alone with God, solitariamente. Solitude of spirit is essential
to a union with God. It is safeguarded by the rules of silence.'
'Yes, Reverend Mother.'
31
'You must always obey the silence of the eyes. Looking
into the eyes of others would distract you with useless
images.'
'Yes, Reverend Mother.'
'The first lesson you will learn here will be to rectify the
past, to purge out old habits and worldly inclinations, to blot
out every image of the past. You will do purifying penance
and mortification to strip yourself of self-will and self-love. a
It is not enough for us to be sorry for our past offences.! Once we discover the infinite beauty and holiness of God,
we want to make up not only for our own sins, but for every
sin that has ever been committed.
'Yes, Reverend Mother.'
'You must struggle with sensuality, what John of the Cross
called, "the night of the senses".'
'Yes, Reverend Mother.'
'Each nun lives in silence and in solitude, as though she
were already in heaven. In this pure, .precious silence for
which she hungers, she is able to listen to the infinite silence
and possess God.'
At the end of the first month, Lucia took her initial vows.
On the day of the ceremony she had her hair shorn. It
was a traumatic experience. The Reverend Mother Prioress
performed the act herself. She summoned Lucia into her
office and motioned for her to sit down. She stepped behind
her, and before Lucia knew what was happening, she heard
the snip of scissors and felt something tugging at her hair.
She started to protest, but she suddenly realized that what
was happening could only improve her disguise.  can always
let it grow back later, Lucia thought. Meanwhile, I'm going
to look like a plucked chicken.
When Lucia returned to the grim cubicle she had been
assigned, she thought: This place is a snake pit. The floor
consisted of bare boards. The pallet and the hard-backed
chair took up most of the room. She was desperate to get
hold of a newspaper. Fat chance, she thought. In this place

they had never heard of newspapers, let alone radio or
television. There were no links to the outside world at
all.
But what got on Lucia's nerves most of all was the unnatural
silence. The only communication was through hand signals,
and learning those drove her crazy. When she needed
a broom, she was taught to move her outstretched right hand
from right to left, as though sweeping. When the Reverend
Mother was displeased, she brought together the tips of her
little fingers three times in front of her body, the other fingers
pressing into her palm. When Lucia was slow in doing her
work, the Reverend Mother pressed the palm of her right
hand against her left shoulder. To reprimand Lucia, she
scratched her own cheek near her right ear with all the fingers
of her right hand in a downward motion.
For Christ's sake, Lucia thought, it looks like she's scratching
a flea bite.
They had reached the chapel. The nuns said a silent mass,
the sequence from the age-old Sanctus to the Pater Noster,
but Sister Lucia's thoughts were on more important things
than God.
In another month or two, when the police stop looking for
me, I'll be out of this madhouse.
After morning prayers. Sister Lucia marched with the
others to the dining room, surreptitiously breaking the rule,
as she did every day, by studying their faces. It was her only
entertainment. It was incredible to think that none of them
knew what the other sisters looked like.
She was fascinated by the faces of the nuns. Some were
old, some were young, some pretty, some ugly. She could
not understand why they all seemed so happy. There were
three faces that Lucia found particularly interesting. One
was Sister Teresa, a woman who appeared to be in
her sixties. She was far from beautiful, and yet there
was a spirituality about her that gave her an almost
unearthly loveliness. She seemed always to be smiling

inwardly, as though she carried some wonderful secret within
herself.
Another nun that Lucia found fascinating was Sister
Graciela. She was a stunningly beautiful woman in her early
thirties. She had olive skin, exquisite features, and eyes that
were luminous black pools.
She could have been a film star, Lucia thought. What's
her story? Why would she bury herself in a place like
this?
The third nun who captured Lucia's interest was Sister
Megan. Blue-eyed, blonde eyebrows and lashes. She was in
her late twenties and had a fresh, open faced look.
What is she doing here? What are any of these women
doing here? They're locked up behind these walls, given a
tiny cell to sleep in, rotten food, eight hours of prayers,
hard work and too little sleep. They must be pazzo - all of
them.
She was better off than they were, because they were stuck
here for the rest of their lives, while she would be out of
here in a month or two. Maybe three, Lucia thought. This is
a perfect hiding place. I'd be a fool to rush away. In a few
months, the police will decide that I'm dead. When I leave
here and get my money out of Switzerland, maybe I'll write
a book about this crazy place.
A few days earlier Sister Lucia had been sent by the Reverend
Mother to the office to retrieve a paper and while there
she had taken the opportunity to start looking through
the files. Unfortunately she had been caught in the act of
snooping.
'You will do penance by using the Discipline,' the Mother
Prioress Betina signalled her.
Sister Lucia bowed her head meekly and signalled, 'Yes,
Reverend Mother.'
Lucia returned to her cell, and minutes later the nuns
walking through the corridor heard the awful sound of the
whip as it whistled through the air and fell again and again.
34

What they could not know was that Sister Lucia was whipping
the bed. These freaks may be into S  M, but not yours truly.
Now they were seated in the refectory, forty nuns at two
long tables. The Cistercian diet was strictly vegetarian. Because
the body craved meat, it was forbidden. Long before
dawn, a cup of tea or coffee and a few ounces of dry bread
were served. The principal meal was taken at 11.00 a.m., and
consisted of a thin soup, a few vegetables and occasionally a
piece of fruit.
We are not here to please our bodies, but to please God.
I wouldn't feed this breakfast to my cat. Sister Lucia
thought. I've been here two months, and I'll bet I've lost ten
pounds. It's God's version of a health farm.
When breakfast was ended, two nuns brought washing-up
bowls to each end of the table and set them down. The sisters
seated about the table sent their plates to the sister who had
the bowl. She washed each plate, dried it on a towel and
returned it to its owner. The water got darker and greasier.
And they're going to live like this for the rest of their lives, Sister Lucia thought disgustedly. Oh, well. I can't complain.
At least it's better than a life sentence in prison ...
She would have given her immortal soul for a cigarette.
Five hundred yards down the road. Colonel Ramon Acoca
and two dozen carefully selected men from the GOE, the Grupo de Operaciones Especiales, were preparing to attack
the convent.
35
FR1;Chapter Four
Colonel Ramon Acoca had the instincts of a hunter. He
loved the chase, but it was the kill that gave him a deep
visceral satisfaction. He had once confided to a friend, 'I
have an orgasm when I kill. It doesn't matter whether it's a
deer or a rabbit or a man - there's something about taking
a life that makes you feel like God.'
Acoca had been in military intelligence, and he had quickly
achieved a reputation for being brilliant. He was fearless,
ruthless and intelligent, and the combination brought him to
the attention of one of General Franco's aides.
Acoca had joined Franco's staff as a lieutenant, and in less
than three years he had risen to the rank of colonel, an almost
unheard-of feat. He was put in charge of the Falangists, the
special group used to terrorize those who opposed Franco.
It was during the war that Acoca had been sent for by a
member of the OPUS MUNDO,
'I want you to understand that we're speaking to you with
the permission of General Franco.'
'Yes, sir.'
'We've been watching you. Colonel. We are pleased with
what we see.'
Thank you, sir.'
'From time to time we have certain assignments that are
- shall we say - very confidential. And very dangerous.'
'I understand, sir.'
'We have many enemies. People who don't understand
the importance of the work we're doing.'
'Yes, sir.'

'Sometimes they interfere with us. We can't permit that
to happen.'
No, sir.'
'I believe we could use a man like you. Colonel. I think
we understand each other.'
'Yes, sir. I'd be honoured to be of service.'
'We would like you to remain in the army. That will be
valuable to us. But from time to time, we will have you
assigned to these special projects.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'You are never to speak of this.'
'No, sir.'
The man behind the desk had made Acoca nervous. There
was something overpoweringly frightening about him.
In time. Colonel Acoca was called upon to handle half a
dozen assignments for the OPUS MUNDO. As he had been
told, they were all dangerous. And very confidential.
On one of the missions Acoca had met a lovely young girl
from a fine family. Up to then, all of his women had been
whores or camp followers, and Acoca had treated them with
savage contempt. Some of the women had genuinely fallen
in love with him, attracted by his strength. He reserved the
worst treatment for them.
But Susana Cerredilla belonged to a different world. Her
father was a professor at Madrid University, and Susana's
mother was a lawyer. Susana was Seventeen years old, and
she had the body of a woman and the angelic face of a
Madonna. Ramon Acoca had never met anyone like this
woman-child. Her gentle vulnerability brought out in him a
tenderness he had not known he was capable of. He fell
madly in love with her, and for reasons which neither her
parents nor Acoca understood, she fell in love with him.
On their honeymoon, it was as though Acoca had never
known another woman. He had known lust, but the combination
of love and passion was something he had never
previously experienced.
Three months after they were married, Susana informed
him that she was pregnant. Acoca was wildly excited. To
add to their joy, he was assigned to the beautiful little village
of Castilbanca, in the Basque country. It was in the autumn
of 1936 when the fighting between the Republicans and
Nationalists was at its fiercest.
On a peaceful Sunday morning, Ramon Acoca and his
bride were having coffee in the village plaza when the square
suddenly filled with Basque demonstrators.
'I want you to go home,' Acoca said. There's going to be
trouble.'
'But you ?'
Please. I'll be all right.'
The demonstrators were beginning to get out of hand.
With relief, Ramon Acoca watched his bride walk away
from the crowd towards a convent at the far end of the
square. And as she reached it, the door to the convent
suddenly swung open and armed Basques who had been
hiding inside, swarmed out with blazing guns. Acoca had
watched helplessly as his wife went down in a hail of bullets,
and it was on that day that he had sworn vengeance on the
Basques. The Church had also been responsible.
And now he was in Avila, outside another convent. This
time they'll die.
Inside the convent, in the dark before dawn, Sister Teresa
held the Discipline tightly in her right hand and whipped it
hard across her body, feeling the knotted tails slashing into
her as she silently recited the Miserere. She almost screamed
aloud, but noise was not permitted, and she kept the screams
inside her. Forgive me, Jesus, for my sins. Bear witness that
I punish myself, as you were punished, and I inflict wounds
upon myself, as wounds were inflicted upon you. Let me
suffer, as you suffered.
She was near fainting from the pain. Three more times
she flagellated herself and then sank, agonized, upon her
cot. She had not drawn blood. That was forbidden. Wincing
38

aeainst the agony that each movement brought. Sister Teresa
eturned the whip to its black case and rested it in a corner.
It was always there, a constant reminder that the slightest
sin had to be paid for with pain.
Sister Teresa's transgression had happened that morning
as she was rounding the corner of a corridor, eyes down,
and bumped into Sister Graciela. Startled, Sister Teresa
had looked into Sister Graciela's face. Sister Teresa had
immediately reported her infraction and the Reverend
Mother Betina had frowned disapprovingly and made the
sign of discipline, moving her right hand three times from
shoulder to shoulder, her hand closed as though holding a
whip, the tip of her thumb held against the inside of her
forefinger.
Lying on her cot that night. Sister Teresa had been unable
to get out of her mind the extraordinarily beautiful face of
the young girl she had gazed at. Sister Teresa knew that as
long as she lived she would never speak to her and would
never even look at her again, for the slightest sign of intimacy
between nuns was severely punished. In an atmosphere of
rigid moral and physical austerity, no relationships of any
kind were allowed to develop. If two sisters worked side by
side and seemed to enjoy each other's silent company, the
Reverend Mother would immediately have them separated.
Nor were the sisters permitted to sit next to the same person
at table twice in a row. The church delicately called the
attraction of one nun to another 'a particular friendship',
and the penalty was swift and severe. Sister Teresa had
served her punishment for breaking the rule.
Now the tolling bell came to Sister Teresa as though
from a great distance. It was the voice of God, reproving
her.
In the next cell, the sound of the bell rang through the
corridors of Sister Graciela's dreams, and the pealing of the
bell was mingled with the lubricious creak of bedsprings.
The Moor was moving towards her, naked, his manhood
39
tumescent, his hands reaching out to grab her. Sister Graciela
opened her eyes, instantly awake, her heart pounding frantically.
She looked around, terrified, but she was alone in her
tiny cell and the only sound was the reassuring tolling of the
bell.
Sister Graciela knelt at the side of her cot. Jesus, thank
You for delivering me from the past. Thank You for the joy
I have in being here in Your light. Let me glory only in the
happiness of Your being. Help me, my Beloved, to be true to
the call You have given me. Help me to ease the sorrow of
Your sacred heart.
Sister Graciela rose and carefully made her bed, then
joined the procession of her sisters as they moved silently
towards the chapel for Matins. She could smell the familiar
scent of burning candles and feel the worn stones beneath
her sandalled feet.
In the beginning when Sister Graciela had first entered
the convent, she had not understood it when the Mother
Prioress had told her that a nun was a woman who gave up
everything in order to possess everything. Sister Graciela
had been fourteen years old then. Now, seventeen years
later, it was clear to her. In contemplation she possessed
everything, for contemplation was the mind replying to the
soul, the waters of Siloh that flowed in silence. Her days
were filled with a wonderful peace.
Thank You for letting me forget the terrible past,
Father. Thank You for standing beside me. I couldn't face
my terrible past without you . . . Thank You . . . Thank
You. . .
When Matins were over, the nuns returned to their cells
to sleep until Lauds, the rising of the sun.
Outside, Colonel Ram6n Acoca and his men moved swiftly
in the darkness. When they reached the convent. Colonel
Acoca said, 'Jaime Mir6 and his men will be armed. Take
no chances.'
He looked at the front of the convent, and for an instant,
40

he saw that other convent with Basque partisans rushing out
of it, and Susana going down in a hail of bullets.
Don't bother taking Jaime Mir6 alive,' he said.
Sister Megan was awakened by the silence. It was a different
silence, a moving silence, a hurried rush of air, a whisper of
bodies. There were sounds she had never heard in her
fifteen years in the convent. She was suddenly filled with a
premonition that something was terribly wrong.
She rose quietly in the darkness and opened the door to
her cell. Unbelievably, the long stone corridor was filled with
men. A giant with a scarred face was coming out of the
Reverend Mother's cell, pulling her by the arm. Megan
stared in shock. I'm having a nightmare, Megan thought. These men can't be here.
'Where are you hiding him?' Colonel Acoca demanded.
The Reverend Mother Betina had a look of stunned horror
on her face. 'Ssh! This is God's temple. You are desecrating
it.' Her voice was trembling. 'You must leave at once.'
The Colonel's grip tightened on her arm and he shook
her. 'I want Mir6, Sister.'
The nightmare was real.
Other cell doors were beginning to open, and nuns were
appearing, looks of total confusion on their faces. There had
never been anything in their experience to prepare them for
this extraordinary happening.
Colonel Acoca pushed Sister Betina away and turned to
Patricio Arrieta, one of his lieutenants. 'Search the place.
Top to bottom.'
Acoca's men began to spread out, invading the chapel,
the refectory and the cells, waking those nuns who were still
asleep, and forcing them roughly to their feet through the
corridors and into the chapel. The nuns obeyed wordlessly,
keeping even now their vows of silence. To Megan the scene
was like a film with the sound turned off.
Acoca's men were filled with a sense of vengeance. They
were all Falangists, and they remembered only too well how
41
._--- ... >u..,u agdiiisi inem aunng the Civil War
and supported the Loyalists against their beloved leader,
Generalissimo Franco. This was their chance to get their
own back. The nuns' strength and silence made the men
more furious than ever.
As Acoca passed one of the cells, a scream echoed from
it. Acoca looked in and saw one of his men ripping the habit
from a nun. Acoca moved on.
Sister Lucia was awakened by the sounds of men's voices
yelling. She sat up in a panic. The police have found me, was
her first thought. I've got to get out of here. There was no
way out of the convent except through the front door.
She hurriedly rose and peered out into the corridor. The
sight that met her eyes was astonishing. The corridor was
filled not with policemen, but with men in civilian clothes,
carrying weapons, smashing lamps and tables. There was
confusion everywhere as they raced around.
The Reverend Mother Betina was standing in the centre
of the chaos, praying silently, watching them desecrate her
beloved convent. Sister Megan moved to her side, and Lucia
joined them.
'What the h - what's happening? Who are they?' Lucia
asked. They were the first words she had spoken aloud since
entering the convent.
The Reverend Mother put her right hand under her left
armpit three times, the sign for hide.
Lucia stared at her unbelievingly. 'You can talk now. Let's
get out of here, for Christ's sake. And I mean for Christ's
sake.'
Patricio Arrieta, the Colonel's key aide, hurried up to
Acoca. 'We've searched everywhere. Colonel. There's no
sign ofJaime Miro or his men.'
'Search again,' Acoca said stubbornly.
It was then that the Reverend Mother remembered the
one treasure that the convent had. She hurried over to Sister
Teresa and whispered, 'I have a task for you. Remove the
42

Id cross from the chapel and take it to the convent at Clendavia. You must get it away from here. Hurry!'
Sister Teresa was shaking so hard that her wimple fluttered
in waves. She stared at the Reverend Mother, paralyzed.
Sister Teresa had spent the last thirty years of her life in the
convent. The thought of leaving it was beyond imagining.
She raised her hand and signed,  can't.
The Reverend Mother was frantic. 'The cross must not
fall into the hands of these men of Satan. Now do this for
Jesus.'
A light came into Sister Teresa's eyes. She stood very tall.
She signed, for Jesus. She turned and hurried towards the
chapel.
Sister Graciela approached the group, staring in wonder
at the wild confusion around her.
The men were getting more and more violent, smashing everything
in sight. Colonal Acoca watched them, approvingly.
Lucia turned to Megan and Graciela. 'I don't know about
you two, but I'm getting out of here. Are you coming?'
They stared at her, too dazed to respond.
Sister Teresa was hurrying towards them, carrying something
wrapped in a piece of canvas. Some of the men were
herding more nuns into the refectory.
'Come on,' Lucia said.
Sisters Teresa, Megan and Graciela hesitated for a moment,
then followed Lucia towards the front door. As they
turned at the end of the long corridor, they could see that
the huge door had been smashed in.
A man suddenly appeared in front of them. 'Going somewhere,
ladies? Get back. My friends have plans for you.'
Lucia said, 'We have a gift for you.' She picked up one of
the heavy metal candlesticks that lined the hallway tables
and smiled.
The man was looking at it, puzzled. 'What can you do
with that?'
'This.' Lucia swung the candelabra against his head, and
he fell to the ground, unconscious.
The three nuns stared in horror.
43
FR1;_ . -. __. tJUIU.
A moment later Lucia, Megan, Graciela and Teresa were
outside in the front courtyard, hurrying through the gate into
the starry night.
Lucia stopped. 'I'm leaving you. They're going to be
searching for you, so you'd better get away from here.'
She turned and started towards the mountains that rose in
the distance, high above the convent. I'll hide out up there
until the search cools off and then I'll head for Switzerland.
Of all the rotten luck. Those bastards blew a perfect cover.
As Lucia made her way towards higher ground, she
glanced down. From her vantage point she could see the
three sisters. Incredibly, they were still standing in front of
the convent gate, like three black-clad statues. For God's
sake, she thought. Get going before they catch you. Move!
They could not move. It was as though all their senses had been paralyzed for so long that they were unable to take in ' what was happening to them. The nuns stared down at their I
feet; They were so dazed they could not think. They had ' been cloistered for so long behind the gates of God, secluded
from the world, that now that they were outside the protective
gates, they were filled with feelings of confusion and
panic. They had no idea where to go or what to do. Inside,
their lives had been organized for them. They had been fed,
clothed, told what to do and when to do it. They had lived
by the Rule. Suddenly there was no Rule. What did God 
want from them? What was His plan? They stood huddled
together, afraid to speak, afraid to look at one another. 
Hesitantly, Sister Teresa pointed to the lights of Avila in
the distance and signed, that way. Uncertainly, they began
to move towards the town.
Watching them from the hills above, Lucia thought: No,
you idiots! That's the first place they'll look for you. Well,
that's your problem. I have my own problems. She stood
there for a moment, watching them walk towards their doom,
going to their slaughter. Shit.

Lucia scrambled down the hill, stumbling over the loose scree,
md ran after them, her cumbersome habit slowing her down.
Wait a minute,' she called. 'Stop!'
The sisters stopped and turned.
Lucia hurried up to them, out of breath. 'You're going
the wrong way. The first place they'll search for you is in
town. You've got to hide out somewhere.'
The three sisters stared at her in silence.
Lucia said impatiently, 'The mountains. Get up to the
mountains. Follow me.'
She turned and started back towards the mountains. The
others watched, and after a moment, they began to trail after
her, one by one.
From time to time Lucia looked back to make sure they
were following. Why can't I mind my own business? she
thought. They're not my responsibility. It's more dangerous
if we're all together. She kept climbing, making sure they
stayed in sight.
The others were having a difficult time of it, and every
time they slowed down, Lucia stopped to let them catch up
with her. I'll get rid of them in the morning.
'Let's move faster,' Lucia called.
At the Abbey, the raid had come to an end. The dazed nuns,
their habits wrinkled and bloodstained, were being rounded
up and put into unmarked, closed trucks.
'Take them back to my headquarters in Madrid,' Colonel
Acoca ordered. 'Keep them in isolation.'
'What charge ?'
'Harbouring terrorists.'
'Yes, Colonel,' Patricio Arrieta said. He hesitated. 'Four
of the nuns are missing.'
Colonel Acoca's eyes turned cold. 'Find them.'
Colonel Acoca flew back to Madrid to report to the Prime Minister.
'Jaime Miro escaped before we reached the convent.'
riime minister Martinez nodded. 'Yes, I heard.' And he
wondered whether Jaime Miro had ever been in the convent
to begin with. There was no doubt about it. Colonel Acoca
was getting dangerously out of control. There had been angry
protests about the brutal attack on the convent. The Prime
Minister chose his words carefully. The newspapers have
been hounding me about what happened.'
The newspapers are making a hero of this terrorist,'
Acoca said, stone faced. 'We must not let them pressure us.'
'He's causing the government a great deal of embarrassment,
Colonel. And those four nuns - if they talk -'
'Don't worry. They can't get far. I'll catch them and I'll
find Miro.' 
The Prime Minister had already decided that he could not
afford to take any more chances. 'Colonel, I want you to be'
sure the thirty-six nuns you have are well-treated, and I'm 
ordering the army to join the search for Miro and the others.
You'll work with Colonel Sostelo.'
There was a long, dangerous pause. 'Which one of us will
be in charge of the operation?' Acoca's eyes were icy.
The Prime Minister swallowed. 'You will be, of course.'
Lucia and the three sisters travelled through the early dawn,
moving north-east into the mountains, heading away from
Avila and the convent. The nuns, used to moving in silence,
made little noise. The only sounds were the rustle of their
robes, the clicking of their rosaries, an occasional snapping
twig, and their gasps for breath as they climbed higher and
higher.
They reached a plateau of the Guadarrama mountains
and walked along a rutted road bordered by stone walls.
They passed fields with sheep and goats. By sunrise they had
covered several miles and found themselves in a wooded
area outside the small village of Villacastin.
I'll leave them here, Lucia decided. Their God can take
care of them now. He certainly took great care of me, she
thought bitterly. Switzerland is farther away than ever. I
46

jrive no money and no passport, and I'm dressed like an
undertaker. By now those men know we've escaped. They'll keep looking until they find us. The sooner I get away by
myself, the better. But at that instant, something happened that made her
change her plans.
Sister Teresa was moving through the trees when she
stumbled and the package she had been so carefully guarding
fell to the ground. It spilled out of its canvas wrapping and
Lucia found herself staring at a large, exquisitely wrought
gold cross glowing in the rays of the rising sun.
That's real gold, Lucia thought. Someone up there is looking
after me. That cross is manna. Sheer manna. It's my ticket
to Switzerland.
Lucia watched as Sister Teresa picked up the cross and
carefully put it back in its wrapping. Lucia smiled to herself.
It was going to be easy to take it. These nuns would do
anything she told them.
The town of Avila was in an uproar. News of the attack on
the convent had spread quickly, and Father Berrendo was
elected to confront Colonel Acoca. The priest was in his
seventies, with an outward frailty that belied his inner
strength. He was a warm and understanding shepherd to his
parishioners. But at the moment he was filled with a cold
fury.
Colonel Acoca kept him waiting for an hour, then allowed
the priest to be shown into his office.
Father Berrendo said without preamble, 'You and your
men attacked a convent without provocation. It was an act
of madness.'
'We were simply doing our duty,' the Colonel said curtly.
The Abbey was sheltering Jaime Miro and his band of
murderers, so the sisters brought this on themselves. We're
holding them for questioning.'
'Did you find Jaime Miro in the Abbey?' the priest demanded
angrily.
47
FR1;Colonel Acoca said smoothly, 'No. He and his men escaped
before we got there. But we'll find them, and justice
will be done.'
My justice. Colonel Acoca thought savagely.

Chapter 5
The nuns travelled slowly. Their garb was ill-designed for
the rugged terrain. Their sandals were too thin to protect
their feet against the stony ground, and their habits caught
on everything. Sister Teresa found she could not even say
her rosary. She needed both hands to keep the branches
from snapping in her face.
In the light of day, freedom seemed even more terrifying
than before. God had cast the sisters out of Eden into a
strange, frightening world, and His guidance that they had
leaned on for so long was gone. They found themselves in
an uncharted country with no map and no compass. The
walls that had protected them from harm for so long had
vanished and they felt naked and exposed. Danger was
everywhere, and they no longer had a place of refuge. They
were aliens. The unaccustomed sights and sounds of the
country were dazzling. There were insects and bird songs
and hot, blue skies assaulting the senses. And there was
something else that was disturbing.
When they first fled the convent, Teresa, Graciela and
Megan had carefully avoided looking at one another, instinctively
keeping to the rules. But now, each found herself
avidly studying the faces of the others. Also, after all the
years of silence, they found it difficult to speak, and when
they did speak, their words were halting, as though they
were learning a strange new skill. Their voices sounded
strange in their ears. Only Lucia seemed uninhibited and
sure of herself, and the others automatically turned to her
for leadership.
..- ....,.,i no Y>;ii luuuuuL'c ourselves, Lucia said. 'I'm
Sister Lucia.'
There was an awkward pause, and Graciela said shyly,
'I'm Sister Graciela.'
The dark-haired, arrestingly beautiful one. 'I'm Sister Megan.'
The young blonde with the striking blue eyes.
'I'm Sister Teresa.'
The eldest of the group. Fifty? Sixty?
As they lay in the woods resting outside of the village,
Lucia thought: They're like newborn birds fallen out of their
nests. They won't last five minutes on their own. Well, too
bad for them. I'll be on my way to Switzerland with the cross.
Lucia walked to the edge of the clearing they were in and
peered through the trees towards the little village below. A
few people were walking along the street, but there was no
sign of the men who had raided the convent. Now, Lucia
thought. Here's my chance.
She turned to the others. 'I'm going down to the village
to try to get us some food. You wait here.' She nodded
towards Sister Teresa. 'You come with me.'
Sister Teresa was confused. For thirty years she had
obeyed only the orders of Reverend Mother Betina and now
suddenly this sister had taken charge. But what is happening
is God's will. Sister Teresa thought. He has appointed her to
help us, so she speaks with His voice. 'I must get this cross
to the convent at Mendavia as soon as possible.'
'Right. When we get down there, we'll ask for directions.'
The two of them started down the hill towards the town,
Lucia keeping a careful lookout for trouble. There was none.
This is going to be easy, Lucia thought.
They reached the outskirts of the little town. A sign said,
'Villacastin'. Ahead of them was the main street. To the left
was a small, deserted street.
Good, Lucia thought. There would be no one to witness
what was about to happen.
Lucia turned into the side street. 'Let's go this way. There's
less chance of being seen.'

Sister Teresa nodded and obediently followed Lucia. The
nuestion now was how to get the cross away from her.
 could grab it and run, Lucia thought, but she'd probably
scream and attract a lot of attention. No, I'll have to make
sure she stays quiet.
The small limb of a tree had fallen to the ground in front
of her, and Lucia paused, then stooped to pick it up. It was
heavy. Perfect. She waited for Sister Teresa to catch up to
her.
'Sister Teresa . . .'
The nun turned to look at her, and as Lucia started to
raise the club, a male voice from out of nowhere said, 'God
be with you. Sisters.'
Lucia spun around, ready to run. A man was standing
there, dressed in the long brown robe and cowl of a friar.
He was tall and thin, with an aquiline face and the saintliest
expression Lucia had ever seen. His eyes seemed to glow
with a warm inner light, and his voice was soft and gentle.
'I'm Friar Miguel Carrillo.'
Lucia's mind was racing. Her first plan had been interrupted.
But now, suddenly, she had a better one. 'Thank God
you found us,' Lucia said.
This man was going to be her escape. He would know the
easiest way for her to get out of Spain.
'We come from the Cistercian convent near Avila,' Lucia
explained. 'Last night some men raided it. All the nuns were
taken. Four of us managed to escape.'
When the friar replied, his voice was filled with anger. 'I
come from the monastery at Saint Generro, where I have
been for the past twenty years. We were attacked the night
before last.' He sighed. 'I know that God has some plan for
all His children, but I must confess that at this moment I
don't understand what it might be.'
'These men are searching for us,' Lucia said. 'It is important
that we get out of Spain as fast as possible. Do you
know how that can be done?'
Friar Carrillo smiled gently. 'I think I can help you. Sister.
God has brought us together. Take me to the others.'
lui-iu uluugni me mar to me group. .
This is Friar Carrillo,' she said. 'He's been in a monastery
for the last twenty years. He's come to help us.'
Their reactions to the friar were mixed. Graciela dared
not look directly at him. Megan studied him with quick,
interested glances, and Sister Teresa regarded him as a
messenger sent by God, who would lead them to the convent
at Mendavia.
Friar Carrillo said, 'The men who attacked the convent
will undoubtedly keep searching for you. But they will be
looking for four nuns. The first thing we must do is get you
a change of clothing.'
Megan reminded him, 'We have no clothes to change into.'
Friar Carrillo gave her a beatific smile. 'Our Lord has a
very large wardrobe. Do not worry, my child. He will provide.
Let us go into town.'
It was two o'clock in the afternoon, siesta time, and Friar
Carrillo and the four sisters walked down the main street of
the village, alert for any signs of their pursuers. The shops
were closed, but the restaurants and bars were open and
from them they could hear strange music issuing, hard,
dissonant and raucous sounding.
Friar Carrillo saw the look on Sister Teresa's face. 'That's ,
rock and roll,' he said. 'Very popular with the young these 
days.'
A pair of young women standing in front of one of the
bars stared at the nuns as they passed. The nuns stared back,
wide-eyed, at the strange clothing the pair wore. One wore
a skirt so short it barely covered her thighs, the other wore
a longer skirt that was split up to the sides of her thighs.
Both wore tight knitted bodices with no sleeves.
They might as well be naked. Sister Teresa thought, horrified.

In the doorway stood a man who wore a turtleneck
sweater, a strange-looking jacket without a collar, and a
jewelled pendant.
Unfamiliar odours greeted the nuns as they passed a
bodega. Nicotine and whisky.

Megan was staring at something across the street. She
stopped.
Friar Carrillo said, 'What is it? What's the matter?' He
turned to look.
Megan was watching a woman carrying a baby. How many years had it been since she had seen a baby, or even a small
child? Not since the orphanage, fourteen years ago. The
sudden shock made Megan realize how far her life had been
removed from the outside world.
Sister Teresa was staring at the baby, too, but she was
thinking of something else. It's Monique's baby. The baby
across the street was screaming. It's screaming because I
deserted it. But no, that's impossible. That was thirty years
ago. Sister Teresa turned away, the baby's cries ringing in
her ears. They moved on.
They passed a cinema. The poster read. Three Lovers, and the photographs displayed showed skimpily-clad women
embracing a bare-chested man.
'Why, they're - they're almost naked!' Sister Teresa exclaimed.

Friar Carrillo frowned. 'Yes. It's disgraceful what the
cinema is permitted to show these days. That film is
pure pornography. The most personal and private acts are
there for everyone to see. They turn God's children into
animals.'
They passed a hardware store, a hairdressing salon, a
flower shop, a sweet shop, all closed for the siesta, and at
each shop the sisters stopped and stared at the windows,
filled with once familiar, faintly remembered goods.
When they came to a women's dress shop. Friar Carrillo
said, 'Stop.'
The blinds were pulled down over the front windows and
a sign on the front door said, 'Closed'.
'Wait here for me, please.'
The four women watched as he walked to the corner and
turned out of sight. They looked at one another blankly.
Where was he going, and what if he did not return?
A few minutes later, they heard the sound of the front
uuii ui me snop opening, and hriar Carrillo stood in the
doorway, beaming. He motioned them inside. 'Hurry.'
When they were all in the shop and the friar had locked
the door, Lucia asked, 'How did you ?'
'God provides a back door as well as a front door,' the
friar said gravely. But there was an impish edge to his voice
that made Megan smile.
The sisters looked around the shop in awe. The store was
a multi-coloured cornucopia of dresses and sweaters and
bras and stockings, high-heeled shoes and boleros. Objects
they had not seen in years. And the styles seemed so strange.
There were handbags and scarves and compacts and blouses.
It was all too much to absorb. The women stood there,
gaping.
'We must move quickly,' Friar Carrillo warned them, 'and
leave before siesta is over and the shop reopens. Help
yourselves. Choose whatever fits you.'
Lucia thought: Thank God I can finally dress like a woman
again. She walked over to a rack of dresses and began to
sort through them. She found a beige skirt and tan silk blouse
to go with it. It's not Balenciaga, but it will do for now. She
picked out panties and a bra and a pair of soft boots. She
stepped behind a clothes rack, stripped and in a matter of
minutes was dressed and ready to go.
The others were slowly selecting their outfits.
Graciela chose a white cotton dress that set off her black
hair and dark complexion, and a pair of sandals.
Megan chose a patterned blue cotton dress that fell below
the knees and low-heeled shoes.
Sister Teresa had the most difficult time choosing something
to wear. The array of choices was too dazzling. There
were silks and flannels and tweeds and leather. There were
cottons and twills and corduroys, and there were plaids and
checks and stripes of every colour. And they all seemed skimpy, was the word that came to Sister Teresa's mind. For
the past thirty years she had been decently covered by the
heavy robes of her calling. And now she was being asked to
shed them and put on these indecent creations. She finally
54

elected the longest skirt she could find, and a long-sleeved,
j,igh-collared cotton blouse.
Friar Carrillo urged, 'Hurry, Sisters. Get undressed and
change.' .
They looked at one another in embarrassment.
He smiled. 'I'll wait in the office, of course.'
He walked to the back of the shop and entered the
office.
The sisters began to undress, painfully self-conscious in
front of one another.
In the office. Friar Carrillo had pulled a chair up to the
transom and was looking out through it, watching the sisters
strip. He was thinking: Which one am I going to screw first?
Miguel Carrillo had begun his career as a thief when he was
only ten years old. He was born with curly blond hair and
an angelic face, and they had proved to be of inestimable
value in his chosen profession. He started at the bottom,
snatching handbags and shoplifting, and as he got older, his
career expanded and he began robbing drunks and preying
on wealthy women. Because of his enormous appeal, he was
very successful. He devised several original swindles, each
more ingenious than the last. Unfortunately, his latest
swindle had proved to be his undoing.
Posing as a friar from a distant monastery, Carrillo travelled
from church to church begging sanctuary for the night.
It was always granted, and in the morning when the priest
came to open the church doors, all the valuable artefacts
would be missing, along with the good friar. Unfortunately,
fate had double-crossed him and two nights earlier in Benjar,
a small town near Avila, the priest had returned unexpectedly
and Miguel Carrillo had been caught in the act of
pilfering the church treasury. The priest was a beefy, heavyset
man, and he had wrestled Carrillo to the floor and
announced that he was going to turn him over to the police.
A heavy silver chalice had fallen to the floor, and Carrillo
had picked it up and hit the priest with it. Either the chalice
55
was too heavy, or the priest's skull was too thin, but in any
case the priest lay dead on the floor. Miguel Carrillo had
fled, panicky, anxious to put himself as far away from the
scene of the crime as possible. He had passed through Avila
and heard the story of the attack on the convent by Colonel
Acoca and the secret GOE. It was fate that Carrillo had
chanced upon the four escaped nuns.
Now, eager with anticipation, he studied their naked
bodies, and thought: There's another interesting possibility.
Since Colonel Acoca and his men are looking for the sisters,
there is probably a nice, fat reward on their heads. I'll lay
them first, and then turn them over to Acoca.
The women, except for Lucia, who was already dressed,
were totally naked. Carrillo watched as they awkwardly
put on the new underclothes. Then they finished dressing,
clumsily buttoning unaccustomed buttons and fastening zips,
hurrying to get away before they were caught.
Time to get to work, Carrillo thought happily. He got down
from the chair and walked out into the shop. He approached
the women, studied them approvingly, and said, 'Excellent.
No one in the world would ever take you for nuns. I might
suggest scarves for your heads.' He selected one for each of
them and watched them put them on.
Miguel Carrillo had made his decision. Graciela was going
to be the first. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful
women he had ever seen. And that body! How could she
have wasted it on God? I'll show her what to do with it.
He said to Lucia, Teresa and Megan, 'You must all be
hungry. I want you to go to the cafe we passed and wait for
us there. I'll go to the church and borrow some money from
the priest so we can eat.' He turned to Graciela. 'I want
you to come with me. Sister, to explain to the priest what
happened at the convent.'
'I -very well.'
Carrillo said to the others, 'We'll be along in a little while.
I would suggest you use the back door.'
He watched as Lucia, Teresa and Megan left. When he
heard the door close behind them, he turned to Graciela.
56
She's fantastic, he thought. Maybe I'll keep her with me,
break her in to some cons. She could be a big help.
Graciela was watching him. 'I'm ready.'
'Not yet.' Carrillo pretended to study her for a moment.
No, I'm afraid it won't do. That dress is all wrong for you.
Take it off.'
'But - why?'
'It doesn't fit properly,' Carrillo said glibly. 'People will
notice, and you don't want to attract attention.'
She hesitated, then moved behind a rack.
'Hurry, now. We have very little time.'
Awkwardly, Graciela slipped the dress over her head. She
was in her panties and brassiere when Carrillo suddenly
appeared.
'Take everything off.' His voice was husky.
Graciela stared at him. 'What? No!' she cried. 'I -1 can't.
Please -1 -'
Carrillo moved closer to her. 'I'll help you. Sister.'
His hands reached out and he ripped off her brassiere and
tore at her panties.
'No!' she screamed. 'You mustn't! Stop it!'
Carrillo grinned. 'Carita, we're just getting started. You're
going to love this.'
His strong arms were around her. He forced her to the
floor and lifted his robe.
It was as though a curtain in Graciela's mind suddenly
descended. It was the Moor trying to thrust himself inside
her, tearing into the depths of her, and her mother's shrill
voice was screaming.
And Graciela thought, terrified. No, not again. No, please
- not again . . .
She was struggling fiercely now, fighting Carrillo off, trying
to get up.
'Goddamn you,' he cried.
He slammed his fist into her face, and Graciela fell back,
stunned and dizzy.
She found herself spinning back in time.
Back . . . Back . . .
57
FR1;Las Navas del Marques,
Spain 1950
She was five years old. Her earliest memories were of a
procession of naked strangers climbing in and out of her
mother's bed.
Her mother explained, "They are your uncles. You must
show them respect.'
The men were gross and crude and lacked affection. They
stayed for a night, a week, a month, and then vanished.
When they left, Dolores Pinero would immediately look for
a new man.
In heryouth, Dolores Pinero had been a beauty, and Graciela
had inherited her mother's looks. Even as a child, Graciela
was stunning to look at, with high cheekbones, an olive complexion,
shiny black hair and thick, long eyelashes. Her young
body was nubile with promise. With the passage of years,
Dolores Pinero's body had turned to fat and her wonderfully
boned face had become bruised with the bitter blows of time.
Although Dolores Pinero was no longer beautiful, she was
accessible, and she had the reputation of being a passionate
bed partner. Making love was her one talent, and she employed
it to try to please men into bondage, hoping to keep
them by buying their love with her body. She made a meagre
living as a seamstress because she was an indifferent one,
and was hired only by the women of the village who could
not afford the better ones.

rraciela's mother despised her daughter, tor she was
nstant reminder of the one man whom Dolores a q had ever loved. Graciela's father was a hand-
me young mechanic who had proposed to the beautiful s0 g Dolores, and she had eagerly let him seduce her.
When she had broken the news that she was pregnant,
he had disappeared, leaving Dolores with the curse of his
seed.
Dolores Pinero had a vicious temper, and she took her
vengeance out on the child. Any time Graciela did something
to displease her, her mother would hit her and scream,
You're as stupid as your father!'
There was no way for the child to escape the rain of blows
or the constant screaming. Graciela would wake up every
morning and pray: 'Please, God, don't let Mama beat me
today.
'Please, God, make Mama happy today.
'Please, God, let Mama say she loves me today.'
When she was not attacking Graciela, her mother ignored
her. Graciela prepared her own meals and took care of her
clothes. She made her lunch to take to school, and she would
say to her teacher, 'My mother made me empanadas today.
She knows how much I like empanadas.'
Or: 'I tore my dress, but my mother sewed it up for me.
She loves doing things for me.'
Or: 'My mother and I are going to the pictures tomorrow.'
And it would break her teacher's heart. Las Navas del
Marques is a small village an hour from Avila, and like all
villages everywhere, everyone knew everyone else's
business. The lifestyle of Dolores Pinero was a disgrace, and
it reflected on Graciela. Mothers refused to let their children
play with the little girl, lest their morals be contaminated.
Graciela went to the school on Plazoleta del Cristo, but she
had no friends and no playmates. She was one of the brightest
students in the school, but her exam results were poor. It
was difficult for her to concentrate, for she was always
tired.
Her teacher would admonish her, 'You must get to bed
earner, uraciela, so that you are rested enough to do youi
work properly.'
But her exhaustion had nothing to do with getting to bed
late. Graciela and her mother shared a small, two-room casa The girl slept on a couch in the tiny room, with only a thin
worn curtain separating it from the bedroom. How could
Graciela tell her teacher about the obscene sounds in the
night that awakened her and kept her awake, as she listened
to her mother making love to whichever stranger happened
to be in her bed? 
When Graciela brought home her report card, her mother would scream, 'These are the cursed marks I expected you
to get, and do you know why you got these terrible marks?
Because you're stupid. Stupid!' 
And Graciela would believe it and try hard not to cry.
In the afternoons when school was over, Graciela would
wander around by herself, walking through the narrow,
winding streets lined with acacia and sycamore trees, past
the whitewashed stone houses, where loving fathers lived
with their families. Graciela had many playmates, but they
were all in her mind. There were beautiful girls and handsome
boys, and they invited her to all their parties, where
they served wonderful cakes and ice cream. Her imaginary
friends were kind and loving, and they all thought she was
very smart. When her mother was not around, Graciela
would carry on long conversations with them.
Would you help me with my homework, Graciela? I dori know how to do sums, and you're so good at them. 
What shall we do tonight, Graciela? We could go to tfft
pictures, or walk into town and have a lemonade. 
Will your mother let you come to dinner tonight, Graciela We're having paella, g
No, I'm afraid not. Mother gets lonely if I'm not with Aer.J I'm all she has, you know. 
On Sundays, Graciela rose early and dressed quietly,
careful not to awaken her mother and whichever uncle was

her bed, and walked to the San Juan Bautista Church, "here Father Perez talked of the joys of life after death, a w -ytale life with Jesus; and Graciela could not wait to die
and meet Jesus.
Father Perez was an attractive priest in his early forties.
He had ministered to the rich and the poor, and the sick and
the vital, since he had come to Las Navas del Marques
several years earlier, and there were no secrets in the little
village to which he was not privy. Father Perez knew Graciela
as a regular church-goer, and he, too, was aware of the
stories of the constant stream of strangers who shared
Dolores Pinero's bed. It was not a fit home for a young girl,
but there was nothing anyone could do about it. It amazed
the priest that Graciela had turned out as well as she had.
She was kind and gentle and never complained or talked
about her home life.
Graciela would appear at church every Sunday morning
wearing a clean, neat outfit that he was sure she had washed
herself. Father Perez knew she was shunned by the other
children in town, and his heart went out to her. He made it
a point to spend a few moments with her after mass each
Sunday, and when he had time, he would take her to a little
cafe for a treat of helado.
In the winter Graciela's life was a dreary landscape, monotonous
and gloomy. Las Navas del Marques was in a valley
surrounded by the Cruz Verde mountains and, because of
that, the winters were six months long. The summers were
easier to bear, for then the tourists arrived and filled the
town with laughter and dancing and the streets came alive.
The tourists would gather at the Plaza de Manuel Delgado
Barredo, with its little bandstand built on stone, and listen
to the orchestra and watch the natives dance the Sardana,
the centuries-old traditional folk dance, barefoot, their hands
linked, as they moved gracefully around in a colourful circle. Graciela watched the visitors as they sat at the pavement
cafes drinking aperitives or shopping at the pescaderia - the
fish market, or thefarmacia. At one o'clock in the afternoon
the bodega was always filled with tourists drinking chateo and picking at tapas, seafood and olives and chips.
The most exciting thing for Graciela was to watch the paseo each evening. Boys and girls would walk up and down
the Plaza Mayor in segregated groups, the boys eyeing the
girls, while parents and grandparents and friends watched,
hawk-eyed, from sidewalk cafes. It was the traditional mating
ritual, observed for centuries. Graciela longed to join in it,
but her mother forbade her.
'Do you want to be aputaT she would scream at Graciela.
'Stay away from boys. They want only one thing from you.
I know from experience,' she added bitterly.
If the days were bearable, the nights were an agony. Through
the thin curtain that separated their beds, Graciela could
hear the sounds of savage moaning and writhings and heavy
breathing, and always the obscenities.
'Faster . . . harder!'
'jCogemeF
Mdmame la verga!"
'jMetela en eiculo!'
Before she was ten years old, Graciela had heard every
obscene word in the Spanish vocabulary. They were whispered
and shouted and shuddered and moaned. The cries of
passion repelled Graciela, and at the same time awakened
strange longings in her.
When Graciela was fourteen years old, the Moor moved in.
He was the biggest man Graciela had ever seen. His skin
was shiny black, and his head was shaved. He had enormous
shoulders, a barrel chest and huge arms. The Moor had
arrived in the middle of the night when Graciela was asleep,
and she got her first sight of him in the morning when
he pushed the curtain aside and walked stark naked past
Graciela's bed to go outside to the outhouse in the yard.

Graciela looked at him and almost gasped aloud. He was
enormous, in every part. That will kill my mother, Graciela
thought.
The Moor was staring at her. 'Well, well. And who do we
have here?'
Dolores Pinero hurried out of her bed and moved to his
side. 'My daughter,' she said curtly.
A wave of embarrassment swept over Graciela, as she saw
her mother's naked body next to the man.
The Moor smiled, showing beautiful white, even teeth.
'What's your name, guapaY
Graciela was too shamed by his nakedness to speak.
'Her name's Graciela. She's retarded.'
'She's beautiful. I'll bet you looked like that when you
were young.'
'I'm still young,' Dolores Pinero snapped. She turned to
her daughter. 'Get dressed. You'll be late for school.'
'Yes, Mama.'
The Moor stood there, eyeing her.
The older woman took his arm and said cajolingly, 'Come
back to bed, querido. We're not finished yet.'
'Later,' the Moor said. He was still looking at Graciela.
The Moor stayed. Every day when Graciela came home from
school she prayed that he would be gone. For reasons she
did not understand, he terrified her. He was always polite to
her and never made any advances, yet the mere thought of
him sent shivers through her body.
His treatment of her mother was something different. The
Moor stayed in the small house most of the day, drinking
heavily. He took whatever money Dolores Pinero earned.
Sometimes at night in the middle of lovemaking, Graciela
would hear him beating her mother, and in the morning
Dolores Pinero would appear with a blackened eye or split
lip.
'Mama, why do you put up with him?' Graciela asked.
'You wouldn't understand,' she said sullenly. 'He's a real
man, noi a midget like the others. He knows how to satisfy ?
a woman.' She ran her hand through her hair coquettishly I
'Besides, he's madly in love with me.' 
Graciela did not believe it. She knew that the Moor was
using her mother, but she did not dare protest again. She was
too terrified of her mother's temper, for when Dolores Pinero
was really angry, a kind of insanity took possession of her. She
had once chased Graciela with a kitchen knife because she had
dared make a pot of tea for one of the 'uncles'.
Early one Sunday morning Graciela rose to get ready for
church. Her mother had left early to deliver some dresses.
As Graciela pulled off her nightgown, the curtain was pushed
aside and the Moor appeared. He was naked.
'Where's your mother, guapaT 'Mama went out early. She had some errands to do.'
The Moor was studying Graciela's nude body. 'You really
are a beauty,' he said softly.
Graciela felt her face flush. She knew what she should do.
She should cover her nakedness, put on her skirt and blouse
and leave. Instead, she stood there, unable to move. She
watched his manhood begin to swell and grow before her
eyes. She could hear the voices ringing in her ears:  'Faster . . . Harder!' l
She felt faint. A
The Moor said huskily, 'You're a child. Get your clothes
on and get out of here.'
And Graciela found herself moving. Moving towards him.
She reached up and slid her arms around his waist and felt
his male hardness against her body.
'No,' she moaned. 'I'm not a child.'
The pain that followed was like nothing Graciela had ever
known. It was excruciating, unbearable. It was wonderful,
exhilarating, beautiful. She held the Moor tightly in her
arms, screaming with ecstasy. He brought her to orgasm
after orgasm, and Graciela thought: So this is what the
mystery is all about. And it was so wonderful to finally know

the secret of all creation, to be a part of life at last, to know
what joy was for now and for ever.
What the fuck are you doing?'
It was Dolores Pinero's voice screaming, and for an instant
everything stopped, frozen in time. Dolores Pinero was
standing at the side of the bed, staring down at her daughter
and the Moor.
Graciela looked up at her mother, too terrified to speak.
Dolores Pinero's eyes were filled with an insane rage.
'You bitch!' she yelled. 'You rotten bitch.'
'Mama - please -'
Dolores Pinero picked up a heavy iron ashtray at the
bedside and slammed it against her daughter's head.
That was the last thing Graciela remembered.
She awoke in a large, white hospital ward with two dozen
beds in it, all of them occupied. Harried nurses scurried back
and forth, trying to attend to the heeds of the patients.
Graciela's head was racked with excruciating pain. Each
time she moved, rivers of fire flowed through her. She lay
there, listening to the cries and moans of the other patients.
Late in the afternoon, a young doctor stopped by the side
of her bed. He was in his early thirties, but he looked old
and tired.
'Well,' he said. 'You're finally awake.'
'Where am I?' It hurt her to speak.
'You're in the charity ward of the Hospital Provincial in
Avila. You were brought in yesterday. You were in terrible
shape. We had to stitch up your forehead.' The doctor went
on: 'Our chief surgeon decided to sew you up himself. He
said you were too beautiful to have scars.'
He's wrong, Graciela thought. I'll be scarred for the rest
of my life.
On the second day Father Perez came to see Graciela. A
nurse moved a chair to the bedside. The priest looked at the
. --._...., u. Jung gin lying mere and his heart melted.
The terrible thing that had happened to her was the scandal
of Las Navas del Marques, but there was nothing anyone
could do about it. Dolores Pinero had told the policia that
her daughter had injured her head in a fall.
Now, Father Perez asked, 'Are you feeling better, child?'
Graciela nodded, and the movement made her head pound.
The policia have been asking questions. Is there anything
you would like me to tell them?' ' I
There was a long silence. Finally she said, 'It was an
accident.'
He could not bear the look in her eyes. 'I see.'
What he had to say was painful beyond words. 'Graciela,
I spoke with your mother . . .'
And Graciela knew. 'I - I can't go home again, can I?'
'No, I'm afraid not. We'll talk about it.' Father Perez took
Graciela's hand. 'I'll come back to see you tomorrow.'
'Thank you. Father.'
When he left, Graciela lay there, and she prayed: Dear
God, please let me die. I don't want to live.
She had nowhere to go and no one to go to. Never again
would she see her home. She would never see her school
again, or the familiar faces of her teachers. There was nothing
in the world left for her.
A nurse stopped at her bedside. 'You need anything?'
Graciela looked up at her in despair. What was there to
say?
The following day the doctor appeared again.
'I have good news,' he said awkwardly. 'You're well
enough to leave now.' That was a lie, but the rest of his
speech was true. 'We need the bed.'
She was free to go - but go where?
When Father Perez arrived an hour later, he was accompanied
by another priest.
66

This is Father Berrendo, an old friend of mine.
Graciela glanced up at the frail-looking priest. 'Father.' He was right. Father Berrendo thought. She is beautiful. Father Perez had told him the story of what had happened
to Graciela. The priest had expected to see some visible signs
of the kind of environment the child had lived in, a hardness,
a defiance, or self-pity. There were none of those things in
the young girl's face.
I'm sorry you've had such a bad time,' Father Berrendo
told her. The sentence carried a deeper meaning.
Father Perez said, 'Graciela, I must return to Las Navas
del Marques. I am leaving you in Father Berrendo's hands.'
Graciela was filled with a sudden sense of panic. She felt
as though her last link with home was being cut. 'Don't go,'
she pleaded.
Father Perez took her hand in his. 'I know you feel alone,'
he said warmly, 'but you're not. Believe me, child, you're
not.'
A nurse approached the bed carrying a bundle. She handed
it to Graciela. 'Here are your clothes. I'm afraid you're going
to have to leave now.'
An even greater panic seized her. 'Now?'
The two priests exchanged a look.
'Why don't you get dressed and come with me?' Father
Berrendo suggested. 'We can talk.'
Fifteen minutes later Father Berrendo was helping
Graciela out of the hospital door into the warm sunlight. There
was a garden in front of the hospital with brightly coloured
flowers, but Graciela was too dazed even to notice them.
When they were seated in his office. Father Berrendo said,
'Father Perez told me that you have no place to go.'
Graciela nodded.
'No relatives?'
'Only -' It was difficult to say it. 'Only - my mother.'
'Father Perez said that you were a regular churchgoer in
your village.'
FR1;.- --.- .... ,,.->-< ace again. TCS.
Graciela thought of those Sunday mornings, and the
beauty of the church services and how she had longed to be
with Jesus and escape from the pain of the life she lived.
'Graciela, have you ever thought of entering a convent?'
'No.' She was startled by the idea.
'There is a convent here in Avila - the Cistercian convent.
They would take care of you there.'
'I - I don't know.' The idea was frightening.
'It is not for everyone,' Father Berrendo told her. 'And I
must warn you, it is the strictest order of them all. Once you
walk through the gates and take the vows, you have made a
promise to God never to leave.'
Graciela sat there, her mind filled with conflicting
thoughts, staring out the window. The idea of shutting herself
away from the world was terrifying.  would be like going
to prison. But on the other hand, what did the world have
to offer her? Pain and despair beyond bearing. She had
often thought of suicide. This might offer a way out of her
misery.
Father Berrendo said, 'It's up to you, my child. If you
like, I will take you to meet the Reverend Mother Prioress.'
Graciela nodded. 'All right.'
The Reverend Mother studied the face of the young girl
before her. Last night for the first time in many, many years
she had heard the voice. A young child will come to you.
Protect her. 'How old are you, my dear?'
'Fourteen.'
She's old enough. In the fourth century the Pope decreed
that girls could be permitted to become nuns at the age of
twelve.
'I'm afraid,' Graciela said to the Reverend Mother Betina.
I'm afraid. The words rang in Betina's mind: I'm afraid . . . That had been so many long years ago. She was speaking

to her priest. 'I don't know if I have a calling for this. Father.
I'm afraid.'
'Betina, the first contact with God can be very disturbing,
and the decision to dedicate your life to Him is a difficult
one.'
How did I find my calling? Betina had wondered.
She had never been even faintly interested in religion. As
a young girl she had avoided church and Sunday school. In
her teens she was more interested in parties and clothes and
boys. If her friends in Madrid had been asked to select
possible candidates to become a nun, Betina would have
been at the bottom of the list. More accurately, she would
not even have been on their list. But when she was nineteen,
events started to happen that changed her life.
She was in her bed, asleep, when a voice said, 'Betina,
get up and go outside.'
She opened her eyes and sat up, frightened. She turned
on the bedside lamp. She was alone. What a strange dream.
But the voice had been so real. She lay down again, but
it was impossible to go back to sleep. Betina, get up and go outside.
It's my subconscious, she thought. Why would I want to
go outside in the middle of the night?
She turned out the light and a moment later turned it on
again. This is crazy.
But she put on a dressing-gown and slippers and went
downstairs. The household was asleep.
She opened the kitchen door, and as she did a wave of
fear swept over her, because somehow she knew that she
was supposed to go out the back into the yard. She looked
around in the darkness, and her eye caught a glint of moonlight
shining on an old refrigerator that had been abandoned
and was used to store tools.
Betina suddenly knew why she was there. She walked over
to the refrigerator as though hypnotized, and opened it. Her
three-year-old brother was inside, unconscious.
That was the first incident. In time, Betina rationalized it
as a perfectly normal experience.  must have heard my
iinniii.! y,i n wiu su uui inw me yara, ana I knew the
refrigerator was there, and I was worried about him so I went
outside to check.
The next experience was not so easy to explain. It happened
a month later.
In her sleep, Betina heard a voice say, 'You must put out
the fire.'
She sat up, wide awake, her pulse racing. Again, it was
impossible to go back to sleep. She put on a dressing-gown
and slippers and went into the landing. No smoke. No fire.
She opened her parents' bedroom door. Everything was
normal there. There was no fire in her brother's bedroom.
She went downstairs and looked through every room. There
was no sign of a fire.
I'm an idiot, Betina thought. It was only a dream. She went back to bed, just as the house was rocked by an
explosion. She and her family escaped, and the firemen
managed to put out the fire.
'It started in the basement,' a fireman explained. 'And a
boiler exploded.'
The next incident happened three weeks later. This time
it was no dream.
Betina was on the patio, reading, when she saw a stranger
walking across the yard. He looked at her and in that instant
she felt a malevolence coming from him that was almost palpable. He turned away and was gone.
Betina was unable to get him out of her mind.
Three days later, she was in an office building, waiting for
the lift. The lift door opened, and she was about to step into
it when she looked at the lift operator. It was the man she
had seen in her garden. Betina backed away, frightened.
The lift door closed and the lift went up. Moments later, it
crashed, killing everyone in it.
The following Sunday, Betina went to church. Dear Lord, I don't know what's happening to me, and I'm
scared. Please guide me and tell me what you want me to do.
The answer came that night as Betina slept. The voice said
one word. Devotion.

She thought about it all night, and in the morning she went
to talk to the priest.
He listened intently to what she had to say.
Ah. You are one of the fortunate ones. You have been
chosen.'
Chosen for what?'
Are you willing to devote your life to God, my child?'
I - I don't know. I'm afraid.'
But in the end, she had joined the convent.
 chose the right path, the Reverend Mother Betina
thought, because I have neverknown so much happiness . . .
And now there was this battered child saying, 'I'm afraid.'
The Reverend Mother took Graciela's hand. 'Take your
time, Graciela. God won't go away. Think about it and come
back and we can discuss it.'
But what was there to think about? I've got nowhere else
in the world to go, Graciela thought. And the silence would
be welcome.  have heard too many terrible sounds. She
looked at the Reverend Mother and said, 'I will welcome
the silence.'
That had been seventeen years earlier, and in that time
Graciela had found peace for the first time in her life. Her
life was dedicated to God. The past no longer belonged to
her. She was forgiven the horrors she had grown up with.
She was Christ's bride, and at the end of her life, she would
join Him.
As the years passed in deep silence, despite the occasional
nightmares, the terrible sounds in her mind gradually faded
away.
Sister Graciela was assigned to work in the garden, tending
the tiny rainbows of God's miracle, never tiring of their
splendour. The walls of the convent rose high above her on
.... ,-,.u>-.i iii, ti Munc mouniam, out Uraciela never felt that they were shutting her in; they were shutting the terrible
world out, a world she never wanted to see again.
Life in the convent was serene and peaceful. But now
suddenly her terrible nightmares had turned into a reality Her world had been invaded by barbarians. They had forced
her out of her sanctuary, into the world she had renounced
for ever. And her sins came flooding back, filling her with
horror. The Moor had returned. She could feel his hot breath
on her face. As she fought him, Graciela opened her eyes,
and it was the friar on top of her trying to penetrate her. He
was saying, 'Stop fighting me. Sister. You're going to enjoy
this!'
'Mama,' Graciela cried aloud. 'Mama! Help me!'
72

Chapter 7
Lucia Carmine felt wonderful as she walked down the street
with Megan and Teresa. It was marvellous to wear feminine
clothes again and hear the whisper of silk against her skin.
She glanced at the others. They were walking nervously,
unaccustomed to their new clothes, looking self-conscious
and embarrassed in their skirts and stockings. They look
as though they've been dropped from another planet. They
certainly don't belong on this one, Lucia thought. They might
as well be wearing signs that say: 'Catch Me.'
Sister Teresa was the most uncomfortable of the women.
Thirty years in the convent had deeply ingrained a sense of
modesty in her, and it was being violated by the events that
had been thrust upon her. This world to which she had once
belonged now seemed unreal. It was the convent that was
real, and she longed to hurry back to the sanctuary of its
protective walls.
Megan was aware that men were eyeing her as she walked
down the street, and she blushed. She had lived in a world
of women for so long that she had forgotten what it was
like to see a man, let alone have one smile at her. It was
embarrassing, indecent . . . exciting. The men aroused feelings
in Megan that had been long since buried. For the first
time in years, she was conscious of her femaleness.
They were passing the bar they had gone by before and
the music was blaring out into the street. What had Friar
Carrillo called it? Rock and roll. Very popular with the young. Something bothered her. And suddenly Megan realized what
it was. When they had passed the cinema, the friar had said:
73
.... ..,.>.vwi mnui inr iincma is permitted to show these days. That film is pure pornography. The most personal and'
private acts are there for everyone to see.
Megan's heart began to beat faster. If Friar Carrillo had been locked up in a monastery for the past twenty years,
how could he possibly have known about rock music or what
was in the film? Something was terribly wrong.
She turned to Lucia and Teresa and said urgently, 'We've
got to return to the shop.'
They watched as Megan turned and ran back, and they
quickly began to follow her.
Graciela was on the floor, desperately fighting to get free,
scratching and clawing at Carrillo.
'God damn you! Hold still!' He was getting winded.
He heard a sound and glanced up. He saw the heel of a
shoe swinging towards his head, and that was the last thing
he remembered.
Megan picked up the trembling Graciela and held her in
her arms. 'Shh. It's all right. He won't bother you any more.'
It was several minutes before Graciela could speak. 'He he
- it wasn't my fault this time,' she said pleadingly.
Lucia and Teresa had come into the shop. Lucia sized up
the situation at a glance.
The bastard!'
She looked down at the unconscious, half-naked figure on
the floor. As the others watched, Lucia grabbed some belts
from a counter and tied Miguel Carrillo's hands tightly
behind his back. Tie his feet,' she told Megan.
Megan went to work.
Finally, Lucia stood up, satisfied. 'There. When they open
up the shop this afternoon, he can explain to them what he
was doing here.' She looked at Graciela closely. 'Are you
all right?'
'I - I - yes.' She tried to smile.
'We'd better get out of here,' Megan said. 'Get dressed.
Quickly.'

wnen they were ready to leave, Lucia said, 'Wait a
minute.'
She went over to the cash register and pressed a key.
There were a few hundred peseta notes inside. She scooped
them up, picked up a purse from a counter and put the money
inside. She saw the disapproving expression on Teresa's
face.
Lucia said, 'Look at it this way. Sister. If God didn't want
us to have this money. He wouldn't have put it there for us.'
They were seated in the cafe, having a conference. Sister
Teresa was speaking. 'We must get the cross to the convent
at Mendavia as quickly as possible. There will be safety there
for all of us.'
Not for me, Lucia thought. My safety is that Swiss bank.
But first things first. I've got to get hold of that cross.
The convent at Mendavia is north of here, isn't it?'
'Yes.'
The men will be looking for us in every town. So we'll
sleep in the hills tonight.'
Nobody will hear her even if she does scream.
A waitress brought menus to the table and handed them
out. The sisters examined them, their expressions confused.
Suddenly Lucia understood. It had been so many years since
they had been given choices of any kind. At the convent
they had automatically eaten the simple food placed
before them. Now they were confronted with a cornucopia
of unfamiliar delicacies.
Sister Teresa was the first to speak. 'I - I will have some
coffee and bread, please.'
Sister Graciela said, 'I, too.'
Megan said, 'We have a long, hard journey ahead of us.
I suggest that we order something more nourishing, like
eggs.'
Lucia looked at her with new eyes. She's the one to keep
an eye on, Lucia thought. Aloud she said, 'Sister Megan is
right. Let me order for you. Sisters.'
f- mimim., uami
hot rolls, jam and coffee.
'We're in a hurry,' she told the waitress. ;
Siesta ended at 4.30, and the town would be waking up.
She wanted to be out of there before that happened, before
they discovered Miguel Carrillo in the dress shop. ;
When the food arrived, the sisters sat there staring at it. 
'Help yourselves,' Lucia urged them. I
They began to eat, hesitatingly at first, and then with
gusto, overcoming their feelings of guilt.
Sister Teresa was the only one having a problem. She took
one bite of food and said, 'I -1 can't. It's-jt's surrendering.'
Megan said, 'Sister, you want to get to the convent, don't you? Then you must eat to keep up your strength.'
Sister Teresa said primly, 'Very well. I'll eat. But I promise
you, I won't enjoy it.'
It was all Lucia could do to keep a straight face. 'Good,
Sister. Eat.'
When they had finished, Lucia paid the bill with some of
the money she had taken from the cash register and they
walked out into the hot sunshine. The streets were beginning
to come alive, and the shops were starting to open. By now
they have probably caught Miguel Carrillo, Lucia thought.
Lucia and Teresa were impatient to get out of town, but
Graciela and Megan were walking slowly, fascinated by the
sights and sounds and the smells of the town.
Not until they had reached the outskirts and headed
towards the mountains did Lucia begin to relax. They moved
steadily north, climbing upwards, making slow progress in
the hilly terrain. Lucia was tempted to ask Sister Teresa if
she would like her to carry the package, but she did not want
to say anything that might make the older woman suspicious.
When they reached a small glade in the highland, surrounded
by trees, Lucia said, 'We can spend the night here.
In the morning we'll head for the convent at Mendavia.'
The others nodded, believing her.

l nc -.iin inoveu -sicwiy across me olue sxy, ana the glade was
silent, except for the soothing sounds of summer. Finally,
night fell.
One by one the women stretched out on the green grass.
Lucia lay there, breathing lightly, listening for a deeper
silence, waiting for them to fall asleep so that she could make
her move.
Sister Teresa was finding it difficult to sleep. It was a
strange experience sleeping out under the stars, surrounded
by her sisters. They had names now, and faces and voices,
and she was afraid that God was going to punish her for this
forbidden knowledge. She felt terribly lost.
Sister Megan, too, was having difficulty getting to sleep.
She was filled with the excitement of the day's events. How
did I know that the friar was a fraud? she wondered. And
where did I get the courage to save Sister Graciela? She
smiled, unable to keep from being a tiny bit pleased with
herself, even though she knew such a feeling was a sin.
Graciela was asleep, emotionally drained by what she had
gone through. She tossed and turned in her sleep, haunted by
dreams of being chased down dark, long, endless corridors.
Lucia Carmine lay still, waiting. She lay there for almost
two hours and then quietly sat up and moved through the
darkness towards Sister Teresa. She would take the package
and disappear.
As she neared Sister Teresa, Lucia saw that the nun
was awake on her knees, praying. Damn! Lucia hurriedly
retreated.
Lucia lay down again, forcing herself to be patient. Sister
Teresa could not pray all night. She had to get some sleep.
Lucia planned. The money taken from the cash register
would be enough for her to take a bus or a train to Madrid.
Once there, it would be simple to find a pawnbroker. She
saw herself walking in and handing him the golden cross.
The pawnbroker would suspect that it was stolen, but that
would not matter. He would have plenty of customers eager
to buy it.
 n';7 give you one hundred thousand pesetas for it.
She would pick it up from the counter.  would rather sell
my body first.
One hundred and fifty thousand pesetas.
I would prefer to melt it down and let the gold run in the
gutter.
Two hundred thousand pesetas. That is my last offer.
You are robbing me blind, but I will accept it.
The pawnbroker would eagerly reach for it.
On one condition.
A condition?
Yes. I misplaced my passport. Do you know someone who
can arrange a passport for me? Her hands would still be on
the golden cross.
He would hesitate, then say,  happen to have a friend who
does things like that.
And the deal would be done. She would be on her way
to Switzerland and freedom. She remembered her father's
words: There is more money there than you could spend in
ten lifetimes.
Her eyes began to close. It had been a long day.
In her half-sleep, Lucia heard the sound of a church bell
from the distant village. It sent memories flooding through
her, of another place, another time . . .
78

Chapter 8
Taormina, Sicily 1968
She was awakened every morning by the distant sound of the
bells of the Church of San Domenico, high in the Peloritani
mountains surrounding Taormina. She enjoyed waking up
slowly, languorously stretching like a cat. She kept her eyes
closed, knowing that there was something wonderful to remember.
What was it? The question teased at her mind, and
she pushed it back, not wanting to know just yet, wanting
to savour the surprise. And suddenly her mind was joyously
flooded with it. She was Lucia Maria Carmine, the daughter
of Angelo Carmine, and that was enough to make anyone
in the world happy.
They lived in a large, storybook villa filled with more
servants than the fifteen-year-old Lucia could count. A bodyguard
drove her to school each morning in an armoured
limousine. She grew up with the prettiest dresses and the
most expensive toys in all of Sicily, and was the envy of her
schoolmates.
But it was her father around whom Lucia's life centred.
In her eyes, he was the most handsome man in the world.
He was short and heavyset, with a strong face and stormy
brown eyes that radiated power. He had two sons, Arnaldo
and Victor, but it was his daughter whom Angelo Carmine
adored. And Lucia worshipped him. In church when the
priest spoke of God, Lucia always thought of her father.
He would come to her bedside in the morning and say,
'Time to get up for school, faccia del angelo.' Angel face.
79
n was noi true, or course. Lucia knew she was not really
beautiful. I'm attractive, she thought, studying herself objectively
in the mirror. Yes. Striking, rather than beautiful. Her
reflection showed a young girl with an oval face, creamy
skin, even, white teeth, a strong chin - too strong? - voluptuous,
full lips - too full? - and dark, knowing eyes. But if her
face fell just short of being beautiful, her body more than
made up for it. At fifteen, Lucia had the body of a woman,
with round, firm breasts, a narrow waist and hips that moved
with sensuous promise.
'We're going to have to marry you off early,' her father
would tease her. 'Soon you will drive the young men pazzi, my little virgin.'
'I want to marry someone like you. Papa, but there is no
one like you.'
He laughed. 'Never mind. We'll find you a prince. You
were born under a lucky star, and one day you will know
what it is like to have a man hold you in his arms and make
love to you.'
Lucia blushed. 'Yes, Papa.'
It was true that no one had made love to her - not for the
past twelve hours. Benito Patas, one of her bodyguards,
always came to her bed when her father was out of town.
Having Benito make love to her in her house added to the
thrill because Lucia knew that her father would kill them
both if he ever discovered what was going on.
Benito was in his thirties, and it nattered him that the
beautiful young virgin daughter of the great Angelo Carmine
had chosen him to deflower her.
'Was it as you expected?' he asked the first time he bedded
her.
'Oh, yes,' Lucia breathed. 'Better.'
She thought: While he's not as good as Mario, Tony or
Enrico, he's certainly better than Roberta and Leo. She could
not remember the names of all the others.
At thirteen, Lucia had felt that she had been a virgin long

enough. She had looked around and decided that the lucky boy would be Paolo Costello, the son of Angelo Carmine's
doctor. Paolo was seventeen, tall and husky, and the star
soccer player at his school. Lucia had fallen madly in love
with Paolo the first time she had seen him. She managed to
run into him as often as possible. It never occurred to Paolo
that their constant meetings had been carefully contrived. He
regarded the attractive young daughter of Angelo Carmine as
a child. But on a hot summer day in August, Lucia decided
she could wait no longer. She telephone Paolo.
'Paolo - this is Lucia Carmine. My father has something
he would like to discuss with you, and he wondered whether
you could meet him this afternoon at our pool house?'
Paolo was both surprised and flattered. He was in awe of
Angelo Carmine, but he had not known that the powerful
Mafioso was even aware of his existence. 'I would be delighted,'
Paolo said. 'What time would he like me to be
there?'
'Three o'clock.'
Siesta time, when the world would be asleep. The pool
house was isolated, at the far end of their widespread property,
and her father was out of town. There would be no
chance of their being interrupted.
Paolo arrived promptly at the appointed hour. The gate
leading to the garden was open, and he walked directly to
the pool house. He stopped at the closed door and knocked.
'Signore Carmine? Pronto . . .?'
There was no response. Paolo checked his watch. Cautiously,
he opened the door and stepped inside. The room
was dark.
'Signore Carmine?'
A figure moved towards him. 'Paolo . . .'
He recognized Lucia's voice. 'Lucia, I'm looking for your
father. Is he here?'
She was closer to him now, close enough for Paolo to see
that she was stark naked.
'My God!' Paolo gasped. 'What ?'
'I want you to make love to me.'

you re pazza'. You're only a child. I'm getting out of
here.' He started towards the door.
'Go ahead. I'll tell my father you raped me.'
'No, you wouldn't.'
'Leave, and you'll find out.'
He stopped. If Lucia carried out her threat, there was not
the slightest doubt in Paolo's mind as to what his fate would
be. Castration would be only the beginning.
He walked back to Lucia to reason with her. 'Lucia,
dear '
'I like it when you call me dear.'
'No - listen to me, Lucia. This is very serious. Your father
will kill me if you tell him I raped you.'
'I know.'
He made another stab at it. 'My father would be disgraced.
My whole family would be disgraced.'
'I know.'
It was hopeless. 'What do you want from me?'
'I want you to do it to me.'
'No. It is impossible. If your father found out, he would
kill me.'
'And if you leave here, he will kill you. You haven't got
much choice, have you?'
He stared at her, panicky. 'Why me, Lucia?'
'Because I'm in love with you, Paolo!' She took his hands
and pressed them gently between her legs. 'I'm a woman.
Make me feel like one.'
In the dim light Paolo could see the twin mounds of her
breasts, her hard nipples, and the soft, dark hair between
her legs.
Jesus, Paolo thought. What can a man do? She was leading him to a couch, helping him out of his
trousers and his shorts. She knelt and put his male hardness
in her mouth, sucking it gently, and Paolo thought: She's
done this before. And when he was on top of her, plunging
deep inside her, and she had her hands tightly wrapped
around his backside, her hips thrusting hungrily against his,
Paolo thought: My God, she's marvellous.

Luciii was in neaven. n was as inougn sne naa oeen oorn
for this. Instinctively she knew exactly what to do to please
him a"d to please herself. Her whole body was on fire. She
felt herself building to a climax, higher and higher, and when
it finally happened, she screamed aloud in sheer joy. They
both lay there, spent, breathing hard.
Lucia finally spoke. She said, 'Same time tomorrow.'
When Lucia was sixteen, Angelo Carmine decided that it
was time for his daughter to see something of the world.
With an elderly Aunt Rosa as chaperone, Lucia spent her
school holidays in Capri and Ischia, Venice and Rome, and
a dozen other places.
You must be cultured - not a peasant, like your Papa.
Travel will round out your education. In Capri Aunt Rosa
will take you to see the Carthusian Monastery of St James
and the Chapel of San Michele and the Palazzo a Mare . . .'
'Yes, Papa.'
'In Venice there is St Mark's Basilica, the Doges' Palace,
the church of San Gregorio, and the Accademia Museum.'
'Yes, Papa.'
'Rome is the treasure house of the world. There you must
visit the Citta Vaticano, and the Basilica of Santa Maria
Maggiore, and the Galleria Borghese, of course.'
'Of course.'
'And Milano! You must go to the Conservatorio for a
concert recital. I will arrange tickets for La Scala for you
and Aunt Rosa. You will see the Municipal Museum of Art,
and there are dozens of churches and museums.'
'Yes, Papa.'
With very careful planning, Lucia managed to see none of
those places. Aunt Rosa insisted on taking a siesta every
afternoon and retiring early each evening.
'You must get your rest too, child.'
'Certainly, Aunt Rosa.'
And so while Aunt Rosa slept, Lucia danced at the
Quisisana in Capri, rode in a carrozza with a beplumed and
iM-iiaiicu iiuisc puiung n, joinea a group of college boys at
the Marina Piccola, went on picnics at Bagni di Tiberio, and
took the Funicolare up to Anacapri, where she joined
group of French students for drinks at the Piazza Umertol
In Venice a handsome gondolier took her to a disco, and a
fisherman took her fishing at Chioggia. And Aunt Rosa slept
In Rome Lucia drank wine from Apulia and discovered all
the off-beat fun restaurants like Marte and Ranieri and Giggi
Fazi.
Wherever she went, Lucia found hidden little bars
and nightclubs and romantic, good-looking men, and she
thought: Dear Papa was so right. Travel has rounded out my
education.
In bed, she learned to speak several different languages,
and she thought: This is so much more fun than my language
classes at school.

When Lucia returned home to Taormina, she confided to
her closest girl-friends: 'I was naked in Naples, stoned in
Salermo, felt up in Florence, and laid in Lucca.'
Sicily itself was a wonder to explore, an island of Grecian
temples, Roman Byzantine amphitheatres, chapels, Arab
baths and Swabian castles.
Lucia found Palermo raucous and lively, and she enjoyed
wandering around the Kalsa, the old Arab quarter, and
visiting the Opera dei Pupi, the puppet theatre. But Taor-
mina, where she was born, was her favourite. It was a
picture postcard of a city on the Ionian Sea on a mountain
overlooking the world. It was a city of dress shops and
jewellery stores, bars and beautiful old squares, trattorie
and colourful hotels like the Excelsior Palace and the San
Domenico.
The winding road leading up from the seaport of Nachos
is steep and narrow and dangerous, and when Lucia Carmine
was given a car on her fifteenth birthday, she broke every
84
traits' l;lw '" the book hut was never once stopped by the
Curuhmiere. After all, she was the daughter of Angelo
Carmine.
To those who were brave enough or stupid enough to inquire,
Angelo Carmine was in the property business. And it was
nartially true, for the Carmine family owned the villa at
Taormina, a house on Lake Como at Cernobbio, a lodge at
Gstaad, an apartment in Rome, and a large farm outside
Rome. But it happened that Angelo Carmine was also in
more colourful businesses. He owned a dozen whorehouses,
two gambling casinos, six ships that brought in cocaine from
his plantations in Colombia, and an assortment of other
very lucrative enterprises, including loan sharking. Angelo
Carmine was the Capo of the Sicilian Mafiosi, so it was only
appropriate that he lived well. His life was an inspiration to
others, heartwarming proof that a poor Sicilian peasant who
was ambitious and worked hard could become rich and
successful.
Angelo Carmine had started out as an errand boy for the
Mafiosi when he was twelve. By fifteen he had become an
enforcer for the loan sharks, and at sixteen he had killed his
first man and made his bones. Shortly after that, he married
Lucia's mother, Anna. In the years that followed, Angelo
Carmine had climbed the treacherous corporate ladder to
the top, leaving a string of dead enemies behind him. He
had grown, but Anna had remained the simple peasant girl
he married. She bore him three fine children, but after that
her contribution to Angelo's life came to a halt. As though
knowing she no longer had a place in her family's life, she
obligingly died and was considerate enough to manage it
with a minimum of fuss.
Arnaldo and Victor were in business with their father, and
from the time Lucia was a small girl, she eavesdropped
on the exciting conversations between her father and her
brothers, and listened to the tales of how they had outwitted
or overpowered their enemies. To Lucia, her father was a
85
knight in shining armour. She saw nothing wrong in what
her father and brothers were doing. On the contrary, they
were helping people. If people wanted to gamble, why let
stupid laws stand in their way? If men took pleasure in
buying sex, why not assist them? And how generous of her
father and brothers to loan money to people who were turned
away by the hard-hearted bankers. To Lucia, her father and
brothers were model citizens. The proof of it lay in her
father's friends; Once a week Angelo Carmine gave an
enormous dinner party at the villa, and oh, the people who
would be seated at the Carmine table! The mayor would be
there, and a few aldermen, and judges, and seated next to
them were film stars and opera singers and often the chief
of police and a monsignor. Several times a year the governor
himself would appear.
Lucia lived an idyllic life, filled with parties and beautiful
clothes and jewels, cars and servants, and powerful friends.
And then one February, on her twenty-third birthday, it all
came to an abrupt end.
It began innocuously enough. Two men came to the villa
to see her father. One of the men was their friend, the chief
of police, and the other was his lieutenant.
'Forgive me. Padrone,' the police chief apologized, 'but
this is a stupid formality which the Commissioner is forcing
me to go through with. A thousand pardons. Padrone, but
if you will be kind enough to accompany me to the police
station, I will see to it that you are home in time to enjoy
your daughter's birthday party.'
'No problem,' Angelo Carmine said genially. 'A man must
do his duty.' He grinned. 'This new Commissioner who's
been appointed by the President is - in the American phrase
- "an eager beaver", eh?'
'I'm afraid that is so,' the police chief sighed. 'But don't
worry. You and I have seen these pains-in-the-asses come
and go very quickly, eh, PadroneT
They laughed and left. 1

Angelo Carmine was not home for the party that day, nor
the next. In fact, he never saw any of his homes again. The
State entered a one-hundred-count indictment against him
that included murder, drug trafficking, prostitution, arson,
and scores of other crimes. Bail was denied. A police dragnet
went out that swept up Carmine's crime organization. He
had counted on his powerful connections in Sicily to have
the charges against him dismissed, but instead he was taken
to Rome in the middle of the night and held at the Regina
Coeli, the notorious Queen of Heaven prison. He was put
in a small cell that contained barred windows, a radiator, a
narrow bed and a toilet with no seat. It was outrageous! It
was an indignity beyond imagining.
In the beginning Angelo Carmine was sure that Tommaso
Contorno, his lawyer, would have him released immediately.
When Contorno came to the visiting room of the prison,
Carmine stormed at him, 'They've closed down my whorehouses
and drug operation and they know everything about
my money laundering operation. Somebody is talking. Find
out who it is and bring me his tongue.'
'Do not worry, Padrone,' Contorno assured him. 'We will
find him.'
His optimism turned out to be unfounded. In order to
protect their witnesses, the State adamantly refused to reveal
their names until the trial began.
Two days before the trial, Angelo Carmine and the other
members of the Mafia were transferred to Rebibbia Prigione,
a top-security prison twelve miles outside of Rome. A nearby
courtroom had been fortified like a bunker. A hundred and
sixty accused Mafia members were brought in through an
underground tunnel wearing handcuffs and chains and put in
thirty cages made of steel and bullet-proof glass. Armed guards
surrounded the inside and outside of the courtroom and spectators
were searched before they were allowed to enter.
When Angelo Carmine was marched into the courtroom,
his heart leaped for joy, for the judge on the bench was
Giovanni Buscetta, a man who had been on the Carmine
payroll for the last fifteen years and who was a frequent guest
di me aniline nouse. Angelo carmine knew at last that
justice was going to be served.
The trial began. Angelo Carmine looked to Omerta, the
Sicilian code of silence, to protect him. But to his astonish- H
ment, the chief witness for the State turned out to be none
other than Benito Patas, the bodyguard. Benito Patas had
been with the Carmine family so long and had been so trusted
that he had been allowed to be in the room at meetings
where confidential matters of business were discussed, and
since that business consisted of every illegal activity on the
police statutes, Patas was privy to a great deal of information.
When the police had apprehended Patas minutes after he had cold-bloodedly murdered and mutilated the new boyfriend of
his mistress, they had threatened him with life imprisonment,
and Patas had reluctantly agreed to help the police build
their case against Carmine in exchange for a lighter sentence.
Now, to Angelo Carmine's horrified disbelief, he sat in the
courtroom and listened to Patas reveal the innermost secrets
of the Carmine fiefdom.
Lucia was also in the courtroom every day listening to the
man who had been her lover destroying her father and her
brothers.
Benito Patas' testimony opened the floodgates. Once
the Commissioner's investigation began, dozens of victims
came forward to tell their stories of what Angelo Carmine
and his hoodlums had done to them. The Mafia had
muscled into their businesses, blackmailed them, forced
them into prostitution, murdered or crippled their loved
ones, sold drugs to their children. The list of horrors was
endless.
Even more damaging was the testimony of the Pentiti, the
repentant members of the Mafia who decided to talk.
Lucia was allowed to visit her father in prison.
He greeted her cheerfully. He hugged her and whispered,
88

Do not worry, faccia del angelo. Judge Giovanni Buscetta
js rny secret ace in the hole. He knows all the tricks of the
law. He will use them to see that your brothers and I are
acquitted.'
Angelo Carmine proved to be a poor prophet.
The public had been outraged by the excesses of the Mafia,
and when the trial finally ended. Judge Giovanni Buscetta,
an astute political animal, sentenced the Mafia members
to long prison terms and sentenced Angelo Carmine and
his two sons to the maximum permitted by Italian law,
life imprisonment, a mandatory sentence of twenty-eight
years.
For Angelo Carmine it was a death sentence.
All of Italy cheered. Justice had finally triumphed. But to
Lucia, it was a nightmare beyond imagining. The three men
she loved most in the world were being sent to hell.
Once again, Lucia was allowed to visit her father in his
cell. The overnight change in him was heartbreaking. In the
space of a few days, he had become an old man. His figure
had shrunk and his healthy, ruddy complexion had turned
sallow.
'They have betrayed me,' he moaned. 'They have all
betrayed me. Judge Giovanni Buscetta -1 owned him, Lucia!
I made him a wealthy man, and he did this terrible thing to
me. And Patas. I was like a father to him. What has the
world come to? Whatever happened to honour? They are
Sicilians, like me.'
Lucia took her father's hand in hers and said in a low voice,
'I am Sicilian, too. Papa. You shall have your vengeance. I
swear it to you, on my life.'
'My life is over,' her father told her. 'But yours is still
ahead of you. I have a numbered account in Zurich. The
Bank Leu. There is more money there than you could spend
in ten lifetimes.' He whispered a number in her ear. 'Leave
cursed Italy. Take the money and enjoy yourself.'
Lucia held him close. 'Papa '
ii you ever neea a inena, you can trust Dominic Durell.
We are like brothers. He has a home in France at Beziers
near the Spanish border.'
'I'll remember.'
'Promise me you'll leave Italy.'
'Yes, Papa. But there is something I have to do first.'
Having a burning desire for revenge was one thing. Figuring
out a way to get it was another. She was alone, and it was
not going to be easy. Lucia thought of the Italian expression, 'Rubare il mestiere.' You steal their profession. 1 must think
the way they do.
A few weeks after her father and brothers had started serving
their prison sentences, Lucia Carmine appeared at the home
of Judge Giovanni Buscetta. The judge himself opened the
door.
He stared at Lucia in surprise. He had seen her often when
he was a guest at the Carmine home, but they had never had
much to say to each other.
'Lucia Carmine? What are you doing here? You shouldn't
have '
'I have come to thank you. Your Honour.'
He studied her suspiciously. Thank me for what?'
Lucia looked deep into his eyes. 'For exposing my father
and brothers for what they were. I was an innocent, living
in that house of horrors. I had no idea what monsters -' She
broke down and began to sob.
The judge stood there uncertainly, then patted her
shoulder. There, there. Come in and have some tea.'
Th - thank you.'
When they were seated in the living room. Judge Buscetta
said, 'I had no idea that you felt that way about your father.
I had the impression that you were very close.'
'Only because I had no idea what he and my brothers were
really like. When I found out -' She shuddered. 'You don't

know what it was like,' Lucia said. 'I wanted to get away,
but there was no escape for me.'
I didn't understand.' He patted her hand. 'I'm afraid I
misjudged you, my dear.'
'I was terrified of him.' Her voice was filled with passion.
Judge Buscetta noticed, not for the first time, what a
beautiful young girl Lucia was. She was wearing a simple
black dress that revealed the outlines of her lush body. He
looked at her rounded breasts and could not help observing
how grown up she had become.
 would be amusing, Buscetta thought, to sleep with the
daughter of Angela Carmine. He's powerless to hurt me now.
The old bastard thought he owned me, but I was too smart
for him. Lucia is probably a virgin. I could teach her a few
things in bed.
An elderly housekeeper brought in a tray of tea and a
plate of biscuits. She put them on a table. 'Shall I pour?'
'Let me,' Lucia said. Her voice was warm and filled with
promise.
Judge Buscetta smiled at Lucia. 'You can go,' he told the
housekeeper.
'Yes, sir.'
The judge watched as Lucia walked over to the small table
where the tray had been set down and carefully poured out
tea for the judge and herself.
'I have a feeling you and I could become very good friends,
Lucia,' Giovanni Buscetta said, probing.
Lucia gave him a seductive smile. 'I would like that very
much. Your Honour.'
'Please - Giovanni.'
'Giovanni.' Lucia handed him his cup. She raised her cup
in a toast. To the death of villains.'
Smiling, Buscetta lifted his cup. To the death of villains.'
He took a swallow and grimaced. The tea tasted bitter.
'Is it too ?'
'No, no. It is fine, my dear.'
Lucia raised her cup again. To our friendship.'
She took another sip, and he joined her.
Buscetta never finished his toast. He was seized by a
sudden spasm, and he felt a red-hot poker stabbing at his
heart. He grabbed his chest.'Oh, my God! Call a doctor . . .'
Lucia sat there, calmly sipping her tea, watching him
stumble to his feet and fall to the floor. He lay there, his
body twitching, and then he was still.
That's one. Papa,' Lucia said.
Benito Patas was in his cell playing solitaire when the jailer
announced, 'You have a conjugal visitor.'
Benito beamed. He had been given special status as an
informer, with many privileges, and conjugal visits was one of
them. Patas had half a dozen girl-friends, and they alternated
their visits. He wondered which one had come today.
He studied himself in the little mirror hanging on the wall
of his cell, put some pomade on his hair, slicked it back,
then followed the guard through the prison corridor to the
section where there were private rooms.
The guard motioned him inside..Patas strutted into the
room, filled with anticipation. He stopped and stared in
surprise.
'Lucia! My God, what the hell are you doing here? How
did you get in?'
Lucia said softly, 'I told them we were engaged, Benito.'
She was wearing a stunning red, low-cut silk dress that
clung to the curves of her body.
Benito Patas backed away from her. 'Get out.'
'If you wish. But there is something you should hear first.
When I saw you get up on the stand and testify against my
father and brothers, I hated you. I wanted to kill you.' She
moved closer to him. 'But then I realized that what you were
doing was an act of bravery. You dared to stand up and tell
the truth. My father and my brothers were not evil men, but
they did evil things, and you were the only one strong enough
to stand up against them.'
'Believe me, Lucia,' he said, 'the police forced me to '

You aon t nave to explain, she said sottly. 'Not to me.
Remember the first time we made love? I knew then that I
was in love with you and that I always would be.'
'Lucia, I would never have done what I '
'Caro, I want us to forget what happened. It's done.
What's important now is you and me.'
She was close to him now, and he could smell her heady
perfume. His mind was in a state of confusion. 'Do - do you
mean that?'
'More than I've ever meant anything in my life. That's
why I came here today, to prove it to you. To show you that
I'm yours. And not with just words.'
Her fingers went to her shoulder straps, and an instant
later her dress shimmered to the floor. She was naked. 'Do
you believe me now?'
By God, she was beautiful. 'Yes, I believe you.' His voice
was husky.
Lucia moved close to him, and her body brushed against
his. 'Get undressed,' she whispered. 'Hurry!'
She watched Patas as he undressed. When he was naked,
he took her hand and led her to the little bed in the corner
of the room. He did not bother with foreplay. In a moment
he was on top of her, spreading her legs, plunging deep
inside her, an arrogant smile on his face.
'It's like old times,' he said smugly. 'You couldn't forget
me,could you?'
'No,' Lucia whispered in his ear. 'And do you know why
I couldn't forget you?'
'No, mi amore. Tell me.'
'Because I'm Sicilian, like my father.'
She reached behind her head and removed the long, ornate
pin that held her hair in place.
Benito Patas felt something stab him under his rib cage,
and the sudden pain made him open his mouth to scream,
but Lucia's mouth was on his, kissing him, and as Benito's
body bucked and writhed on top of her, Lucia had an orgasm.
A few minutes later she was clothed again, and the pin
had been replaced in her hair. Benito was under the blanket,
.. ._,-., ,. >>-ia mhj<-m;u ai me ceil aoor and smiled
at the guard who opened it to let her out. 'He's asleep,' she
whispered.
The guard looked at the beautiful young woman and
smiled. 'You probably wore him out.'
'I hope so,' Lucia said. a
The sheer daring of the two murders took Italy by storm.
The beautiful young daughter of a Mafioso had avenged her
father and brothers, and the excitable Italian public cheered
her, rooting for her to escape. The police, quite naturally,
took a rather different point of view. Lucia Carmine had
murdered a respected judge and had then committed a
second murder within the very walls of a prison. In their
eyes, equal to her crimes was the fact that she had made
fools of them. The newspapers were having a wonderful time
at their expense.
'I want her neck,' the police commissioner roared to the
deputy commissioner. 'And I want it today.'
The manhunt intensified. The object of all this attention
was hiding in the home of Salvatore Giuseppe, one of her
father's men who had managed to escape the firestorm.
In the beginning, Lucia's only thought had been to avenge
the honour of her father and brothers. She had fully expected
to be caught and was prepared to sacrifice herself. When she
had managed to walk out of the prison and make her escape,
however, her thoughts changed from vengeance to survival.
Now that she had accomplished what she had set out to do,
life suddenly became precious again. I'm not going to let
them capture me, she vowed to herself. Never.
Salvatore Giuseppe and his wife had done what they could
to disguise Lucia. They had lightened her hair, stained her
teeth, and bought her glasses and some ill-fitting clothes.
Salvatore examined their handiwork critically.
'It is not bad,' he said. 'But it is not enough. We must get

you out of Italy. You have to go somewhere where your
picture is not on the front page of every newspaper. Somewhere
you can hide out for a few months.'
And Lucia remembered:
 you ever need a friend, you can trust Dominic Durell.
We are like brothers. He has a home in France at Beziers,
near the Spanish border.
'I know where I can go,' Lucia said. 'I'll need a passport.'
'I will arrange it.'
Twenty-four hours later Lucia was looking at a passport in
the name of Lucia Roma, with a photograph taken in her
new persona.
'Where will you go?'
'My father has a friend in France who will help me.'
Salvatore said, 'If you wish me to accompany you to the
border ?'
Both of them knew how dangerous that could be.
'No, Salvatore,' Lucia said. 'You have done enough for
me. I must do this alone.'
The following morning Salvatore Giuseppe rented a Flat in
the name of Lucia Roma and handed her the keys.
'Be careful,' he pleaded.
'Don't worry. I was born under a lucky star.'
Had not her father told her so?
At the Italian-French border the cars waiting to get into
France were advancing slowly in a long line. As Lucia moved
closer to the immigration booth, she became more and more
nervous. They would be looking for her at all exit points. If
they caught her, she knew she would be sentenced to prison
for life. I'll kill myself first, Lucia thought.
She had reached the immigration officer.
'Passport, signorina.'
Lucia handed him her black passport through the car
window. As the officer took it, he glanced at Lucia, and she
saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. He looked from the
passport to her face and back again, this time more carefully.
Lucia felt her body tense. 'You're Lucia Carmine,' he said.

Chapter 9
Lucia Carmine.'
'No!' Lucia cried. The blood drained from her face. She
looked around for a way to escape. There was none. And
suddenly, to her disbelief, the guard was smiling. He
leaned towards her and whispered, 'Your father was good
to my family, signorina. You may pass through. Good
luck.'
Lucia felt dizzy with relief. 'Grazie.'
She stepped on the accelerator and drove the twenty-five
yards towards the French border. The French immigration
officer prided himself on being a connoisseur of beautiful
women, and the woman who pulled up before him was
certainly no beauty. She had mousy hair, thick glasses,
stained teeth and was dowdily dressed.
Why can't Italian women look as beautiful as French
women? he thought disgustedly. He stamped Lucia's passport
and waved her through.
She arrived in Beziers many hours later.
The phone was answered on the first ring, and a smooth
male voice said, 'Hello.'
'Dominic Durell, please.'
'This is Dominic Durell. Who is this speaking?'
'Lucia Carmine. My father told me -'
'Lucia!' His voice was warm with welcome. 'I was hoping
to hear from you.'
'I need help.'
97
i uu i-uii cuum on me.
Lucia's heart lightened. It was the first good news she had
heard in a long time. She suddenly realized how drained she
was.
'I need a place where I can hide out from the police.'
'No problem. My wife and I have a perfect place for you
to use for as long as you like.'
It was almost too good to be true.
Thank you.' ;i
'Where are you, Lucia?'
'I'm '
At that moment the blare of a police shortwave radio
crackled over the phone. It was instantly shut off.
'Lucia -' -i-w N
A loud alarm rang in her head. I'll
'Lucia - where are you? I'll come and get you.'
Why would he have a police radio in his house? And he
had answered the telephone on the first ring. Almost as
though he had been expecting her call.
'Lucia - can you hear me?'
She knew, with an absolute certainty, that the man on the
other end of the line was a policeman. So the dragnet was
out for her. This call was being traced.
'Lucia '
She replaced the receiver and walked quickly away from
the telephone booth.
I've got to get out of France, she thought.
She returned to her car and took a map from the glove
compartment. The Spanish border was only a short distance
away. She replaced the map and started off. She turned a
corner and headed south towards San Sebastian.
It was at the Spanish border that things started to go
wrong.
'Passport, please.'
Lucia handed the Spanish immigration officer her passport.
He gave it a cursory glance and started to hand it back,

but something made him hesitate. He took a closer look at
Lucia, and his expression changed.
'Just a moment, please. I will have to have this stamped
inside.'
He recognized me, Lucia thought desperately. She
watched him walk into the little office kiosk and show the
passport to another officer. The two of them were talking
excitedly. She had to escape. She opened the door on the
driver's side and stepped out. A group of German tourists
who had just cleared customs was noisily boarding an excursion
coach next to Lucia's car. The sign on the front of the
coach read 'Madrid'.
'AchtungF their guide was calling out. 'Schnell.'
Lucia glanced towards the hut. The guard who had taken
her passport was yelling into the telephone.
'All aboard, bitte.'
Without a second thought, Lucia moved towards the laughing,
chattering tour group and stepped on to the coach, averting
her face from the guide. She took a seat in the rear of the
coach, keeping her head down. Move! she prayed. Now.
Through the window Lucia saw that another guard had
joined the first two and the three of them were examining
her passport. As though in answer to Lucia's prayer, the
coach door closed and the engine sprang into life. A short
time later the coach was rolling out of San Sebastian towards
Madrid. What would happen when the border guards found
that she had left her car? Their first thought would be that
she had gone to the ladies' room. They would wait and finally
send someone in to get her. Their next step would be to
search the area to see if she had hidden somewhere. By then
dozens of cars and buses would have passed through. The
police would have no idea where she had gone, nor in which
direction she was travelling.
The tour group on the coach was obviously having a happy
holiday. Why not? Lucia thought bitterly. They haven't got
the police snapping at their heels. Was it worth risking the rest
.uj my nji-Jur: one iiluugni aooui it, reliving the scenes with
Judge Buscetta and Benito in her mind.
. I have a feeling you and I could become very good friends
Lucia ... To the death of villains.
And Benito Patas: It's like old times. You couldn't forget
me, could you?
And she had made the two traitors pay for their sins
against her family. Was it worth it? They were dead, but her
father and brothers would suffer for the rest of their lives. Oh, yes, Lucia thought.  was worth it.
Someone on the coach started a German song, and the
others joined in:
7n Munchen ist ein Hofbrau Haus, ein, zwei, drei . . .'
I'll be safe with this group for a while, Lucia thought. I'll
decide what to do next when I get to Madrid.
She never reached Madrid.
At the walled city of Avila, the tour coach made a scheduled
stop for refreshments and what the guide delicately referred
to as a 'comfort station'.
'Alle raus aus dem Bus,' he called.
Lucia stayed in her seat, watching the passengers rise and
scramble for the front door of the coach. I'll be safer if I stay
here. But the guide noticed her.
'Out, Fraulein,' he said. 'We have only fifteen minutes.'
Lucia hesitated, then reluctantly rose and moved towards
the door.
As she passed the guide, he said, 'Warten She, bitte! You
are not of this tour.'
Lucia gave him a warm smile. 'No,' she said. 'You see,
my car broke down in San Sebastian and it is very important
that I get to Madrid, so I -'
'Nein!' the guide bellowed. 'This is not possible. This is a
private tour.'
'I know,' Lucia told him, 'but you see, I need '
'You must arrange this with the company headquarters in
Munich.'

i can i. i m in a ternole nurry and '
'Ne'm, nein. You will get me in trouble. Go away or I will
call the police.'
But-'
Nothing she said could sway him. Twenty minutes later
Lucia watched the coach pull away and roar down the highway
towards Madrid. She was stranded with no passport
and almost no money, and by now the police of half a
dozen countries would be looking for her to arrest her for
murder.
She turned to examine her surroundings. The coach had
stopped in front of a circular building with a sign in front
that read 'Estacion de Autobuses'.
I can get another bus here, Lucia thought.
She walked into the station. It was a large building with
marble walls, and scattered around the room were a dozen
ticket windows with a sign over each one: Segovia . . .
Munogalindo . . . Valladolid . . . Salamanca . . . Madrid. Stairs and an escalator led to the downstairs level where the
buses departed. There was a pasteleria where they sold
doughnuts and sweets and sandwiches wrapped in wax paper,
and Lucia suddenly realized that she was starved.
I'd better not buy anything, she thought, until I find out
how much a bus ticket costs.
As she started towards the window marked Madrid, two
uniformed policemen hurried into the station. One of them
was carrying a photograph. They moved from window to
window showing the picture to the clerks.
They're looking for me. That damned bus driver reported
me.
A family of newly arrived passengers was coming up
the escalator. As they moved towards the door, Lucia
stepped up beside them, mingling with them, and went
outside.
She walked down the cobblestoned streets of Avila, trying
not to rush, afraid of drawing attention to herself. She turned
into the Calle de la Madre Soledad, with its granite buildings
and black wrought-iron balconies, and when she reached the
naza ue la sania, sne sat down on a park bench to try to
figure out her next move. A hundred yards away, several
women and some couples were seated in the park, enjoying
the afternoon sunshine.
As Lucia sat there, a police car appeared. It pulled up at
the far end of the square and two policemen got out. They
moved over to one of the women seated alone and began
questioning her. Lucia's heart began to beat faster. ,;
She forced herself to get to her feet slowly, her heart
pounding, and turned away from the policemen and kept
walking. The next street was called, unbelievably, 'The
Street of Life and Death'.  wonder if it's an omen.
There were realistic-looking stone lions in the plaza, their
tongues out, and in Lucia's fevered imagination, they seemed
to be snapping at her. Ahead of her was a large cathedral,
and on its facade was a carved medallion of a young girl
and a grinning skull. The very air seemed to be filled with
death.
Lucia heard the sound of a church bell and looked up
through the open city gate. In the distance, high on a hill,
rose the walls of an abbey. She stood there, staring at it.
'I never want to leave,' Lucia assured her. Not for the next
few months, anyway.
The Reverend Mother rose. 'It is an important decision.
1 suggest that you go and think about it carefully before you
make up your mind.'
Lucia felt the situation slipping away from her and she
began to panic. She had nowhere to go. Her only hope was
to stay behind these walls.
'I have thought about it,' Lucia said quickly. 'Believe me,
Reverend Mother, I've thought about nothing else. I want
to renounce the world.' She looked the Mother Prioress in
the eye. 'I want to be here more than I want to be anywhere
else in the world.' Lucia's voice rang with truth.
The Reverend Mother was puzzled. There was something
unsettled and frantic about this woman that was disturbing.
And yet what better reason for anyone to come to this place
where their spirit would be calmed by meditation and prayer?
'Are you Catholic?'
'Yes.'
The Reverend Mother picked up an old-fashioned quill
pen. 'Tell me your name, child.'
'My name is Lucia Car - Roma.'
'Are your parents alive?'
'My father is.'
'What does he do?'
'He was a businessman. He's retired.' She thought of how
pale and wasted he looked the last time she had seen him,
and a pang went through her.
'Do you have any brothers or sisters?'
'Two brothers.'
'And what do they do?'
Lucia decided she needed all the help she could get.
'They're priests.'
'Lovely.'
The catechism went on for three hours. At the end of that
time, the Reverend Mother Betina said, 'I will find you a
bed for the night. In the morning you will begin instructions
and when they are finished, if you still feel the same, you
may join the order. But 1 warn you, it is a very difficult path
you have chosen.'
'Believe me,' Lucia said earnestly. 'I have no choice.'
The night wind was soft and warm, whispering its way across
the wooded glade, and Lucia slept. She was at a party in a
beautiful villa, and her father and brothers were there, and
everyone was having a wonderful time, and a stranger walked
into the room and said, 'Who the hell are these people?'
And the lights went out and a bright flashlight shone in her
face and she came awake and sat up, the light blinding
her.
There were half a dozen men surrounding the nuns in the
clearing. With the light in her eyes, Lucia could only dimly
make out their shapes.
'Who are you?' the man demanded again. His voice was
deep and rough.
Lucia was instantly awake, her mind alert. She was
trapped. But if these men were from the police, they would
have known who the nuns were. And what were they doing
in the woods at night?
Lucia took a chance. 'We are sisters from the convent at
Avila,' she said. 'Some government men came and '
'We heard about it,' the man interrupted.
The other sisters were all sitting up now, awake and
terrified.
'Who - who are you?' Megan asked.
'My name is Jaime Miro.' ;
There were six of them, dressed in rough trousers, leather
jackets, turtleneck sweaters and canvas rope-soled shoes,
and the traditional Basque berets. They were heavily armed,
and in the dim moonlight they had a demonic look. Two of
the men looked as though they had been badly beaten.
The man who called himself Jaime Miro was tall and lean,
with fierce black eyes. 'They could have been followed here.'
104

He turned to one of the members of his band. 'Have a look
around.'
'sr
Lucia realized that it was a woman who answered. Lucia
watched her move silently into the trees.
'What are we going to do with them?' Ricardo Mellado
asked.
Jaime Miro said, 'Nada. We leave them and move on.'
One of the men protested, 'Jaime - these are little sisters
of Jesus.'
'Then let Jesus take care of them,' Jaime Miro said curtly.
'We have work to do.'
The nuns were all standing now, waiting. The men were
gathered around Jaime, arguing with him.
'We can't let them get caught. Acoca and his men are
searching for them.'
'They're searching for us, too, amigo.'
'The sisters will never make it without our help.'
Jaime Miro said firmly, 'No. We're not risking our lives
for them. We have problems of our own.'
Felix Carpio, one of his lieutenants, said, 'We could escort
them part of the way, Jaime. Just until they get away from
here.' He turned to the nuns. 'Where are you sisters headed?'
Teresa spoke up, the light of God in her eyes. 'I have a
holy mission. There is a convent at Mendavia that will shelter
us.'
Felix Carpio said to Jaime Miro, 'We could escort them
there. Mendavia's on our way to San Sebastian.'
Jaime Miro turned on him, furious. 'You damned fool!
Why don't you put up a signpost telling everyone where
we're going?'
'I only meant -'
'Mierda!' His voice was filled with disgust. 'Now we have
no choice. We'll have to take them with us. If Acoca finds
them, he'll make them talk. They're going to slow us down
and make it that much easier for Acoca and his butchers to
track us.'
Lucia was only half listening. The gold cross lay within
105
FR1;- -.,--.. . u urc musy
timing. God, and a weird sense of humour.
'All right,' Jaime Miro was saying. 'We'll have to make
the best of it. We'll take them as far as the convent and drop
them, but we can't all travel together like some bloody
circus.' He turned to the nuns. He could not keep the anger
out of his voice. 'Do any of you even know where Mendavia
is?'
The sisters looked at one another.
Graciela said, 'Not exactly.'
'Then how the hell did you ever expect to get there?'
'God will lead us,' Sister Teresa said firmly.
Another one of the men, Rubio Arzano, grinned. 'You're
in luck.' He nodded towards Jaime. 'He came down to guide
you in person, sister.'
Jaime silenced him with a look. 'We'll split up. We'll take
three different routes.'
He pulled a map out of a backpack and the men squatted
down on the ground, shining flashlights on the map.
'The convent at Mendavia is here, south-east of Logrono.
I'll head north through Valladolid, then up to Burgos.' He
ran his fingers along the map and turned to Rubio, a tall,
pleasant-looking man. 'You take the route to Olmedo up to 
Penafiel and Aranda de Duero.' I
'Right, amigo.'
Jaime Miro was concentrating on the map again. He
looked up at Ricardo Mellado, one of the men whose face
was bruised. 'Ricardo, head for Segovia, then take the mountain
route to Cerezo de Abajo, then to Soria. We'll all meet
at Logrono.' He put the map away. 'Logrono is two hundred
and ten kilometres from here.' He calculated silently. 'We'll
meet there in seven days. Keep away from the main roads.'
Felix asked, 'Where in Logrono shall we meet?'
Ricardo said, 'The Cirque Japon will be playing in Logrono
next week.'
'Good. We'll meet there. The matinee performance.'
Felix Carpio, the bearded one, spoke up. 'Who are the
nuns going to travel with?'
106

>, II .->;lll IIICIII Up.
It was time to put a stop to this, Lucia decided. 'If the
soldiers are searching for you, signore, then we'd be safer
travelling on our own.'
'But we wouldn't be. Sister,' Jaime said. 'You know too
much about our plans now.'
'Besides,' the man called Rubio added, 'you wouldn't have
a chance. We know the country. We're Basques, and the
people up north are our friends. They'll help us and hide us
from the nationalist soldiers. You'd never get to Mendavia
by yourselves.'
 don't want to get to Mendavia, you idiot.
Jaime Miro was saying, grudgingly, 'All right, then, let's
get moving. I want us far away from here by dawn.'
Sister Megan stood quietly listening to the man who was
giving orders. He was rude and arrogant, but somehow he
seemed to radiate a reassuring sense of power.
Jaime Miro looked over at Teresa and pointed to Tomas
Sanjuro and Rubio Arzano. 'They will be responsible for
you.'
Sister Teresa said, 'God is responsible for me.'
'Sure,' Jaime replied drily. 'I suppose that's how you got
here in the first place.'
Rubio walked over to Teresa. 'Rubio Arzano at your
service. Sister. How are you called?'
'I am Sister Teresa.'
Lucia spoke up quickly. 'I will travel with Sister Teresa.'
There was no way she was going to let them separate her
from the gold cross.
Jaime Miro nodded. 'All right.' He pointed to Graciela.
'Ricardo, you'll take this one.'
Ricardo Mellado nodded. 'Bueno.'
The woman, whom Jaime had sent to reconnoitre, had
returned to the group. 'It's all clear,' she said.
'Good.' Jaime Miro looked at Megan. 'You come with us,
Sister.'
Megan nodded. Jaime Miro fascinated her. And there was
something intriguing about the woman. She was dark and
107
..n.c-iwis.iiis, wiin me nawK-iiKe reatures of a predator
Her mouth was a red wound. There was something intensely sexual about her. y
The woman walked up to Megan. 'I'm Amparo Jiron
Keep your mouth shut, Sister, and there will be no trouble '
Jaime said to the others, 'Let's get moving. We'll meet in
Logrono in seven days. Don't let the sisters out of your
sight.' Sister
Teresa and the man called Rubio Arzano had
already started to move down the path. Lucia hurried after
them. She had seen the map that Rubio Arzano had put in
his backpack. I'll take it, Lucia decided, when he's asleep.
Their flight across Spain began.
wiiai you arc is me worsi liar ive ever neard.'
She walked over to the robes that the nuns had discarded.!
What are those?'
'Ah. Those, yes. The two young men were wearing them
as disguises, you see, And '
There are four outfits here. You said there were two
men.'
'Right. The other two joined them later, and '
She walked over to the phone.
'What are you doing?'
'Calling the police.'
'That's not necessary, I assure you. As soon as you release
me, I'm going right to the police station to make a full
report.'
The woman looked down at him.
'Your robe is open. Friar.' ;
The police were even less sympathetic than the woman had
been. Carrillo was being questioned by four members of the guardia civil. Their green uniforms and eighteenth-century
black patent leather hats were enough to inspire fear
throughout Spain, and they certainly worked their magic on
Carrillo.
'Are you aware that you answer to the exact description
of a man who murdered a priest up north?'
Carrillo sighed. 'I am not surprised. I have a twin brother,
may heaven punish him. It is because of him that I joined
the monastery. Our poor mother '
'Spare us.'
A giant with a scarred face walked into the room.
'Good afternoon. Colonel Acoca.'
'Is this the man?'
'Yes, Colonel. Because of the nuns' robes that we found
with him in the shop, we thought you might be interested in
questioning him yourself.'
Colonel Ramon Acoca walked up to the hapless Carrillo.
'Yes. I'm very interested.'

 ;imiio gave me L-oionei nis most ingratiating smile. 'I'm
glad you're here,-Colonel. I'm on a mission for my church,
and it's very important that I get to Barcelona as quickly as
possible. As I tried to explain to these nice gentlemen, I am
a victim of circumstances simply because I tried to be a good
samaritan.'
Colonel Acoca nodded pleasantly. 'Since you are in a
hurry, I will try not to waste your time.'
Carrillo beamed at him. 'Thank you. Colonel.'
'I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. If you answer
truthfully, everything will be fine. If you lie to me, it will be
very painful for you.' He slipped something into his hand.
Carrillo said righteously, Then of God do not lie.'
'I'm very happy to hear that. Tell me about the four nuns.'
'I don't know anything about four nuns. Col '
The fist that hit him in the mouth had brass knuckles on
it, and blood spurted across the room.
'My God! What are you doing?' Carrillo gasped.
Colonel Acoca repeated his question. 'Tell me about the
four nuns.'
'I don't '
The fist slammed into Carrillo's mouth again, breaking
teeth.
Carrillo was choking on his blood. 'Don't. I '
'Tell me about the four nuns.' Acoca's voice was soft and
reasonable.
'I -' He saw the fist being raised. 'Yes! I - I '
The words came tumbling out. 'They were in Villacastin,
running away from their convent. Please don't hit me again.'
'Go on.'
'I -1 told them I would help them. They needed to change
clothes.'
'So you broke into the shop . . .'
'No. I - yes. I - they stole some clothes and then they
knocked me out and left me.'
'Did they say where they were headed?'
A peculiar sense of dignity suddenly took possession of
Carrillo. 'No.' His not mentioning Mendavia had nothing to
FR1;FR2;uu wim pmici;iiiig me nuns. -,arnno aia not give a damn
about them. It was because the Colonel had ruined his face.
It was going to be very difficult to make a living after he was
released from prison.
Colonel Acoca turned to the members of the guardia civil. 'See what a little friendly persuasion can do? Send him to
Madrid and hold him for murder.'
Lucia, Sister Teresa, Rubio Arzano and Tomas Sanjuro
walked north-east, heading towards Olmeda, staying away
from the main roads and walking through fields of grain.
They passed flocks of sheep and goats, and the innocence of
the pastoral countryside was in ironic contrast to the grave
danger they were all in. They walked through the night, and
at dawn they headed for a secluded spot in the hills.
Rubio Arzano said. The town of Olmeda is just ahead.
We'll stop here until nightfall. You both look as though you
could do with some sleep.'
Sister Teresa was physically exhausted. But something was
happening to her emotionally that was far more disturbing.
She felt she was losing touch with reality. It had begun with
the disappearance of her precious rosary. Had she lost it or
had someone stolen it? She was not sure. It had been her
solace for more years than she could remember. How many
thousands of Hail Marys and how many Our Fathers and
how many Hail, Holy Queens? It had become a part of her,
her security, and now it was missing.
Had she lost it in the convent during the attack? And had
there really been an attack? It seemed so unreal now. She
was no longer sure what was real and what was imaginary.
The baby she had seen. Was it Monique's baby? Or was God
playing tricks on her? It was all so confusing. When she
was young, everything had been so simple. When she was
young . . .

Chapter 11
Eze, France 1924
When she was only eight years old, most of the happiness in
Teresa DeFosse's life came from the church. It was like a
sacred flame drawing her to its warmth. She visited the
Chapelle des Penitents Blancs, and prayed at the cathedral
in Monaco and Notre Dame Bon Voyage in Cannes, but
most frequently she attended services at the church in Eze.
Teresa lived in a chateau on a mountain above the medieval
village of Eze, near Monte Carlo, overlooking the Cote
d'Azur. The village was perched high on a rock and it seemed
to Teresa that she could look down upon the whole world.
There was a monastery at the top, with rows of houses
cascading down the side of the mountain to the blue Mediterranean
below.
Monique, a year younger than Teresa, was the beauty in
the family. Even when she was a child, one could see that
she would grow up to be an exquisite woman. She had
fine-boned features, sparkling blue eyes, and an easy self-
assurance that suited her looks.
Teresa was the ugly duckling. The truth was that the
DeFosses were embarrassed by their elder daughter. If
Teresa had been conventionally ugly, they might have sent
her to a plastic surgeon and had her nose shortened, or her chin brought forward, or her eyes fixed. But the problem was
that all Teresa's features were just slightly askew. Everything
seemed out of place, as though she were a comedienne who
had donned her face for laughter.
dui ir uoo naa cneaiea ner in me matter of looks. He had
compensated for it by blessing her with a remarkable gift.
Teresa had the voice of an angel. It had been noticed the
first time she sang in the church choir. The parishioners
listened in astonishment to the pure, clear tones that came
from the young child. And as Teresa grew older, her voice
grew even more beautiful. She was given all the solos to sing
in church. There, she felt as though she belonged. But away
from church, Teresa was inordinately shy, painfully aware
of her appearance.
At school it was Monique who had all the friends. Boys
and girls alike flocked to her side. They wanted to play with
her, be seen with her. Monique was invited to all the parties.
Teresa was invited also, but it was an after-thought, the
fulfilling of a social obligation, and Teresa was painfully
aware of it.
'Now, Renee. You can't invite one of the DeFosse children
without the other. It would be bad manners.'
Monique was ashamed to have an ugly sister. She felt that
it was somehow a reflection on her.
Teresa's parents behaved properly towards their elder
daughter. They fulfilled their parental duty punctiliously, but
it was obvious that it was Monique they adored. The one
ingredient that Teresa longed for was missing: love.
She was an obedient child, willing and eager to please, a
good student who loved music, history and foreign languages
and worked hard in school. Her teachers and the servants
and the townspeople felt sorry for her. As a tradesman said
one day when Teresa left his shop, 'God wasn't paying
attention when he made her.'
Where Teresa found love was in the church. The priest
loved her, and Jesus loved her. She went to mass every
morning and made the fourteen stations of the cross. Kneeling
in the cool, vaulted church, she felt God's presence.
When she sang there, Teresa was filled with a sense of hope,
of expectation. She felt as though something wonderful were
about to happen to her. It was the only thing that made her
life bearable.

Teresa never confided her unhappiness to her parents or
to her sister, for she did not want to burden them, and she
hugged to herself the secret of how much God loved her and
how much she loved God.
Teresa adored her sister. They played together in the
estate grounds surrounding their chateau, and she let
Monique win the games they played. They went exploring
together, down the steep stone steps cut into the mountain
to Eze Village below, and wandered down the narrow streets of artists' shops to watch the artists in front selling their
wares.
As the girls grew into their teens, the predictions of
the villagers came true. Monique grew more beautiful. The
boys came flocking around Monique, while Teresa stayed
in her room sewing or reading or went shopping in the
village.
As Teresa passed the drawing room one day, she heard
her mother and father in a discussion.
'She's going to be an old maid. We're going to have her
on our hands all our lives.'
'Teresa will find someone. She has a very sweet disposition.'

"That's not what the young men of today are after. They
want someone they can enjoy having in their bed.'
Teresa fled.
Teresa still sang in church on Sundays, and because of
that an event occurred that almost changed her life. In the
congregation was a Madame Neff, the aunt of a radio station
director in Nice.
She stopped to speak to Teresa one Sunday morning.
'You're wasting your life here, my dear. You have an extraordinary
voice. You should be using it.'
'I am using it. I '
'I'm not talking about -' She looked around the church.
'- this. I'm talking about your using your voice professionally.
I pride myself on knowing talent when I hear it. I want
,,.... , ...g, ,v. iiiJ noncw. nc can put you on the radio.
Are you interested?'
I - I don't know.' The very thought of it terrified Teresa.
'Talk it over with your family.'
"I think it's a wonderful idea,' Teresa's mother said.
'It could be a good thing for you,' her father agreed.
It was Monique who had reservations about it. 'You're
not a professional,' she said. 'You could make a fool of
yourself.' Which had nothing to do with Monique's reasons
for trying to discourage her sister. What Monique was afraid
of was that Teresa would succeed. Monique was the one who
had always been in the limelight. It's not fair, she thought, that God should have given Teresa a voice like that. What if
she should become famous? I would be left out, ignored.
And so Monique tried to persuade her sister not to audition.

But the following Sunday at church, Madame Neff stopped
Teresa and said, 'I've talked to my nephew. He is willing to
give you an audition. He's expecting you on Wednesday at
three o'clock.'
And so it was that the following Wednesday a very nervous
Teresa appeared at the radio station in Nice and met the
director.
'I'm Louis Bonnet,' he said curtly. 'I can give you five
minutes.'
Teresa's physical appearance only confirmed his worst
fears. His aunt had sent him talent before.
 should tell her to stick to her kitchen. But he knew that
he would not. The problem was that his aunt was very rich,
and he was her only heir.
Teresa followed Louis Bonnet down a narrow corridor
into a small broadcasting studio.
'Have you ever sung professionally?'
'No, sir.' Her blouse was soaked with perspiration. Why
did I ever let myself get talked into this? Teresa wondered. She was in a panic, ready to flee.

Bonnet placed her in front of a microphone. 'I don't have
a piano player around today, so you're going to have to sing a capella. Do you know what a capella means?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Wonderful.' He wondered, not for the first time, if his aunt
was rich enough to make all these stupid auditions worthwhile.
'I'll be in the control booth. You'll have time for one
song.'
'Sir - what shall I ?'
He was gone. Teresa was alone in the room staring at the
microphone in front of her. She had no idea what she was
going to sing. 'Just go and meet him,' his aunt had said. 'The
station has a musical programme every Saturday evening,
and . . .'
I've got to get out of here.
Louis' voice came out of nowhere. 'I haven't got all day.'
'I'm sorry. I can't '
But the director was determined to punish her for wasting
his time.
'Just a few notes,' he insisted. Enough so he could report
to his aunt what a fool the girl had made of herself. Perhaps
that would persuade her to stop sending him her protegees.
'I'm waiting,' he said.
He leaned back in his chair and lit a Gitane. Four more
hours to go. Yvette would be waiting for him. He would
have time to call at her apartment before he went home to
his wife. Maybe there would even be time to He
heard it then, and he could not believe it. It was a
voice so pure and so sweet that it sent chills down his spine.
It was a voice filled with longing and desire, a voice that sang
of loneliness and despair, of lost loves and dead dreams, and
it brought tears to his eyes. It stirred emotions in him that
he had thought long since dead. All he could say to himself
was, 'Jesus Christ! Where has she been?'
An engineer had wandered into the control booth, and he
stood there listening, mesmerized. The door was open and
others began to come in, drawn by the voice. They stood
there silently listening to the poignant sound of a heart
 _-.-.-, ..v> i..-i>- was nui anoiner
sound in the room.
When the song ended, there was a long silence, and one
of the women said, 'Whoever she is, don't let her get away.'
Louis Bonnet hurried out of the room into the broadcasting
studio. Teresa was getting ready to leave.
'I'm sorry I took too long. You see, I've never '
'Sit down, Maria.'
'Teresa.'
'Sorry.' He took a deep breath. 'We do a musical radio
broadcast every Saturday night.'
'I know. I listen to it.'
'How would you like to be on it?'
She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.
'You mean - you want to employ me?'
'Beginning this week. We'll start you at the minimum. It
will be a great showcase for you.'
It was almost too good to be true. They're going to pay
me to sing.
'Pay you? How much?' Monique asked.
'I don't know. I don't care.' The important thing is that
somebody wants me, she almost said, but she stopped herself.
'That's wonderful news. So you're going to be on the
radio!' her father said.
Her mother was already making plans.
'We'll see that all our friends listen, and we'll have them
send in letters saying how good you are.'
Teresa looked at Monique, waiting for her to say. You
don't have to do that. Teresa is good.
But Monique said nothing.  will blow over quickly, she
thought.
She was wrong.
That Saturday night at the broadcasting station, Teresa was
in a panic.

'Believe me,' Louis Bonnet assured her, 'it's perfectly
natural. All artists go through this.'
They were seated in the small green-room used by performers.

'You're going to be a sensation.'
'I'm going to be sick.'
'There's no time. You're on in two minutes.'
Teresa had rehearsed that afternoon with the small orchestra
that was going to accompany her. The rehearsal had been
extraordinary. The stage from which they broadcast was
crowded with station personnel who had heard about the
young girl with the incredible voice. They listened in awed
silence as Teresa rehearsed the songs she was going to sing.
There was no question in any of their minds but that they
were witnessing the birth of an important star.
'It's too bad she's not better looking,' a stage manager
commented, 'but in radio who can tell the difference?'
Teresa's performance that evening was superb. She was
aware that she had never sung better. And who knew where
this could lead? She might become famous and have men
at her feet, begging her to marry them. As they begged
Monique.
As though reading her thoughts, Monique said, 'I'm really
happy for you, Sis, but don't let yourself get carried away
by all this. These things never last.'
This will, Teresa thought happily. I'm finally a person. I'm
somebody.
On Monday morning, there was a long-distance telephone
call for Teresa.
'It's probably somebody's idea of a joke,' her father
warned her. 'He says he's Jacques Raimu.' The most important
stage director in France.
Teresa picked up the telephone, wary. 'Hello?'
'Miss DeFosse?'
'Teresa DeFosse?'
Yes.'
This is Jacques Raimu. I heard your radio programme on
Saturday night. You're exactly what I'm looking for.'
'I - I don't understand.'
'I'm staging a play at the Comedie Francaise, a musical. I
start rehearsals next week. I've been searching for someone
with a voice like yours. To tell you the truth, there is no one
with a voice like yours. Who is your agent?'
'Agent? I - I have no agent.'
'Then I'll come up there and we'll work out a deal between
us.'
'Monsieur Raimu - I - I'm not very pretty.' It was painful
for her to say the words, but she knew that it was necessary. He mustn 't have any false expectations.
He laughed. 'You will be when I get through with you.
Theatre is make-believe. Stage makeup can do all kinds of
incredible magic.'
'But-'
'I'll drive up to see you tomorrow.'
It was a dream on top of a fantasy. To be starring in a play
by Raimu!
'I'll work out the contract with him,' Teresa's father
said. 'You must be careful when you deal with theatre
people.'
'We must get you a new dress,' her mother said. 'And I'll
invite him to dinner.'
Monique said nothing. What was happening was unbearable.
It was unthinkable that her sister was going to become
a star. Perhaps there was a way . . .
Monique saw to it that she was the first one downstairs
when Jacques Raimu arrived at the DeFosse chateau that
afternoon. He was greeted by a young girl so beautiful

that his heart jumped. She was dressed in a simple white
afternoon frock that set off her figure to perfection.
My God, he thought. Those looks and that voice! She's
perfect. She's going to be an enormous star.
'I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you,' Raimu said.
Monique smiled warmly. 'I'm very happy to meet you.
I'm a big admirer of yours. Monsieur Raimu.'
'Good. Then we'll work well together. I brought a script
with me. It's a beautiful love story, and I think -'
Teresa came into the room. She was wearing a new dress,
but she looked awkward in it. She stopped as she saw Jacques
Raimu.
'Oh - hello. I didn't know you were here. I mean - you're
early.'
He looked at Monique inquiringly.
"This is my sister,' Monique said. Teresa.'
They both watched the expression on his face change. It
went from shock to disappointment to disgust.
'You're the singer?'
'Yes.'
He turned to Monique. 'And you're -'
Monique smiled innocently. 'I'm Teresa's sister.'
Raimu turned to examine Teresa again, then shook his
head. 'I'm sorry,' he said to Teresa. 'You're too -' he
fumbled for a word. '- You're too young. If you'll excuse
me, I must get back to Paris.'
And they stood there watching him walk out the door.
It worked, Monique thought jubilantly. It worked.
That was the last broadcast Teresa ever made. Louis Bonnet
pleaded with her to come back, but the hurt was too deep.
After looking at my sister, Teresa thought, how could
anyone want me? I'm so ugly.
As long as she lived, she would never forget the look on
Jacques Raimu's face.
It's my fault for having silly dreams, Teresa told herself. It's God's way of punishing me.
Alter mat, Teresa would only sing in church, and she
became more of a recluse than ever.
During the next ten years the beautiful Monique turned down
more than a dozen marriage proposals. She was proposed to
by the sons of the mayor, the banker, the doctor, the merchants
in the village. Her suitors ranged from young men
fresh out of school to established and successful men in their
forties and fifties. They were rich and poor, handsome and
ugly, educated and uneducated. And to all of the Monique
said non.
'What are you looking for?' her father asked, baffled.
'Papa, everyone here is boring. Eze is such an unsophisticated
place. My dream prince is in Paris.'
And so her father dutifully sent her to Paris. As an afterthought,
he sent Teresa with her. The two girls stayed at a
small hotel near the Bois de Boulogne.
Each sister saw a different Paris. Monique attended charity
balls and glamorous dinner parties and had tea with titled
young men. Teresa visited Les Invalides and the Louvre.
Monique went to the races at Longchamps and to galas at
Malmaison. Teresa went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to
pray, and walked along the tree-shaded path of the Canal St
Martin. Monique went to Maxim's and the Moulin Rouge,
while Teresa strolled along the Quays, browsing at the book
stalls and the flower vendors and stopping at the Basilica St
Denis. Teresa enjoyed Paris, but as far as Monique was
concerned, the trip was a failure.
When she returned home, she said, 'I can't find any man
I want to marry.'
'You met no one who interested you?' her father asked.
'Not really. There was a young man who took me to dinner
at Maxim's. His father owns coal mines.'
'What was he like?' her mother asked eagerly.
'Oh, he was rich, handsome, polite, and he adored
me.'
'Did he ask you to marry him?'

'Every ten minutes. Finally I simply refused to see him
again.'
Her mother stared at Monique in amazement. 'Why?'
'Because all he could talk about was coal: bituminous coal,
lump coal, black coal, grey coal. Boring, boring, boring.'
The following year Monique decided she wanted to return
to Paris again.
'I'll pack my things,' Teresa said.
Monique shook her head. 'No. This time I think I'll go
alone.'
So while Monique went to Paris, Teresa stayed at home
and went to church every morning and prayed that her sister
would find a handsome prince. And one day the miracle
occurred. A miracle because it was to Teresa that it happened.
His name was Raoul Giradot.
He had gone to church on Sunday and heard Teresa sing.
He had never heard anything like it.  must meet her, he
vowed.
Early on Monday morning, Teresa called at the village
general store to buy fabric for a dress she was making. Raoul
Giradot was working behind the counter.
He looked up as Teresa walked in, and his face lit up.
'The voice!'
She stared at him, flustered. 'I -1 beg your pardon?'
'I heard you sing in church yesterday. You are magnificent.'

He was handsome and tall, with intelligent, flashing dark
eyes and lovely, sensual lips. He was in his early thirties, a
year or two older than Teresa.
Teresa was so taken aback by his appearance that she
could only stammer. She stared at him, her heart pounding.
'T - thank you,' Teresa said. 'I -1 -1 would like three yards
of muslin, please.'
Raoul smiled. 'It will be my pleasure. This way.'
It was suddenly difficult for Teresa to concentrate on her
errand. She was overpoweringly aware of the young man's
o _ --.,-- -... w.iuini, 111- iiiasLuiinc uura
surrounding him.
When Teresa had decided on her purchase and Raoul was
wrapping it for her, she dared to say, 'You're - you're new
here, aren't you?'
He looked at her and smiled, and it sent shivers through
Teresa.
'Oui. I arrived in Eze a few days ago. My aunt owns this
shop and she needed help, so I thought I would work here
fora while.'
How long is a while? Teresa found herself wondering.
'You should be singing professionally,' Raoul told her.
She remembered the expression on Raimu's face when he
had seen her. No, she would never risk exposing herself
publicly again. 'Thank you,' Teresa mumbled.
He was touched by her embarrassment and shyness. He
tried to draw her into conversation.
'I haven't been to Eze before. It's a beautiful little
town.'
'Yes,' Teresa mumbled.
'Were you born here?'
'Yes.'
'Do you like it?'
'Yes.'
Teresa picked up her parcel and fled.
The following day Teresa found an excuse to go back to
the shop again. She had stayed up half the night preparing
what she was going to say to Raoul.
I'm glad you like Eze . . .
The monastery was built in the fourteenth century, you
know . . .
Have you ever visited Saint-Paul-de- Vence? There's a lovely
chapel there . . .
I enjoy Monte Carlo, don't you? It's wonderful to have it
so close to here. Sometimes my sister and I drive down the
Grand Corniche and go to the FortAntoine Theatre. Do you
know it? It's the big, open-air theatre . . .
Did you know that Nice was once called Nkaia? Oh, you
amn !.' res, 11 was. me Ureelcs were there a long time ago.
There's a museum in Nice with the remains of cavemen who
lived there thousands of years ago. Isn't that interesting?
Teresa was prepared with dozens of such verbal gambits.
Unfortunately, the moment she walked into the shop and
saw Raoul everything flew out of her head. She simply stared
at him, unable to speak.
'Bonjour,' Raoul said cheerfully. 'It's nice to see you
again. Mademoiselle DeFosse.'
'M - merci.' She felt like an idiot. I'm thirty years old, she
told herself, and I'm acting like a silly schoolgirl. Stop it.
But she could not stop it.
'And what may I do for you today?'
'I - I need more muslin.'
Which was the last thing she needed.
Teresa watched Raoul as he went to get the bolt of fabric.
He set it on the counter and started to measure it out.
'How many yards would you like?'
She started to say two, but what came out was, 'Are you
married?'
He looked up at her with a warm smile on his face. 'No,'
he said. 'I haven't been that fortunate yet.'
You are going to be, Teresa thought. As soon as Monique
returns from Paris.
Monique was going to adore this man. They were perfect
for each other. The thought of Monique's reaction when she
met Raoul filled Teresa with happiness. It would be lovely
to have Raoul Giradot as her brother-in-law.
The following day as Teresa was passing the shop, Raoul
caught sight of her and hurried outside.
'Good afternoon. Mademoiselle. I was about to take a
break. If you're free, would you care to join me for tea?'
'I - I - yes, thank you.'
She was tongue-tied in his presence, and yet Raoul could
not have been more pleasant. He did everything he could to
put her at ease, and soon Teresa found herself telling this
stranger things she had never told anyone before. They
talked of loneliness.
'Crowds can make one lonely,' Teresa said. 'I always feel
like an island in a sea of people.'
He smiled. 'I understand.'
'Oh, but you must have so many friends.'
'Acquaintances. In the end, does anyone really have many
friends?'
It was as though she were speaking to a mirror image. The
hour melted away so quickly, and soon it was time for him
to go back to work.
As they rose, Raoul asked, 'Will you join me for lunch
tomorrow?'
He was being kind, of course. Teresa knew that no man
could ever be attracted to her. Especially someone as wonderful
as Raoul Giradot. She was sure that he was kind to
everyone.
'I would enjoy that,' Teresa said.
When she went to meet Raoul the following day, he said
boyishly, 'I've been given the afternoon off. If you're not
too busy, why don't we drive down to Nice?'
They drove along the Moyen Corniche, with his car top
down, and the city was spread out like a magic carpet below.
Teresa leaned back in her seat and thought: I've never been
so happy. And then, filled with guilt: I'm being happy for
Monique.
Monique was returning from Paris the following day.
Raoul would be Teresa's gift to her sister. Teresa was realistic
enough to know that the Raouls of the world were not for
her. She had had enough pain in her life. She had long
since learned what was real and what was impossible. The
handsome man seated beside her driving the car was an
impossible dream she dared not even let herself think about.
They had lunch at Le Chantecler in the Negrecso Hotel
in Nice. It was a superb meal, but afterwards Teresa had no
recollection of what she had eaten. It seemed to her that she
and Raoul had not stopped talking. They had so much to
say to each other. He was witty and charming, and he
appeared to find Teresa interesting - really interesting. He
asked her opinion about many things and listened attentively

to her answers. They agreed on almost everything. It was as
though they were soul mates. If Teresa had any regrets about
what was about to happen, she resolutely forced them out
of her mind.
'Would you like to come to dinner at the chateau tomorrow
night? My sister is returning from Paris. I would like you to
meet her.'
'I'd be delighted, Teresa.'
When Monique returned home the following day, Teresa
hurried to greet her at the door.
In spite of her resolve, Teresa could not help asking, 'Did
you meet anyone interesting in Paris?' And she held her
breath, waiting for her sister's answer.
'The same boring men,' Monique replied.
So God had made the final decision.
'I've invited someone to dinner tonight,' Teresa said. 'I
think you're going to like him.'
 must never let anyone know how much I care for him, Teresa thought.
That evening at half seven promptly, the butler ushered
Raoul Giradot into the drawing room where Teresa,
Monique and their parents were waiting.
'This is my mother and father. Monsieur Raoul Giradot.'
'How do you do?'
Teresa took a deep breath. 'And my sister, Monique.'
'How do you do?' Monique's expression was polite, nothing
more.
Teresa looked at Raoul, expecting him to be stunned by
Monique's beauty.
'Enchanted.' Merely courteous.
Teresa stood there, holding her breath, waiting for the
sparks that she knew would start flying between them. But
Raoul was looking at Teresa.
'You look lovely tonight, Teresa.'
She blushed and stammered, Th - thank you.'
Everything about that evening was topsy-turvy. Teresa's
plan to bring Monique and Raoul together, to watch them
get married, to have Raoul as a brother-in-law - none of it
even began to happen. Incredibly, Raoul's attention was
focused entirely on Teresa. It was like some impossible
dream come true. She felt like Cinderella, only she was the
ugly sister and the prince had chosen her. It was unreal, but
it was happening, and Teresa found herself struggling to
resist Raoul and his charm because she knewthat it was too
good to be true, and she dreaded being hurt again. All these
years she had hidden her emotions, guarding against the pain
that came with rejection. Now, instinctively, she tried to do
the same. But Raoul was irresistible.
'I heard your daughter sing,' Raoul said. 'She is a
miracle!'
Teresa found herself blushing.
'Everyone loves Teresa's voice,' Monique said sweetly.
It was a heady evening. But the best was yet to come.
When dinner was finished, Raoul said, 'Your grounds look
lovely.' He turned to Teresa. 'Would you show me the
gardens?'
Teresa looked over at Monique, trying to read her
sister's emotions, but Monique seemed completely indifferent.

She must be deaf, dumb and blind, Teresa thought.
And then she recalled all the times Monique had gone to
Paris and Cannes and St Tropez looking for her perfect
prince but had never found him.
So it's not the fault of the men. It's the fault of my sister.
She has no idea what she wants. Teresa turned to Raoul. 'I would love to.'
Outside, Teresa could not let the subject drop.
'How did you like Monique?'
'She seems very nice,' Raoul replied. 'Ask me how I like
her sister.'
And he took Teresa in his arms and kissed her.
It was like nothing Teresa had ever experienced before.

She trembled in his arms, and she thought: Thank you, God.
Oh, thank you.
'Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?' Raoul
asked.
'Yes,' Teresa breathed. 'Oh, yes.'
When the two sisters were alone, Monique said, 'He really
seems to like you.'
'I think so,' Teresa said shyly.
'Do you like him?'
'Yes.'
'Well, be careful, bigsister,' Monique laughed. 'Don't get
in over your head.'
Too late, Teresa thought helplessly. Too late.
Teresa and Raoul were together every day after that.
Monique usually chaperoned them. The three of them
walked along the promenades and beaches at Nice and
laughed at the wedding-cake hotels. They lunched at a
charming bistro at Cap d'Antibes, and visited the Matisse
Chapel in Vence. They dined at the Chateau de la Chevre
d'Or, and at the fabulous La Ferme St Michel. One morning
at 5.00 a.m. the three of them went to the open farmers'
market that filled the streets of Monte Carlo and bought
fresh breads and vegetables and fruit.
On Sundays, when Teresa sang in church, Raoul and
Monique were there to listen, and afterwards Raoul would
hug Teresa and say, 'You really are a miracle. I could listen
to you sing for the rest of my life.'
Four weeks after Teresa met him, Raoul proposed.
'I'm sure you could have any man you want, Teresa,'
Raoul said, 'but I would be honoured if you chose
me.'
For one terrible moment Teresa thought he was ridiculing
her, but before she could speak, he went on.
'My darling, I must tell you that I have known many
-_---_ -->. .,......>-i.-u, 111 -- inanK you.'
Everything about that evening was topsy-turvy. Teresa's
plan to bring Monique and Raoul together, to watch them
get married, to have Raoul as a brother-in-law - none of it
even began to happen. Incredibly, Raoul's attention was
focused entirely on Teresa. It was like some impossible
dream come true. She felt like Cinderella, only she was the
ugly sister and the prince had chosen her. It was unreal, but
it was happening, and Teresa found herself struggling to
resist Raoul and his charm because she knewsthat it was too
good to be true, and she dreaded being hurt again. All these
years she had hidden her emotions, guarding against the pain
that came with rejection. Now, instinctively, she tried to do
the same. But Raoul was irresistible.
'I heard your daughter sing,' Raoul said. 'She is a
miracle!'
Teresa found herself blushing.
'Everyone loves Teresa's voice,' Monique said sweetly.
It was a heady evening. But the best was yet to come.
When dinner was finished, Raoul said, 'Your grounds look
lovely.' He turned to Teresa. 'Would you show me the
gardens?'
Teresa looked over at Monique, trying to read her
sister's emotions, but Monique seemed completely indifferent.

She must be deaf, dumb and blind, Teresa thought.
And then she recalled all the times Monique had gone to
Paris and Cannes and St Tropez looking for her perfect
prince but had never found him.
So it's not the fault of the men. It's the fault of my sister.
She has no idea what she wants.
Teresa turned to Raoul. 'I would love to.'
Outside, Teresa could not let the subject drop.
'How did you like Monique?'
'She seems very nice,' Raoul replied. 'Ask me how I like
her sister.'
And he took Teresa in his arms and kissed her.
It was like nothing Teresa had ever experienced before.

She trembled in his arms, and she thought: Thank you. God.
Oh, thank you.
'Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?' Raoul
asked.
'Yes,' Teresa breathed. 'Oh, yes.'
When the two sisters were alone, Monique said, 'He really
seems to like you.'
'I think so,' Teresa said shyly.
'Do you like him?'
'Yes.'
'Well, be careful, big sister,' Monique laughed. 'Don't get
in over your head.' Too late, Teresa thought helplessly. Too late.
Teresa and Raoul were together every day after that.
Monique usually chaperoned them. The three of them
walked along the promenades and beaches at Nice and
laughed at the wedding-cake hotels. They lunched at a
charming bistro at Cap d'Antibes, and visited the Matisse
Chapel in Vence. They dined at the Chateau de la Chevre
d'Or, and at the fabulous La Ferme St Michel. One morning
at 5.00 a.m. the three of them went to the open fanners'
market that filled the streets of Monte Carlo and bought
fresh breads and vegetables and fruit.
On Sundays, when Teresa sang in church, Raoul and
Monique were there to listen, and afterwards Raoul would
hug Teresa and say, 'You really are a miracle. I could listen
to you sing for the rest of my life.'
Four weeks after Teresa met him, Raoul proposed.
'I'm sure you could have any man you want, Teresa,'
Raoul said, 'but I would be honoured if you chose
me.'
For one terrible moment Teresa thought he was ridiculing
her, but before she could speak, he went on.
'My darling, I must tell you that I have known many
women, out you are the most sensitive, the most talented,
the warmest '
Each word was music to Teresa's ears. She wanted to
laugh; she wanted to cry. How blessed I am, she thought, to love and be loved.
'Will you marry me?'
And her look was answer enough.
When Raoul left, Teresa went flying into the library where
her sister, mother and father were having coffee.
'Raoul asked me to marry him.' Her face was glowing,
and there was almost a beauty about her.
Her parents stared at her, stunned. It was Monique who
spoke.
'Teresa, are you sure he's not after the family money?'
It was like a slap in the face.
'I don't mean that unkindly,' Monique went on, 'but it all
seems to be happening so fast.'
Teresa was determined not to let anything spoil her happiness.
'I know you want to protect me,' she told her sister, 'but
Raoul has money. His father left him a small inheritance, and
he's not afraid to work for a living.' She took her sister's hand
in hers and begged, 'Please be glad for me, Monique. I never
thought I'd know this feeling. I'm so happy I could die.'
And then the three of them embraced her and told her
how pleased they were for her and they began to talk excitedly
about plans for the wedding.
Very early the next morning Teresa went to church and
knelt to pray.
'Thank you, Father. Thank You for giving me such happiness.
I will do everything to make myself worthy of your
love and of Raoul's. Amen.'
Teresa walked into the general store, her feet above the
ground, and said, 'If you please, sir, I would like to order
some material for a wedding gown.'
130

Kaoul laughed and took her in his arms. 'You're going to
make a beautiful bride.'
And Teresa knew he meant it. That was the miracle.
The wedding was set to take place a month later in the village
church. Monique, of course, was to be the maid of honour.
At five o'clock on Friday afternoon, Teresa spoke to Raoul
for the last time. At 12.30 on Saturday, standing in the
church vestry waiting for Raoul, who was thirty minutes late,
Teresa was approached by the priest. He took her arm and
led her aside, and she wondered at his agitation. Her heart
began to pound.
'What is it? Is something wrong? Has anything happened
to Raoul?'
'Oh, my dear,' her father said. 'My poor, dear Teresa.'
She was beginning to panic. 'What is it. Father? Tell me!'
'We - we just received word a moment ago. Raoul '
'Is it an accident? Was he hurt?'
'Giradot left town a half an hour ago.'
'He what? Then some emergency must have come up to
make him '
'He left with your sister. They were seen taking the train to Paris.'
The room began to whirl. No, Teresa thought.  mustn't
faint. I mustn't embarrass God.
She had only a hazy memory of the events that followed.
Teresa's mother put her arms around her daughter and said,
'My poor Teresa. That your own sister could be so cruel.
I'm so sorry.'
But Teresa was suddenly calm. She knew how to make
everything all right.
'Don't worry. Mama. I don't blame Raoul for falling in
love with Monique. Any man would. I should have known
that no man could ever love me.'
'You're wrong,' her father cried. 'You're worth ten of
Monique.'
But his compassion came years too late.
'I would like to go home now, please.'
They made their way through the crowd. The guests at
the church moved aside to let them pass, staring silently after
them.
When they returned to the chateau, Teresa said again,
'Please don't worry about me. I promise you that everything
is going to be fine.'
Then she went up to her father's room, took out his razor
and slashed her wrists.
132
Chapter 12
When Teresa opened her eyes, the family doctor and the
village priest were standing beside her bed.
'No!' she screamed. 'I don't want to come back. Let me
die. Let me die!'
The priest said, 'Suicide is a mortal sin. God gave you life,
Teresa. Only He may decide when it is finished. You are
young. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.'
'To do what?' Teresa sobbed. 'Suffer more? I can't stand
the pain I'm in. I can't stand it!'
He said gently, 'Jesus stood the pain and died for the rest
of us. Don't turn your back on Him.'
The doctor finished examining Teresa. 'You need to rest.
I've told your mother to put you on a light diet for a while.' He
wagged a finger at her. 'That does not include razor blades.'
The following morning Teresa dragged herself out of bed.
When she walked into the drawing room, her mother said
in alarm, 'What are you doing up? The doctor told you -'
Teresa said hoarsely, 'I have to go to church. I have to
talk to God.'
Her mother hesitated. 'I'll go with you.'
'No. I must go alone.'
'But-'
Her father nodded. 'Let her go.'
They watched the dispirited figure walk out of the house.
'What's going to happen to her?' Teresa's mother moaned.
'God only knows.'
133
She entered the familiar church, walked up to the altar and
knelt.
'I've come to Your house to tell You something. God. I
despise You. I despise You for letting me be born ugly. I
despise You for letting my sister be born beautiful. I despise
You for letting her take away the only man I ever loved. I
spit on You.'
Her last words were so loud that the people inside
turned to stare at her as she rose and stumbled out of the
church.
Teresa had never believed there could be such pain. It was
unbearable. It was impossible to think of anything else. She
was unable to eat or sleep. The world seemed muffled and
far away. Memories kept flashing into her mind, like scenes
from a film.
She remembered the day she and Raoul and Monique had
walked along the beach at Nice.
'It's a beautiful day for a swim,' Raoul said.
'I'd love to go, but we can't. Teresa doesn't swim.'
'I don't mind if you two go ahead. I'll wait for you at the
hotel.'
And she had been so pleased that Raoul and Monique
were getting along so well together.
They were lunching at a small inn near Cagnes. The
maitre d' said. The lobster is particularly good today.'
'I'll have it,' Monique said. 'Poor Teresa can't. Shellfish
makes her break out in hives.'
St Tropez. 'I miss horseback riding. I used to ride
every morning at home. Do you want to ride with me,
Teresa?'
'I - I'm afraid I don't ride, Raoul.'
'I wouldn't mind going with you,' Monique said. 'I love to
ride.'
And they had been gone all morning.
There were a hundred clues, and she had missed all
of them. She had been blind because she wanted to be

blind. The looks that Raoul and Monique had exchanged,
the innocent touching of hands, the whispers and the
laughter.
How could I have been so stupid?
At night when Teresa finally managed to doze off, she had
dreams. It was always a different dream. It was always the
same dream.
Raoul and Monique were on a train, naked, making love
and the train was crossing a trestle high over a canyon, and
the trestle collapsed and everyone on the train plunged to
their deaths.
Raoul and Monique were in a hotel room, naked in bed,
and Raoul laid down a cigarette and the room exploded in
flames and the two of them were burned to death, and their
screams awakened Teresa.
Raoul and Monique fell from a mountain, drowned in a
river, died in an airplane crash.
It was always a different dream.
It was always the same dream.
Teresa's mother and father were frantic. They watched
their daughter wasting away, and there was nothing they
could do to help her. And then suddenly Teresa began to
eat. She ate constantly. She could not seem to get enough
food. She gained her weight back, and then kept gaining and
gaining until her body was gross.
When her mother and father tried to talk to her about
her pain, Teresa said, 'I'm fine now. Don't worry about
me.'
Teresa carried on her life as though nothing were
wrong. She continued to go into town and shop and do
all the errands she had always done. She joined her
mother and father for dinner each evening and read or
sewed. She had built an emotional fortress around herself,
and she was determined that no one would ever
breach it. No man will ever want to look at me. Never
Outwardly, Teresa seemed fine. Inside, she was sunk in
an abyss of deep, desperate loneliness. Even when she was
surrounded by people, she sat in a lonely chair in a lonely
room, in a lonely house, in a lonely world.
A little over a year after Raoul had left Teresa, her father
was packing to leave for Avila.
'I have some business to transact there,' he told Teresa.
'But after that, I'll be free. Why don't you come with me?
Avila is a fascinating town. It will do you good to get away
from here for a while.'
'No, thank you. Father.'
He looked at his wife and sighed. 'Very well.'
The butler walked into the drawing room.
'Excuse me. Miss DeFosse. This letter just arrived for
you.'
Even before Teresa opened it, she was filled with a
prescience of something terrible looming before her.
The letter read:
Teresa, my darling Teresa:
God knows I do not have a right to call you darling,
after the terrible thing I have done, but I promise to
make it up to you if it takes me a lifetime. I don't
know where to begin.
Monique has run off and left me with our two-
month-old daughter. Frankly, I am relieved. I must
confess that I have been in hell ever since the day I
left you. I will never understand why I did what I did.
I seem to have been caught up in some kind of magic
spell of Monique's, but I knew from the beginning
that my marriage to her was a terrible mistake. It was
you I always loved. I know now that the only place I
can find my happiness is at your side. By the time
you receive this letter, I will be on my way back to
you.
I love you, and I have always loved you, Teresa.

For the sake of the rest of our lives together, I beg
your forgiveness. I want . . .
She could not finish reading the letter. The thought of seeing
Raoul again and his and Monique's baby was unthinkable,
obscene.
She threw the letter down, hysterical.
'I must get out of here,' Teresa screamed. 'Tonight. Now.
Please . . . please!'
It was impossible for them to calm her.
'If Raoul is coming here,' her father said, 'you should at
least talk to him.'
'No! If I see him, I'll kill him.' She grabbed her father's
arms, tears streaming down her face. 'Take me with you,'
Teresa pleaded.
She would go anywhere, as long as she escaped from this
place.
And so that evening Teresa and her father set out for Avila.
Teresa's father was distraught over his daughter's unhappiness.
He was not by nature a compassionate man, but in the
last year Teresa had won his admiration by her courageous
behaviour. She had faced the townspeople with her head
held high and had never complained. He felt helpless, unable
to console her.
He remembered how much solace she had once found in
the church, and when they arrived in Avila he said to Teresa,
'Father Berrendo, the priest here, is an old friend of mine.
Perhaps he can help you. Will you speak to him?'
'No.' She would have nothing to do with God.
Teresa stayed in the hotel room alone while her father
conducted his business. When he returned, Teresa was
seated in the same chair, staring at the walls.
'Teresa, please see Father Berrendo.'
'No.'
He was at a loss. Teresa refused to leave the hotel room
and she refused to return to Eze.
in the end, the priest came to see Teresa.
'Your father tells me that you once attended church
regularly.'
Teresa looked into the eyes of the frail-looking priest
and said coldly, 'I'm no longer interested. The Church has
nothing to offer me.'
Father Berrendo smiled. 'The Church has something to
offer everyone, my child. The Church gives us hope and
dreams . . .'
'I've had my fill of dreams. Never again.'
He took her hands in his thin hands and saw the white
scars of razor slashes on her wrists, as faint as a long ago
memory.
'God doesn't believe that. Talk to Him and He will tell
you.'
Teresa sat there, staring at the wall, and when the priest
finally made his way out, she was not even aware of it.
The following morning Teresa walked into the cool, vaulted
church, and almost immediately the old, familiar feeling of
peace stole over her. The last time she had been in a church
was to curse God. A feeling of deep shame filled her. It was
her own weakness that had betrayed her, not God.
'Forgive me,' she whispered. 'I have sinned. I have lived
in hate. Help me. Please help me.'
She looked up, and Father Berrendo was standing there.
When she finished, he led her into his office behind the
vestry.
'I don't know what to do. Father. I don't believe in
anything any more. I've lost faith.' Her voice was filled with
despair.
'Did you have faith when you were a young girl?'
'Yes. Very much.'
'Then you still have it, my child. Faith is real and permanent.
It is everything else that is transient.'
They talked that day for hours.
When Teresa returned to the hotel late in the afternoon,

her father said, 'I must get back to Eze. Are you ready to
leave?'
'No, Papa. Let me stay here for a while.'
He hesitated. 'Will you be all right?'
'Yes, Father. I promise.'
Teresa and Father Berrendo met every day after that. Father
Berrendo's heart went out to Teresa. He saw in her not a
fat, unattractive woman, but a beautiful, unhappy spirit.
They spoke of God and creation and the meaning of life,
and slowly, almost in spite of herself, Teresa began to find
comfort again. Something that Father Berrendo said one day
triggered a deep response.
'My child, if you do not believe in this world, then believe
in the next world. Believe in the world where Jesus is waiting
to receive you.'
And for the first time since the terrible thing that had
happened to her, Teresa began to feel at peace again. The
church had become her haven, just as it had once been. But
there was her future to think about.
'I have no place to go.'
'You could return home.'
'No. I could never go back there. I could never face Raoul
again. I don't know what to do. I want to hide, and there is
no place to hide.'
Father Berrendo was silent for a long time. Finally he
spoke. 'You could stay here.'
She looked around the office, puzzled. 'Here?'
'The Cistercian convent is nearby.' He leaned forward.
'Let me tell you about it. It is a world inside a world, where
everyone is dedicated to God. It is a place of peace and
serenity.'
And Teresa's heart began to lift. 'It sounds wonderful.'
'I must caution you. It is one of the strictest orders in the
world. Those who are admitted take a vow of chastity, silence
and obedience. No one who enters there ever leaves.'
The words sent a thrill through Teresa. 'I will never want
to leave. It is what I have been searching for. Father. 1
despise the world I live in.'
But Father Berrendo was still concerned. He knew that
Teresa would be facing a life totally different from anything
she had ever experienced.
'There can be no turning back.'
'I won't turn back.'
Early the next day. Father Berrendo took Teresa to the
convent to meet the Reverend Mother Betina. He left the
two of them there to talk.
The moment Teresa entered the convent, she knew. At
last, she thought exultantly. At last.
Teresa telephoned her mother and father.
'I've been so worried,' her mother said. 'When are you
coming home?'
'I am home.'
The Bishop of Avila performed the rite:
'Creator, Lord, send thy benediction upon thy handmaid
that she shall be fortified with celestial virtue, that she may
maintain complete faith and unbroken fidelity.'
Teresa responded, 'The kingdom of this world and all
secular adornings, I have despised for the love of our Lord,
Jesus Christ.'
The bishop made the sign of the cross over her.
'De largitatis tuaefonte defluxit ut cum honorem nupiarum
nulla interdicta minuissent ac super sanctum conjugium nuptialis
benedictio permaneret existerent connubium, concupiscerent
sacramentum, nec imitarentur quod nuptiis agitur, sed
diligerent quod nuptiis prae notatur. Amen.'
'Amen.'
'I espouse thee to Jesus Christ, the son of the Supreme
Father. Therefore receive the seal of the Holy Ghost, so that
thou be called the spouse of God, and if thou serve him
faithfully, be crowned everlastingly.' The bishop rose. 'God,

the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, who hath vouchsafed to choose you to an espousalship like that of the
blessed Mary, mother of our Lord, Jesus Christ - ad beatae
Mariae matris Domini nostri Jesus Christ consortium - hallow
you, that in the presence of God and of His angels, you
may persevere, untouched and undefiled, and hold to your
purpose, love, chastity, and keep patience that you may
merit to receive the crown of His blessing, through the same
Christ our Lord. God make you strong when frail, strengthen
you when weak, relieve and govern your mind with piety
and direct your ways. Amen.'

i
Now, thirty years later, lying in the woods watching the sun
come up over the horizon. Sister Teresa thought:  came to
the convent for all the wrong reasons. I was not running to
God. I was running away from the world. But God read my
heart.
She was sixty years old, and the last thirty years of her life
had been the happiest she had ever known. And now she
had suddenly been flung back into the world she had run
away from. And her mind was playing strange tricks on her.
She was no longer sure what was real and what was unreal.
The past and the present seemed to be blending together in
a strange dizzying blur. Why is this happening to me? What
does God have planned for me?
FR1;Chapter 13
For Sister Megan, the journey was an adventure. She had
become used to the new sights and sounds that surrounded
her, and the speed with which she had adapted surprised
her.
She found her companions fascinating. Amparo Jiron was
a powerful woman, easily able to keep up with the two men,
and yet at the same time she was very feminine.
Felix Carpio, the husky man with a reddish beard and a
scar, seemed amiable and pleasant.
But to Megan, the most compelling of the group was
Jaime Miro. There was a relentless strength about him, an
unshakable faith in his beliefs that reminded Megan of the
nuns in the convent.
When they began the journey, Jaime and Amparo and
Felix were carrying sleeping-bags and rifles on their
shoulders.
'Let me carry one of the sleeping-bags,' Megan suggested.
Jaime Miro had looked at her in surprise, then shrugged.
'All right. Sister.'
He handed her the bag. It was heavier than Megan had
expected, but she did not complain. As long as I'm with
them, I'm going to do my share.
It seemed to Megan that they had been walking for ever,
stumbling through the darkness, hit by branches, scratched
by underbrush, attacked by insects, guided only by the light
of the moon.
Who are these people? Megan wondered. And why are
they being hunted? Because Megan and the other nuns were

also being pursued, Megan felt a strong rapport with her
new companions.
There was little talking, but from time to time they held
cryptic conversations.
'Is everything set at Valladolid?'
'Right, Jaime. Rubio and Tomas will meet us at the bank
during the bullfight.'
'Good. Send word to Largo Cortez to expect us. But don't
give him a date.'
'Comprendo.'1
Who are Largo Cortez and Rubio and Tomas? Megan
wondered. And what was going to happen at the bullfight
and the bank? She almost started to ask, but thought better
of it.  have the feeling they wouldn't welcome a lot of
questions.
Near dawn they smelled smoke from the valley below them.
'Wait here,' Jaime whispered. 'Be quiet.'
They watched as Jaime made his way towards the edge of
the forest and disappeared from sight.
Megan said, 'What is it ?'
'Shut up!' Amparo Jiron hissed.
Fifteen minutes later Jaime Miro returned.
'Soldiers. We'll circle around them.'
They back-tracked for half a mile, then moved cautiously
through the woods until they reached a side road. The
countryside stretched out ahead of them, redolent with the
odours of mown hay and ripe fruit.
Megan's curiosity got the better of her. 'Why are the
soldiers looking for you?' she asked.
Jaime Miro said, 'Let's say we don't see eye to eye.'
And she had to be satisfied with that. For now, she
thought. She was determined to know more about this man.
Half an hour later when they reached a sheltered clearing,
Jaime said. The sun's up. We'll stay here until nightfall.' He
looked at Megan. Tonight we're going to have to travel
faster.'
sne nodded, 'very well.
Jaime took the sleeping-bags and rolled them out.
Felix Carpio said to Megan, 'You take mine. Sister. I'm
used to sleeping on the ground.'
'It's yours,' Megan said. 'I couldn't '
'For Christ's sake,' Amparo snapped. 'Get into the bag.
We don't want you to keep us awake screaming about goddamned
spiders.' There was an animosity in her tone that
Megan did not understand.
Without another word, Megan climbed into the sleeping-
bag. What's bothering her? Megan wondered.
Megan watched as Jaime unrolled his sleeping-bag a few
feet away from where she lay. He crawled into the bag.
Amparo Jiron crawled in beside him.  see, Megan thought.
Jaime looked over at Megan. 'You'd better get some
sleep,' he said. 'We have a long way ahead of us.'
Megan was awakened by a moaning. It sounded as though
someone were in terrible pain. Megan sat up, concerned.
The sounds were coming from Jaime's sleeping-bag. He must
be terribly ill, was her first thought.
The moaning was getting louder, and then Megan heard
Amparo Jiron's voice saying, 'Oh, yes, yes. Give it to me, querido. Harder! Yes! Now! Now!'
And Megan's face flushed. She tried to close her ears to
the sounds she was hearing, but it was impossible. And she
wondered what it would be like to have Jaime Miro make
love to her.
Instantly Megan crossed herself and began to pray: Forgive
me. Father. Let my thoughts be filled only with You. Let my
spirit seek You that it may find its source and good in You.
And the sounds went on. Finally, when Megan thought
she would be unable to bear it an instant longer, they
stopped. But there were other noises to keep her awake.
The sounds of the forest ricocheted around her. There was
a cacophony of mating birds and crickets and the chattering
of small animals and the guttural growlings of larger ones.

Megan had forgotten how noisy the outside world could be.
She missed the wonderful silence of the convent. To her own
astonishment, she even missed the orphanage. The terrible,
wonderful orphanage . . .
Chapter 14
Avila 1957
They called her 'Megan the Terror'.
They called her 'Megan the Blue-eyed Devil'.
They called her 'Megan the Impossible'.
She was ten years old.
She had been brought to the orphanage when she was an
infant, left on the doorstep of a fanner and his wife who
were unable to care for her.
The orphanage was an austere, two-storey, whitewashed
building on the outskirts of Avila, in the poorer section of
the city, off the Plaza de San Vicente, run by Mercedes
Angeles, an Amazon of a woman with a fierce manner that
belied the warmth she felt for her wards.
Megan was different from the other children, an alien with
blonde hair and bright blue eyes, standing out in stark
contrast to the dark-eyed, dark-haired children. But from
the beginning, Megan was different in other ways. She was
a fiercely independent child, a leader, a mischief-maker.
Whenever there was trouble at the orphanage, Mercedes
Angeles could be certain that Megan was at the bottom of
it.
Over the years, Megan led riots protesting about the food,
she tried to form the children into a union, and she found
inventive ways of tormenting the supervisors, including half
a dozen escape attempts. Needless to say, Megan was immensely
popular with the other children. She was younger
than many of them, but they all turned to her for guidance.

She was a natural leader. And the younger children loved to
have Megan tell them stories. She had a wild imagination.
'Who were my parents, Megan?'
'Ah. Your father was a clever jewel thief. He climbed over
the roof of a hotel in the middle of the night to steal a
diamond belonging to a famous actress. Well, just as he was
putting the diamond in his pocket, the actress woke up. She
turned on the light and saw him.'
'Did she have him arrested?'
'No. He was very handsome.'
'What happened then?'
"They fell in love and got married. Then you were born.'
'But why did they send me to an orphanage? Didn't they
love me?'
That was always the difficult part. 'Of course they loved
you. But - well - they were skiing in Switzerland and they
were killed in a terrible avalanche -'
'What's a terrible avalanche?'
"That's when a bunch of snow comes down all at once and
buries you.'
'And my mother and father both died?'
'Yes. And their last words were that they loved you. But
there was no one to take care of you, so you were sent here.'
Megan was as anxious as the others to know who her
parents were, and at night she would put herself to sleep by
making up stories to herself: 'My father was a soldier in the
Civil War,' she would think. 'He was a captain and very
brave. He was wounded in battle, and my mother was the
nurse who took care of him. They married, and he went
back to the front and was killed. My mother was too poor
to keep me, so she had to leave me at the farmhouse, and it
broke her heart.' And she would weep with pity for her
courageous, dead father and her bereaved mother.
Or: 'My father was a bullfighter. He was one of the great
Matadors. He was the toast of Spain. Everyone adored him.
My mother was a beautiful flamenco dancer. They were
married, but he was killed one day by a huge, dangerous
bull. My mother was forced to give me up.'
w: my lamer was a clever spy from another country
The fantasies were endless.
There were thirty children in the orphanage, ranging from
abandoned newborn infants to fourteen-year-olds. Most of
them were Spanish, but there were children there from half
a dozen countries, and Megan became fluent in several
languages. She slept in a dormitory with a dozen other girls.
There were late-night whispered conversations about dolls
and clothes, and as the girls grew older, about sex. It soon
became the primary topic of conversation.
'I hear it hurts a lot.'
'I don't care. I can't wait to do it.'
'I'm going to get married, but I'm never going to let my
husband do it to me. I think it's dirty.'
One night, when everyone was asleep, Primo Conde, one
of the young boys at the orphanage, crept into the girls'
dormitory. He moved to the side of Megan's bed.
'Megan . . .' His voice was a whisper.
She was instantly awake. 'Primo? What's the matter?'
He was sobbing, frightened. 'Can I get into bed with you?'
'Yes. Be quiet.'
Primo was thirteen, the same age as Megan, but he was
small for his age, and had been an abused child. He suffered
from terrible nightmares and would wake up in the middle
of the night screaming. The other children tormented him,
and Megan was the one who always protected him.
Primo climbed into bed beside her, and Megan felt the
tears running down his cheeks. She held him close in her
arms.
'It's all right,' Megan whispered. 'It's all right.'
She rocked him gently and his sobs subsided. His body
was pressed against hers, and she could feel his growing
excitement.
'Primo . . .'
'I'm sorry. I -1 can't help it.'
His erection was pressing into her.

i love you, iviegan. iou re me omy one I care about in
the whole world.'
'You haven't been out in the world yet.'
'Please don't laugh at me.'
' 'm not.'
' have no one but you.'
' know.'
' love you.'
' love you, too, Primo.'
'Megan - would you - let me make love to
Please.'
you?
'No.'
There was silence. 'I'm sorry I bothered you. I'll go back
to my bed.' His voice was filled with pain. He started to
move away.
'Wait.' Megan held him close to her, wanting to ease his
suffering, feeling aroused herself. 'Primo, I - I can't let you
make love to me, but I can do something to make you feel
better. Will that be all right?'
'Yes.' His voice was a murmur.
He was wearing pyjamas. Megan pulled the cord that held
his pyjama bottom up and reached inside. He's a man, Megan
thought. She held him gently in her hand and began to stroke
him. Primo groaned and said, 'Oh, that feels wonderful,'
and a moment later, 'God, I love you, Megan.'
Her body was on fire, and if at that moment he had said,
'I want to make love to you,' she would have said yes.
But he lay there, silent, and in a few minutes he returned
to his own bed.
There was no sleep for Megan that night. And she had
never allowed him to come into her bed again.
The temptation was too great.
From time to time the children would be called into the
supervisor's office to meet a prospective foster parent. It was
always a moment of great excitement for the children, for it
would mean a chance to escape from the dreary routine of
the orphanage, a chance to have a real home, to belong to
someone.
Over the years Megan watched as other orphans were
chosen. They went to the homes of merchants, farmers,
bankers, shopkeepers. But it was always the other children,
never Megan. Her reputation proceeded her. She would
hear the prospective parents talk among themselves.
'She's a very pretty child, but I hear she's difficult.'
'Isn't she the one who smuggled twelve dogs into the
orphanage last month?'
'They say she's a ringleader. I'm afraid she wouldn't get
along with our children.'
They had no idea how much the other children adored
Megan.
Father Berrendo came to the orphanage once a week to
visit the wards, and Megan looked forward to his visits.
Megan was an omnivorous reader, and the priest and
Mercedes Angeles saw to it that she was well supplied with
books. She could discuss things with the priest that she dared
not talk about with anyone else. It was Father Berrendo to
whom the farm couple had turned over the infant Megan.
'Why didn't they want to keep me?' Megan asked.
The old priest said gently, "They wanted to very much,
Megan, but they were old and ill.'
'Why do you suppose my real parents left me at that farm?'
'I'm sure it was because they were poor and couldn't afford
to keep you.'
As Megan grew up, she became more and more devout. She
was stirred by the intellectual aspects of the Catholic Church.
She read St Augustine's Confessions, the writings of St
Francis of Assisi, Thomas Merton, Thomas More, and a
dozen others. Megan went to church regularly, and she
enjoyed the solemn rituals, the Gloria Patri, receiving the
Eucharist, the doxology, the benediction. Perhaps most of
all, she loved the wonderful feeling of serenity that always
stole over her in church.

"I want to become a Catholic,' Megan told Father
Berrendo one day.
He took her hand in his and said with a twinkle, 'Perhaps
you are already, Megan, but we'll hedge our bets.' He gave
her the Catholic cathechism:
'Quid petis ab Ecclesia del?'
'Fidem!'
'Fides quid tibi praestat?'
'Vitam Aeternam.'
'Abrenuntias Satanae?'
Sic.'
'Dost thou believe in God the Father Almighty, creator
of heaven and earth?'
Credo r
'Dost thou believe in Jesus Christ, His only son, who was
born and suffered?'
'Credof
'Dost thou believe in the Holy Spirit in the Holy Catholic
Church, the communion of saints, the remission of sins, the
resurrection of the body and eternal life?'
Credo '
The priest blew gently into her face. 'Exi ab eo spiritus
immunde. Depart from her, thou impure spirit and give place
to the Holy Spirit, the paraclete.' He breathed again
into her face. 'Megan, receive the good Spirit through this
breathing and receive the blessing of God. Peace be with
thee.'
At fifteen Megan had become a beautiful young woman,
with long blonde hair and a milky complexion that set her
off even more from most of her companions.
One day she was summoned to the office of Mercedes
Angeles. Father Berrendo was there.
'Hello, Father.'
'Hello, my dear Megan.'
Mercedes Angeles said, 'I'm afraid we have a problem,
Megan.'
'Oh?' She wracked her brain, trying to remember her
latest misdeed.
The head mistress went on: There is an age limit here of
fifteen, and you've reached your fifteenth birthday.'
Megan had long known of the rule, of course. But she had
put it in the back of her mind, because she did not want to
face the fact that she had nowhere in the world to go, that
no one wanted her, and that she was going to be abandoned
once again.
'Do I - do I have to leave?'
The kindly Amazon was upset, but she had no choice. 'I'm
afraid we must abide by the rules. We can find a position for
you as a maid.'
Megan had no words.
Father Berrendo spoke. 'Where would you like to go?'
As she thought about it, an idea came to Megan. There was somewhere for her to go.
From the time Megan was twelve years old, she had helped
earn her keep at the orphanage by making outside deliveries
in town, and many of them were made to the Cistercian
convent. They were always delivered to the Reverend
Mother Betina. Megan had sneaked glimpses of the nuns
praying, or walking through the corridors, and she had
sensed an almost overpowering feeling of serenity. She envied
the joy that the nuns seemed to radiate. To Megan, the
convent seemed a house of love.
The Reverend Mother had taken a liking to the bright
young girl, and they had had long talks over the years.
'Why do people join convents?' Megan had asked.
'People come to us for many reasons. Most come to dedicate
themselves to God. But some come because they have no
hope. We give them hope. Some come because they feel they
have no reason to live. We show them that God is the reason.
Some come because they are running away. Others come here
because they are alienated and they want to belong.'
That was what had struck a responsive chord in the young
girl. I've never really belonged to anyone, Megan thought. This is my chance.
152

'I think 1 would like to join the convent.'
Six weeks later, Megan took her vows.
And finally Megan had found what she had been searching
for so long. She belonged. These were her sisters, the family
she had never had, and they were all one under their Father.
Megan worked in the convent as a bookkeeper, keeping the
records. She was fascinated by the ancient sign language that
the sisters used when they needed to communicate with the
Reverend Mother. There were 472 signs, enough to convey
among themselves everything they needed to express.
When it was a sister's turn to dust the long corridors,
Prioress Betina held out her right hand with the heel forward
and blew on the back of it. If a nun had a fever, she went to
the Reverend Mother and pressed the tip of her right forefinger
and middle finger on the outside of her left wrist. If a
request was to be delayed, Prioress Betina held her right fist
before her right shoulder and pushed it slightly forward and
down. Tomorrow.
One November morning Megan was introduced to the
rites of death. A nun was dying, and a wooden rattle was
rung in the cloister, the signal for the beginning of a ritual
unchanged since the year 1030. All those who could answer
the call hurried to kneel in the infirmary for the anointing
and the psalms. They silently prayed for the saints to intercede
for the departing sister's soul. To signify that it was
time for the last sacraments to be given, the Mother Prioress
held out her left hand with the palm up and drew a cross on
it with the tip of her right thumb.
And finally, there was the sign of death itself, a sister
placing the tip of her right thumb under her chin and raising
it slightly.
When the last prayers had been said, the body was left
alone for an hour so that the soul could go in peace. At the
foot of the bed the great Paschal candle, the Christian symbol
of eternal light, burned in its wooden holder.
The infirmarian washed the body and clothed the dead
153
nun in her habit, black scapular over white cowl, rough
stockings and handmade sandals. From the garden one of
the nuns brought fresh flowers, woven into a crown. When
the dead woman was dressed, six of the nuns in a procession
carried her to the church and placed her on the white-sheeted
bier facing the altar. She would not be left alone before her
God, and in their stalls by her side, two nuns stayed through
the rest of the day and on through the night praying, while
the Paschal candle nickered at her side.
The next afternoon, after the requiem mass, she was
carried through the cloister by the nuns to the private, walled
cemetery where even in death the nuns kept their enclosure.
The sisters, three and three, lowered her carefully into
the grave, supported on white bands of linen. It was the
Cistercian custom for their dead to lie uncovered in the
earth, buried without a coffin. And the last service they
performed for their sister was for two nuns to start to drop
soil softly on to her still body before they all returned to the
church to say the psalms of penance. Three times they begged
that God have mercy on her soul:
Domine miserere super peccatrice
Domine miserere super peccatrice
Domine miserere super peccatrice
There were often times when young Megan was filled with
melancholy. The convent gave her serenity, and yet she was
not completely at peace. It was as though a part of her was
missing. She felt longings that she should have long ago
forgotten. She found herself thinking about the friends she
had left behind in the orphanage, and wondering what had
happened to them. And she wondered what was happening
in the outside world, the world that she had renounced, a
world where there was music and dancing and laughter.
Megan went to Reverend Mother Betina.
'It happens to all of us from time to time,' she assured
Megan. The church calls it "acedia". It is a spiritual malaise,
an instrument of Satan. Do not worry about it, child. It will
pass.'

And it did.
But what did not pass was the bone-deep longing to know
who her parents were. I'll never know, Megan thought despairingly.
Not as long as I live.
Chapter 15
New York City 1976
a
The reporters gathered outside the grey facade of New
York's Waldorf Astoria Hotel watched the parade of celebrities
in evening dress alight from their limousines, enter
the revolving doors and head for the Grand Ballroom on the
third floor. The guests had come from around the world.
Cameras flashed as reporters called out, 'Mr Vice President,
would you look this way, please?'
'Governor Adams, could I have one more picture, please?'
There were senators and representatives from several
foreign countries, business tycoons and celebrities. And they
were all there to celebrate Ellen Scott's sixtieth birthday. In
truth, it was not so much Ellen Scott that they were honouring
as the philanthropy of Scott Industries, one of the most
powerful conglomerates in the world. The huge, sprawling
empire included oil companies and steel mills, communications
systems and banks. All the money raised this evening
would go to international charities.
Scott Industries had interests in every part of the world.
Twenty-five years earlier, its President, Milo Scott, had died
unexpectedly of a heart attack, and his wife, Ellen, had taken
over the management of the huge conglomerate and in the
ensuing years had proved to be a brilliant executive, more
than tripling the assets of the company.
The Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria is an enormous
room, decorated in beige and gold, with a red-carpeted
stage at one end and a balcony curving around the entire

room, holding thirty-three boxes with a chandelier over each
one. In the centre balcony sat the guest of honour. There
were at least 600 men and women present, dining at tables
gleaming with silver.
When dinner was finished, the Governor of New York
strode on to the stage.
'Mr Vice President, ladies and gentlemen, honoured
guests, we are all here tonight for one purpose: to pay tribute
to a remarkable woman and to her unselfish generosity over
the years. Ellen Scott is the kind of person who could have
made a success in any field. She would have been a great
scientist or doctor. She would also have made a great politician,
and I must tell you that if Ellen Scott decides to run
for President of the United States, I'll be the first one to vote
for her. Not in the next election, of course, but the one after
that.'
There was laughter and applause.
'But Ellen Scott is much more than just a brilliant woman.
She is a charitable, compassionate human being who never
hesitates to get involved in the problems that face the world
today '
The speech went on for ten more minutes, but Ellen Scott
was no longer listening. How wrong he is, she thought
wryly. How wrong they all are. Scott Industries isn't even my
company. Milo and I stole it. And I'm guilty of a far greater
crime than that. It doesn't matter any longer. Not now. Because
I'll be dead soon.
She remembered the doctor's exact words as he read the
lab report that was her death sentence.
'I'm dreadfully sorry, Mrs Scott, but I'm afraid there's no
way to break this to you gently. The cancer has spread
throughout your lymphatic system. It's inoperable.'
She had felt the sudden leaden weight in her stomach.
'How . . . how long do I have?'
He hesitated. 'A year - maybe.'
Not enough time. Not with so much still to do. 'You will
say nothing of this, of course.' Her voice was steady.
'Certainly not.'
She had no recollection of leaving the Presbyterian Medical
Center or of the drive downtown. Her only thought was:
 must find her before I die.
Now the Governor's speech was over.
'Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honour and privilege to
introduce Mrs Ellen Scott.'
Ellen Scott rose to a standing ovation. She walked towards the stage, a thin, grey-haired, straight-backed woman,
smartly dressed and projecting a vitality she no longer
felt.
Looking at me is like seeing the distant light of a long dead
star, she thought bitterly. I'm not really here any more.
On the stage she waited for the applause to die down. They're applauding a monster. What would they do if they
knew? When she spoke, her voice was firm.
'Mr Vice President, Senators, Governor Adams . . .'
A year, she was thinking.  wonder where she is and if she
is still alive. I must find out.
She talked on, automatically saying all the things her
audience expected to hear. 'I gladly accept this tribute not
for myself, but for all those who have worked so hard to
lighten the burden of those who are less fortunate than we
are . . .'
Her mind was drifting back forty-two years to Gary,
Indiana ...
At eighteen, Ellen Dudash was employed at the Scott Industries
automotive parts plant in Gary, Indiana. She was an
attractive, outgoing girl, popular with her fellow workers.
On the day Milo Scott came to inspect the plant, Ellen was
selected to escort him around.
'Hey! How about you, Ellie? Maybe you'll marry the
boss's brother and we'll all be working for you.'
Ellen Dudash laughed. 'Right. And that's when pigs will
grow wings.'
Milo Scott was not at all what Ellen had expected. He was

in his eany mimes, tall and slim. Not bad looking, Ellen
thought. He was shy and almost deferential.
'It's very kind of you to take the time to show me around, Miss Dudash. I hope I'm not taking you away from your
work.'
She grinned. 'I hope you are.'
He was so easy to talk to.
 can't believe I'm kidding around with the big boss's brother. Wait till I tell Mom and Pop about this.
Milo Scott seemed genuinely interested in the workers and
their problems. Ellen took him through the department
where the round drive gears and the long driven gears were
made. She showed him through the annealing room, where
the soft gears were put through a hardening process, and the
packing section and the shipping department, and he seemed
properly impressed.
'It's certainly a large operation, isn't it. Miss Dudash?'
He owns all of this, and he acts like an awed kid. I guess
it takes all kinds.
It was in the assembly section where the accident happened.
An overhead cable car carrying metal bars to the
machine shop snapped and a load of iron came tumbling
down. Milo Scott was directly beneath it. Ellen saw it coming
a fraction of a second before it hit, and without thinking,
shoved Milo Scott out of harm's way. Two of the heavy iron
bars hit her before she could escape, and she was knocked
unconscious.
She awakened in a private suite in a hospital. The room
was literally filled with flowers. When Ellen opened her eyes
and looked around, she thought: I've died and gone to
heaven.
There were orchids and roses and lilies and chrysanthemums
and rare blooms she could not even begin to
identify.
Her right arm was in a cast and her ribs were taped and
felt bruised.
A nurse came in. 'Ah, you're awake. Miss Dudash. I'll
inform the doctor.'
'Where - where am I?'
'Blake Center - it's a private hospital.'
Ellen looked around the large suite.  can never afford to
pay for all this.
'We've been screening your calls.'
What calls?'
The press has been trying to get in to interview you. Your
friends have been calling. Mr Scott has telephoned several
times . . .'
Milo Scott! 'Is he all right?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Was he hurt in the accident?'
'No. He was here again early this morning, but you were
asleep.'
'He came to see meT
'Yes.' She looked around the room. 'Most of these flowers
are from him.'
Unbelievable.
'Your mother and father are in the waiting room. Do you
feel up to seeing them now?'
'Of course.'
'Thank you. I'll send them in.'
Boy, I've never been treated like this in a hospital before, Ellen thought. '
Her mother and father walked in and came up to the bed.
Ellen's parents had been born in Poland and their English
was tentative. Ellen's father was a mechanic, a burly, roughhewn
man in his fifties, and Ellen's mother was a bluff,
northern European peasant.
'I brought you some soup, Ellen.'
'Mom - they feed people in hospitals.'
'Not my soup, they don't feed you in the hospital. Eat it
and you'll get well faster.'
Her father said, 'Have you see the papers? I brung you
copy.'
He handed the newspaper to her. The headline read:
FACTORY WORKER RISKS LIFE TO SAVE BOSS.
160

She read the story twice.
'That was brave thing you done to save him.'
Brave? It was stupid. If I had had time to think, I would
have saved myself. That was the dumbest thing I ever did.
Why, I could have been killed!
Milo Scott came to see Ellen later that morning. He was
carrying another bouquet of flowers.
'These are for you,' he said awkwardly. The doctor tells
me you're going to be fine. I - I can't tell you how grateful
I am to you.'
'It was nothing.'
'It was the most courageous act I've ever seen. You saved
my life.'
She tried to move, but it sent a sharp pain through her
arm.
'Are you all right?'
'Sure.' Her side was beginning to throb. 'What did the doc
say was wrong with me?'
'You have a broken arm and three broken ribs.'
He couldn't have given her worse news. Her eyes filled
with tears.
'What's the matter?'
How could she tell him? He would only laugh at her. She
had been saving up for a long-awaited vacation to New York,
on a tour with some of the girls from the factory. It had been
her dream. Now I'll be out of work for a month or more.
There goes Manhattan.
Ellen had worked since she was fifteen. She had always
been fiercely independent and self-sufficient, but now she
thought: Maybe if he's so grateful he'II pay part of my hospital
bills. But I'll be damned if I'll ask him. She was beginning to
feel drowsy. It must be the medication.
She said sleepily. Thank you for all the flowers, Mr Scott.
And it was nice meeting you.' I'll worry about the hospital
bills later.
Ellen Dudash slept.
inc luiiowing morning, a tall, distinguished-looking man
came into Ellen's suite.
'Good morning. Miss Dudash. How are you feeling this
morning?'
'Better, thank you.'
'I'm Sam Norton. I'm chief public relations officer for
Scott Industries.'
'Oh.' She had never seen him before. 'Do you live here?'
'No. I flew in from Washington.'
'To see me?'
'To assist you.'
'To assist me whatT
'The press is outside. Miss Dudash. Since I don't believe
you've ever held a press conference, I thought perhaps you
could use some help.'
'What do they want?'
'Mainly, they're going to ask you to tell them about how
and why you saved Mr Scott.'
'Oh. That's easy. If I had stopped to think, I'd have run
like hell.'
Norton stared at her. 'Miss Dudash -1 don't think I would
say that, if I were you.'
'Why not? It's the truth.'
This was not at all what he had expected. The girl seemed
to have no idea of her situation.
There was something worrying Ellen, and she decided to
get it out in the open. 'Are you going to see Mr Scott?'
Yes.'
'Would you do me a favour?'
'If I can, certainly.'
'I know the accident's not his fault, and he didn't ask me
to push him out of the way, but -' The strong, independent
streak in her made her hesitate. 'Oh, never mind.'
Ah, here it comes, Norton thought. How much reward was
she going to try to extort? Would it be cash? A better job?
What? 'Please, go on. Miss Dudash.'
She blurted it out. 'The truth is, I don't have a lot of
money, and I'm going to lose some pay because of this, and

I don't think I can afford all these hospital bills. I don't want
to bother Mr Scott, but if he could arrange a loan for me,
I'd pay it back.' She saw the expression on Norton's face,
and misread it. 'I'm sorry. I guess I sound mercenary. It's
just that I've been saving up for a trip, and - well, this screws
everything up.' She took a deep breath. 'It's not his problem.
I'll manage.'
He almost kissed her. How long has it been since I've come
across real innocence? It's enough to restore my faith in
womankind.
He sat down at the side of her bed, and his professional
manner disappeared. He took her hand. 'Ellen, I have a
feeling you and I are going to be great friends. I promise
you, you're not going to have to worry about money. The
first thing we have to do is get you through this press
conference. We want you to come out of this looking good,
so that -' He stopped himself. 'I'm going to be honest. My
job is to see that Scott Industries comes out of this looking
good. Do you understand?'
'I guess so. You mean it wouldn't sound so good if I said
I wasn't really interested in saving Milo Scott? It would
sound better if I said something like, "I like working for
Scott Industries so much that when I saw Milo Scott was in
danger, I knew I had to try to save him, even at the risk of
my own life?"'
'Yes.'
She laughed. 'Okay. If it'll help you. But I don't want to
kid you, Mr Norton. I don't know what made me do it.'
He smiled. 'That will be our secret. I'll let the lions in.'
There were more than two dozen reporters and photographers
from radio, newspapers and magazines. It was a man-
bites-dog story, and the press intended to make the most of
it. It was not every day that a pretty young employee risked
her life to save her boss. And the fact that her employer
happened to be Milo Scott did not hurt the story one bit.
'Miss Dudash - when you saw all that iron hurtling down
at you, what was your first thought?'
Ellen looked over at Sam Norton with a straight face and
said, 'l tnougnt, "I must save Mr Scott. I'd never forgive
myself if I let him be killed.'"
The press conference proceeded smoothly, and when Sam
Norton saw that Ellen was beginning to tire, he said. That's
it, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you very much.'
'Did I do all right?'
'You were great. Now get some sleep.'
She slept fitfully. She dreamed that she was in the
lobby of the Empire State Building, and they would not let
her in because she did not have enough money to buy a
ticket.
Milo Scott came to visit Ellen Dudash that afternoon. She
was surprised to see him. She had heard that his home was
in New York.
'I heard the press conference went very well. You're quite
a heroine.'
'Mr Scott -1 have to tell you something. I'm not a heroine.
I didn't stop to think about saving you. I - I just did
it.'
'I know. Sam Norton told me.'
'Well, then -'
'Ellen, there are all kinds of heroism. You didn't think
about saving me, but you did it instinctively, instead of saving
yourself.'
'I - I just wanted you to know.'
'Sam also told me that you're worried about the hospital
bills.'
'Well -'
'They're all taken care of. And as for your losing some
wages -' He smiled. 'Miss Dudash, I - I don't think you
know how much I owe you.'
'You don't owe me anything.'
'The doctor told me that you'll be leaving the hospital
tomorrow. Will you let me buy you dinner?'
He doesn't understand, Ellen thought.  don't want his
charity. Or his pity. 'I meant it when I said you don't owe

me anything. Thanks for taking care of the hospital bills.
We're even.'
'Good. Now may I buy you dinner?'
That was how it began. Milo Scott stayed in Gary for a week,
and he saw Ellen every night.
Ellen's mother and father warned, 'Be careful. Big bosses
don't go out with factory girls unless they want something.'
That had been Ellen Dudash's attitude at the beginning.
Milo Scott changed her mind. He was a perfect gentleman
at all times, and the truth finally dawned on Ellen: He really
enjoys being with me. Where Milo was shy and reserved,
Ellen was forthright and open. All his life, Milo had been
surrounded by women whose burning ambition was to become
a part of the powerful Scott dynasty. They had played
their calculating games. Ellen Dudash was the first totally
honest woman Milo had ever met. She said exactly what was
on her mind. She was bright, she was attractive, and most
of all, she was fun to be with. By the end of the week, they
were both falling in love.
'I want to marry you,' Milo Scott said. 'I can't think about
anything else. Will you marry me?'
'No.'
Nor had Ellen been able to think about anything else. The
truth was that she was terrified. The Scotts were as close as
America could come to royalty. They were famous, rich and
powerful.  don't belong in their circle. I would only make a
fool of myself. And of Milo. But she knew she was fighting
a losing battle.
They were married by a justice of the peace in Greenwich,
and returned to Manhattan so that Ellen Dudash could meet
her in-laws.
Byron Scott greeted his brother with, 'What the fuck have
you done - marry a Polish hooker? Are you out of your
mind?'
ausan aeon was jusi as ungiving. 'Ut course she married
Milo for his money. When she finds out he doesn't have any,
we'll arrange an annulment. This marriage will never last.'
They badly underestimated Ellen Dudash.
'Your brother and sister-in-law hate me, but I didn't marry
them. I married you. I don't want to come between you and
Byron. If this is making you too unhappy, Milo, say so, and
I'll leave.'
He took his bride in his arms and whispered, 'I adore you,
and when Byron and Susan really get to know you, they'll
adore you.'
She held him closely and thought: How naive he is. And
how I love him.
Byron and Susan were not unpleasant to their new sister-in-
law. They were patronizing. To them, she would always be
the little Polish girl who worked in one of the Scott factories.
Ellen studied, and read, and learned. She watched how
the wives of Milo's friends dressed and copied them. She
was determined to become a fit wife to Milo Scott, and in
time she succeeded. But not in the eyes of her in-laws. And
slowly her nai'vete turned to cynicism. The rich and powerful
aren't all that wonderful, she thought. All they want is to be
richer and more powerful.
Ellen was fiercely protective of Milo, but there was little she
could do to help him. Scott Industries was one of the few
privately held conglomerates in the world, and all the stock
belonged to Byron. Byron's younger brother was a salaried
employee, and he never let him forget it. Byron treated his
brother shabbily. Milo was given all the dirty jobs to do, and
never given credit.
'Why do you put up with it, Milo? You don't need him.
We could move away from here. You could start your own
business.'
'I couldn't leave Scott Industries. Byron needs me.'
But in time, Ellen came to understand the real reason.
Milo was weak. He needed someone strong to lean on. Ellen
knew then that he would never have the courage to leave
the company.
All right, she thought fiercely. One day the company will
be his. Byron can't live for ever. Milo is his only heir.
When Susan Scott announced that she was pregnant, it
was a blow to Ellen. The baby's going to inherit everything.
When the baby was born, Byron Scott said, 'It's a girl, but
I'll teach her how to run the company.'
The bastard, Ellen Scott thought. Her heart ached for
Milo.
All Milo said was, 'Isn't she a beautiful baby?'
FR1;Chapter 16
The pilot of the Lockheed Lodestar was worried.
'A front is closing in. I don't like the look of it.'He nodded to the co-pilot. 'Take over.' He left the cockpit to go back
to the cabin.
There were five passengers on board besides the pilot and
co-pilot: Byron Scott, the brilliant, dynamic founder and
chief executive officer of Scott Industries, his attractive wife,
Susan; their year-old daughter, Patricia; Milo Scott, Byron
Scott's younger brother; and Milo's wife, Ellen Scott. They
were flying in one of the company planes from Paris to
Madrid. Bringing the baby had been a last-minute impulse
on Susan Scott's part.
'I hate to be away from her for so long,' she told her
husband.
'Afraid she'll forget us?' he teased. 'All right. We'll take
her with us.'
Now that World War II was over, Scott Industries was
rapidly expanding into the European market. In Madrid,
Byron Scott would investigate the possibilities of opening a
new steel mill.
The pilot approached him.
'Excuse me, sir. We're heading into some thunder clouds.
It doesn't look very good ahead. Do you want to turn
back?'
Byron Scott looked out of the small window. They were
flying through a grey mass of cumulus clouds, and every few
seconds distant lightning illuminated them. 'I have a meeting
in Madrid tonight. Can you go around the storm?'

'I'll try. If I can't, then I'm going to have to turn us
around.'
Byron Scott nodded. 'All right.'
'Would you all fasten your seat belts, please?'
The pilot hurried back to the cockpit.
Susan Scott had heard the conversation. She picked up
the baby and held her in her arms, suddenly wishing she had
not brought her along. I've got to tell Byron to have the pilot
turn back, she thought.
'Byron '
They were suddenly caught in the eye of the storm, and
the plane began bucking up and down, caught in the gusting
winds. The motion began to grow more violent. Rain was
smashing against the windows. The storm had closed off all
visibility. The passengers felt as though they were riding on
a rolling cotton sea.
Byron Scott flicked down the intercom switch. 'Where are
we, Blake?'
'We're a hundred kilometres northwest of Madrid, over
the town of Avila.'
Byron Scott looked out of the window again. 'We'll forget
Madrid tonight. Let's turn around and get the hell out of
here.'
'Roger.'
He was a fraction too late. As the pilot started to bank
the plane, a mountain peak looked suddenly in front of him.
There was no time to avoid the crash. There was a rending
tear, and the sky exploded as the plane tore into the side of
the mountain, ripping apart, scattering chunks of fuselage
and wings along a high plateau.
There was an unnatural silence that lasted for what seemed
an eternity. It was broken by the crackle of flames starting
to lick at the undercarriage.
Ellen Scott opened her eyes. She was lying under a tree.
Her husband was bending over her, lightly slapping her face.
....... .. .,.,.. inai anc was auve, ne said, 'Itiank God.' Hj
Ellen Scott sat up, dizzy, her head throbbing, every muscle f in her body aching. She looked around at the obscene pieces B
of wreckage that had once been an airplane filled with human
bodies, and shuddered.
The others?' she asked hoarsely.
They're dead.'

She stared at her husband. 'Oh, my God! No!'
He nodded, his face tight with grief. 'Byron, Susan, the
baby, the pilots, everyone.'
Ellen Scott closed her eyes again and said a silent prayer. Why were Milo and I spared? she wondered. It was hard to
think clearly. We have to go down and get help. But it's too
late. They're all dead. It was impossible to believe. They had
been so full of life just a few minutes before.
'Can you stand up?'
'I-I think so.'
Milo Scott helped his wife to her feet. There was a surge
of sickening dizziness, and she stood there, waiting for it to
pass.
Milo turned to look at the plane. Flames were beginning
to get higher. 'Let's get out of here,' he said. The damned
thing is going to blow up any second.'
They quietly moved away and watched it burn. A moment
later, there was an explosion as the gas tanks blew apart and
the plane was engulfed in flames.
'It's a miracle we're alive,' Milo Scott said.

 was a miracle. But not for the others.
Ellen Scott looked at the burning plane. Something was
nagging at the edges of her mind, but she was having trouble
thinking clearly. Something about Scott Industries. And then
suddenly she knew.
'Milo?'
'Yes?' He was not really listening.
'It's fate.'
The fervour in her voice made him turn. 'What?'
'Scott Industries - it belongs to you, now.'
'I don't -'

'Milo, God left it to you.' Her voice . burning intensity. 'All your life you've liv38 "lleu with a of your big brother.' She was thinking ck.,,111 the shadow
ently, and she forgot her headache and th r y now' coher-
came tumbling out now in a spate that J1."1- The WOIUS body. 'You worked for Byron for twen00"- "er whole up the company. You're as responsible f' years ''"g
he is, but did he - did he ever give you  sucwss as It was always his company, his success, i u lt9 N0' now you - you finally have a chance to is P1'0"- we"
own.' "le into y0111"
He looked at her, horrified. 'Ellen - t(, .
how can you even think about -?' lr bodles are 'I
know. But we didn't kill them. It's our  finally come into our own. There's no one "'M110- we company but us. It's ours! Yours!' lve to clalm the
And at that moment they heard the cry ,. and Milo Scott stared at each other unbeligy a aby. Ellen
'It's Patricia! She's alive. Oh, my God!' y-
They found the baby near a clump of (,, ,
miracle she was unhurt. ushes-  some
Milo Scott picked her up gently and heU .
It's all right, darling,' he whispered. 'EveJ, close- ssh! be all right.' ymg s going to
Ellen was standing at his side, a look of Shri, 'You - you said she was dead.' on her face-
'She must have been knocked unconscion ,
Ellen Scott stared at the baby for a long (._
have been killed with the others,' she si6'lshe should
voice. d in a strangled
He looked up at her, shocked. 'What ar
'Byron's will leaves everything to Patricia usayln'
forward to spending the next twenty years bg, ou can  so that when she grows up she can treat y .  guardian
her father did. Is that what you want?' as shabbily as
He was silent.
'We'll never have a chance like this again .,;,
at the baby, and there was a wild look in hpr was stanng
er eyes that Milo
riciu never seen oerore. it was almost as though she wanted
to -
She's not herself. She's suffering from a concussion. 'For
God's sake, Ellen, what are you thinking?'
She looked at her husband for a long moment, and the
wild light faded from her eyes. 'I don't know,' she said
calmly. After a pause she said. There's something we can
do. We can leave her somewhere, Milo. The pilot said we
were near Avila. There should be plenty of tourists there.
There's no reason for anyone to connect the baby with the
plane crash.'
He shook his head. 'Their friends know that Byron and
Susan took Patricia with them.'
Ellen Scott looked at the burning plane. 'That's no problem.
They all burned up in the crash. We'll have a private
memorial service here.'
'Ellen,' he protested. 'We can't do this. We'd never get
away with it.'
'God did it for us. We have gotten away with it.'
Milo Scott looked at the baby. 'But she's so '
'She'll be fine,' Ellen said soothingly. 'We'll drop her off
at a nice farmhouse outside of town. They'll adopt her and
she'll grow up to have a lovely life here.'
He shook his head. 'I can't do it. No.'
'If you love me you'll do this for us. You have to choose,
Milo. You can either have me, or you can spend the rest of
your life working for your brother's child.'
'Please, I '
'Do you love me?'
'More than my life,' he said simply.
'Then prove it.'
They made their way carefully down the mountainside in the
dark, whipped by the wind. Because the plane had crashed
in a high wooded area, the sound was muffled, so the townspeople
would be unaware of what had happened.
Three hours later, on the outskirts of Avila, Ellen and

Milo reacnea a small farmhouse. It was not yet dawn.
'We'll leave her here,' Ellen whispered.
He made one last try. 'Ellen, couldn't we ?'
'Do it!' she said fiercely.
Without another word, he turned and carried the baby to
the door of the farmhouse. She was wearing only a torn pink
nightgown and had a blanket wrapped around her.
Milo Scott looked at Patricia for a long moment, his eyes
filled with tears, then laid her gently down.
He whispered, 'Have a good life, darling.'
The crying awakened Anuncion Moras. For a sleepy
moment, she thought it was the bleating of a goat or a lamb.
How had it got out of its pen?
Grumbling, she rose from her warm bed, put on an old
faded dressing-gown, and walked to the door.
When she saw the infant lying on the ground screaming
and kicking, she said, 'Madre de DiosF and yelled for her
husband.
They brought the child inside and stared at it. It would
not stop crying, and it seemed to be turning blue.
'We've got to get her to the hospital.'
They hurriedly wrapped another blanket around the
baby, carried her to their pick-up truck and drove her
to the hospital. They sat on a bench in the long corridor
waiting for someone to attend to them, and thirty minutes
later a doctor came and took the baby away to examine
her.
When he returned, he said, 'She's got pneumonia.'
'Is she going to live?'
The doctor shrugged.
Milo and Ellen Scott stumbled into the police station at
Avila.
The desk sergeant looked up at the two bedraggled tourists.
'Buenos dias. Can I help you?'
"There's been a terrible accident,' Milo Scott said. 'Our
plane crashed up in the mountains and . . .'
One hour later a rescue party was on its way to the
mountainside. When they arrived, there was nothing to see
but the smouldering, charred remains of an aircraft and its
passengers.
The investigation of the airplane accident conducted by the
Spanish authorities was cursory.
"The pilot should not have attempted to fly into such a bad
storm. We must attribute the accident to pilot error.'
There was no reason for anyone in Avila to associate the
airplane crash with a small child left on the doorstep of a
farmhouse.
It was over.
It was just beginning.
Milo and Ellen Scott held a private memorial service for
Byron Scott, his wife Susan, and their daughter, Patricia.
When they returned to New York, they held a second
memorial service, attended by the shocked friends of the
Scotts.
'What a terrible tragedy. And poor little Patricia.'
'Yes,' Ellen Scott said sadly. "The only blessing is that it
happened so quickly that none of them suffered.'
The financial community was shaken by the news. It was almost
unanimously agreed that with Byron Scott's death, Scott
Industries had suffered an irreparable loss.
'Don't listen to what any of them say,' Ellen Scott told her
husband, 'you're better than Byron ever was. The company is
going to be bigger than ever.'
Milo took her in his arms. 'I don't know what I would do
without you.'
She smiled. 'You'll never have to. From now on we're

eoing to have everything in the world we've ever dreamed
of.'
She held him close and thought: Who would have believed
that Ellen Dudash, from a poor Polish family in Gary, Indiana, would have one day said, 'From now on, we're going
to have everything in the world we ever dreamed of?'
And meant it.
For ten days the baby remained in the hospital, fighting for
her life, and when the crisis was past. Father Berrendo went
to see the farmer and his wife.
'I have joyous news for you,' he said happily. 'The child
is going to be all right.'
The Morases exchanged an uncomfortable look.
'I'm glad for her sake,' the farmer said evasively.
Father Berrendo beamed. 'She is a gift from God.'
'Certainly, Father. But my wife and I have talked it over
and decided that God is too generous to us. His gift requires
feeding. We can't afford to keep it.'
'But she's such a beautiful baby,' Father Berrendo pointed
out. 'And '
'Agreed. But my wife and I are old and sick, and we can't
take on the responsibility of bringing up a baby. God will
have to take back his gift.'
And so it was that with nowhere else to go the baby was
sent to the orphanage in Avila.
They were seated in the law offices of Byron Scott's attorney
for the reading of the will. Besides the lawyer, only Milo and Ellen Scott were present. Ellen Scott was filled with a
sense of almost unbearable excitement. A few words on a
piece of paper were going to make her and Milo rich beyond
imagining.
We'll buy old masters and a place in Southampton, and a
castle in France. And that's only the beginning.
The lawyer started to speak, and Ellen turned her attention
to him. Months before she had seen a copy of Byron Scott's
will and knew exactly what it said:
In the event that my wife and I should both be deceased, 1
bequeath all my stock in Scott Industries to my only child,
Patricia, and I appoint my brother, Milo, as executor of my
estate until she reaches the legal age and is able to take over,
etc., etc.
Well, all that is changed now, Ellen thought excitedly.
The lawyer, Lawrence Gray, said solemnly, 'This has been
a terrible shock to all of us. I know how much you loved
your brother, Milo, and as for that darling little baby . . .'
He shook his head. 'Well, life must go on. You may not be
aware that your brother had changed his will. I won't bother
you with the legalese. I will just read you the gist of it.' He
thumbed through the will and came to the paragraph he was
looking for. 'I amend this will so that my daughter, Patricia,
will receive the sum of five million dollars plus a distribution
of one million dollars a year for the rest of her life. All the
stock in Scott Industries held in my name will go to my
brother, Milo, as a reward for the faithful and valuable
services he has provided the company through the years.'
Milo Scott felt the room begin to sway.
Mr Gray looked up. 'Are you all right?'
Milo was finding it difficult to breathe. Good God, what
have we done? We've taken away her birthright, and it wasn't
necessary at all. Now we can give it back to her.
He turned to say something to Ellen, but the look in her
eyes stopped him.
'There has to be something we can do, Ellen. We can't just
leave Patricia there. Not now.'
They were in their Fifth Avenue apartment getting dressed
to go to a charity dinner.
'That's exactly what we're going to do,' Ellen told him.
'Unless you'd like to bring her back here and try to explain
why we said she was burned to death in the airplane crash.'
He had no answer to that. He thought for a moment. 'All

right, then. We'll send her money every month so she -'
'Don't be a fool, Milo.' Her voice was curt. 'Send her
money? And have the police start checking on why someone
is sending her money and trace it back to us? No. If your
conscience bothers you, we'll have the company give money
to charity. Forget about the child, Milo. She's dead. Remember?'

Remember . . . remember . . . remember . . .
The words echoed in Ellen Scott's mind as she looked out
at the audience in the Waldorf Astoria ballroom and finished
her speech. There was another standing ovation.
You're standing up for a dead woman, she thought.
That night the ghosts came again. She had thought she
had exorcised them long ago. In the beginning, after the
memorial services for her brother-in-law and sister-in-law,
and Patricia, the night visitors had come frequently. Pale
mists had hovered over her bed and voices had whispered in
her ear. She would awaken, her pulse racing, but there was
nothing to see. She told none of this toMilo. He was weak,
and it might have terrified him into doing something foolish,
something that would jeopardize the company. If the truth
got out, the scandal would destroy Scott Industries, and
Ellen Scott was determined that that must never happen.
And so she suffered the ghosts in silence, until finally they
went away and left her in peace.
Now, the night of the banquet, they returned. She awakened
and sat up in her bed and looked around. The room was
empty and quiet, but she knew they had been there. What
were they trying to tell her? Did they know she would be
joining them soon?
Ellen Scott rose and walked into the spacious, antique-
filled drawing room of the beautiful townhouse she had
bought after Milo had passed away. She looked around the
lovely room and thought: Poor Milo. He had had so little
time to enjoy any of the benefits of his brother's death. He
had died of a heart attack a few years after the plane crash,
and Ellen Scott had taken over the company, running it
with an efficiency and expertise that had catapulted Scott
Industries into greater international prominence.
The company belongs to the Scott family, she thought. I'm
not going to turn it over to faceless strangers.
And that led her thoughts to Byron's and Susan's daughter.
The rightful heiress to the throne that had been stolen from
her. Was there fear in her thoughts? Was it a wish to make
an atonement before her own death?
Ellen Scott sat in her drawing room all night staring into
nothingness, thinking and planning. How long ago had it
been? Twenty-eight years. Patricia would be a grown woman
now, assuming that she was still alive. What had her life
become? Had she married a farmer or a merchant in the
village? Did she have children? Was she still living in Avila,
or had she gone away to some other place?
 must find her, Ellen Scott thought. And quickly. If
Patricia is still alive, I've got to see her, talk to her. I have to finally set the account straight. Money can turn lies into truth.
I'll find a way to solve the situation without ever letting her
know what really happened.
The following morning Ellen Scott sent for Alan Tucker,
chief of security for Scott Industries. He was a former detective,
in his forties, a thin, balding, sallow-looking man,
hard-working and brilliant.
'I want you to go on a mission for me.'
'Yes, Mrs Scott.'
She studied him for a moment, wondering how much she
could tell him.  can tell him nothing, she decided. As long
as I am alive, I refuse to put myself or the company in
jeopardy. Let him find Patricia first, and then I'll decide how
to handle her.
She leaned forward. Twenty-eight years ago, an orphan
was left on the doorstep of a farmhouse outside of Avila,

Spain. I want you to find out where she is today and bring
her back here to me as quickly as possible.'
Alan Tucker's face remained impassive. Mrs Scott did not
like her employees to show emotion.
Yes, ma'am. I'll leave tomorrow.'
Chapter 17


Colonel Ramon Acoca was in an expansive mood. All the
pieces were finally falling into place.
An orderly came into the office. 'Colonel Sostelo has
arrived.'
'Show him in.'
 won't be needing him any more, Acoca thought. He can
go back to his tin soldiers. Colonel Fal Sostelo walked in. 'Colonel.'
'Colonel.'
It's ironic, Sostelo thought. We hold the same rank, but
the scarred giant has the power to break me. Because he's
connected to the OPUS MUNDO.
It was an indignity for Sostelo to have to answer Acoca's
summons, as though he were some unimportant subordinate.
But he managed to show none of his feelings. 'You wanted
to see me?'
'Yes.' Acoca waved him to a chair. 'Sit down. I have some
news for you. Jaime Mir6 has the nuns ' "What?'
'Yes. They're travelling with Mir6 and his men. He's split
them up into three groups.'
'How - how do you know that?'
Ramon Acoca leaned back in his chair. 'Do you olav
chess?' - 'No.'
'Pity. It's a very educational game. In order to be a good
player, it's necessary to get into the mind of your opponent.
Jaime Mir6 and I play chess with each other.'
180

Fal Sostelo was staring at him. "I don't understand how '
'Not literally. Colonel. We don't use a chess board. We
use our minds. I probably understand Jaime Mir6 better
than anyone in the world. I know how his mind works. I
knew that he would try to blow up the dam at Puente la
Reina. We captured two of his lieutenants there, and it was
only by luck that Mir6 himself got away. I knew that he
would try to rescue them, and Mir6 knew that I knew it.'
Ramon Acoca shrugged. 'I didn't anticipate that he would
use the bulls to effect their escape.' There was a note of
admiration in his voice.
'You sound as though you '
'Admire him? I admire his mind. I despise the man.'
'Do you know where Mir6 is headed?'
'He is travelling north. I will catch him within the next
three days.'
Colonel Sostelo was gaping at him, stunned.
'It will finally be checkmate.'
It was true that Colonel Acoca understood Jaime Mir6,
and the way his mind worked, but it was not enough for him.
The Colonel wanted an edge, to ensure victory, and he had
found it.
'How ?'
'One of Miro's terrorists,' Colonel Acoca said, 'is an
informer.'
Rubio, Tomas and the two sisters avoided the large cities
and took side roads, passing old stone villages with grazing
sheep and goats, and shepherds listening to music and soccer
games on their transistor radios. It was a colourful juxtaposition
of the past and the present, but Lucia had other things
on her mind.
She stayed close to Sister Teresa, watching for the first
opportunity to get the cross and leave. The two men were
always at their side. Rubio Arzano was the more considerate
of the two, a tall, pleasant-looking, cheerful man. A simpleminded
peasant, Lucia decided.
181
--, -- -   .,..6..i aiiu uaiuing. tie looks more like
a shop assistant than a terrorist. It will be easy to outwit them
both.
They walked across the plains north of Avila by night,
cooled by the winds blowing down from the Guadarrama
Steppe. There was a haunting emptiness about the plains by
moonlight. They passed granas of wheat and olive trees and
vines and maize, and they foraged for potatoes and lettuce,
fruit from the trees and eggs and chickens from the hen
coops.
'The whole countryside of Spain is a huge market,' said
Rubio Arzano.
Tomas Sanjuro grinned. 'And it's all for free.' Sister Teresa was totally oblivious to her surroundings.
Her only thought was to reach the convent at Mendavia.
The cross was getting heavy, but she was determined not to
let it out of her hands. Soon, she thought. We'll be there
soon. We're fleeing from Gethsemane and our enemies to the
new mansion He has prepared for us. Lucia said, 'What?'
Sister Teresa was unaware that she had spoken aloud.
'I - nothing,' she mumbled.
Lucia took a closer look at her. The older woman seemed
distracted and vaguely disoriented, unaware of what was
happening around her.
Lucia nodded towards the canvas package that Sister
Teresa carried. 'That must be heavy,' Lucia said sympathetically.
'Wouldn't you like me to carry it for a while?' I
Sister Teresa clutched it to her body more tightly. 'Jesus
carried a heavier burden. I can carry this for Him.' Did it
not say in Luke:  any man would come after me, let him
deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.
'I'll carry it,' Teresa said stubbornly.
There was something odd in her tone.
'Are you all right, Sister?'
'Of course.'

Sister Teresa was tar from all right. She had not been able
to sleep. She felt dizzy and feverish. Her mind was playing
tricks again.  mustn't let myself become ill, she thought. Sister Betina will scold me. But Sister Betina was not there.
It was so confusing. And who were these men?  don't trust
them.- What do they want with me?
Rubio Arzano had attempted to strike up a conversation
with Sister Teresa, trying to make her feel at ease.
'It must seem strange to you, being out in the world again,
Sister. How long were you in the convent?' Why did he want to know? 'Thirty years.'
'My, that's a long time. Where are you from?'
It was painful for her even to say the word. 'Eze.'
His face brightened. 'Eze? I spent a summer there once
on holiday. It's a lovely town. I know it well. I remember '
 know it well. How well? Did he know Raoul? Had Raoul
sent him? And the truth hit her like a bolt of lightning. These
strangers had been sent to bring her back to Eze, to Raoul
Giradot. They were kidnapping her. God was punishing her
for deserting Monique's baby. She was certain now that the
baby she had seen in the village square in Villacastin was
her sister Monique's. But it couldn't have been, could it?
That was thirty years ago, Teresa muttered to herself. They're
lying to me.
Rubio Arzano was watching her, listening to her mumbling.
'Is something wrong. Sister?'
Sister Teresa shrank away from him. 'No.'
She was on to them now. She was not going to let them
take her back to Raoul and the baby. She had to get to the
convent at Mendavia and hand over the gold crucifix, and
then God would forgive her for the terrible sin she had
committed.  must be clever. I must not let them know I am
on to their secret.
She looked up at Rubio Arzano. 'I am fine,' Sister Teresa
said.
They moved on across the dry, sunbaked plains. They
came to a small village where peasant women dressed in
black were doing their wash at a spring covered by a roof
rcsung on rour ancient beams. The water poured into a long
wooden trough and out again, so that it was always fresh,
and the women scrubbed their wash on stone slabs and rinsed
it clean in the running water.
It's such a peace ful scene, Rubio thought. It reminded him
of the farm he had left behind. It's what Spain used to be
like. No bombs, no killing. Will we ever know peace again?
'Buenos dias.'
'Buenos dias.'
'I wonder if we might have a drink? Travelling is thirsty work.'
'Certainly. Please help yourselves.'
The water was cold and refreshing. 'Gracias. Adios.'
Adi6s:
Rubio hated to leave.
The two women and their escorts moved on, past cork and
olive trees, the summer air filled with the smell of ripe grapes
and oranges. They went by orchards of apples and cherry
and plum trees, and farms noisy with the sound of chickens
and pigs and goats.
Rubio and Tomas walked ahead, talking quietly together. They are talking about me. They think I do not know their
plan. Sister Teresa moved nearer to them so she could hear
what they were saying.
'. . . A reward of five hundred thousand pesetas on our
heads. Of course Colonel Acoca would pay more for Jaime,
but he doesn't want his head. He wants his cojones.'
The men laughed.
As Sister Teresa listened to them talk, her conviction
grew stronger. These men are killers doing Satan's work,
messengers of the devil sent to damn me to everlasting hell.
But God is stronger than they are. He will not let them take
me back home.
Raoul Giradot was at her side, smiling the smile that she
knew so well.
184

The voice!
I beg your pardon?
I heard you sing yesterday. You are magnificent.
May I help you?
I would like three yards of muslin, please.
Certainly. This way . . . My aunt owns this shop and she
needed help, so I thought I'd work for her for a while.
I'm sure you could have any man you want, Teresa, but I
hope you will choose me.
He looked so handsome.
 have never known anyone like you, my darling.
Raoul was taking her in his arms and kissing her.
You're going to make a beautiful bride.
But now I'm Christ's bride. I can't return to Raoul.
Lucia was watching her closely. Sister Teresa was talking
to herself, but Lucia could not make out the words.
She's cracking up, Lucia thought. She's not going to make
it. I've got to get hold of that cross soon.
It was dusk when they saw the town of Olmedo in the
distance.
Rubio stopped. 'There will be soldiers there. Let's move
up to the hills and skirt the city.'
They moved off the road and left the plains, headed
for the hills above Olmedo. The sun was skipping
across the mountain tops and the sky was beginning to
darken.
'We've only a few more miles to go,' Rubio Arzano said
reassuringly. 'Then we can rest.'
They had reached the top of a high ridge when Tomas
Sanjuro suddenly held up a hand. 'Hold it,' he whispered.
Rubio Arzano walked to his side and they moved to the
edge of the ridge and looked down into the valley below.
There was an encampment of soldiers there.
'{MierdaF Rubio whispered. 'There must be a whole platoon.
We'll stay up here for the rest of the night. They'll
probably pull out in the morning and we can move on.' He
turned to Lucia and Sister Teresa, trying not to show how
worried he was. 'We'll spend the night here. Sisters. We
185
...  viy ljuici. mere are soldiers down there and we
don't want them to find us.'
It was the best news Lucia could have heard. It's perfect, she thought. I'll disappear with the cross during the night.
They won't dare try to follow me because of the soldiers.
To Sister Teresa, the news had a different meaning. She
had heard the men say that someone named Colonel Acoca
was searching for them. They called Colonel Acoca the
enemy. But these men are the enemy, so Colonel Acoca must
be my friend. Thank you, dear God, for sending me Colonel
Acoca.
The tall man called Rubio was speaking to her.
'Do you understand. Sister? We must all be very, very
quiet.'
'Yes, I understand.'  understand more than you think.
They had no idea that God permitted her to see into their
evil hearts.
Tomas Sanjuro said kindly, 'I know how difficult this must
be for both of you, but don't worry. We'll see that you get
safely to the convent.'
To Eze, he means. Oh, but he is cunning. He speaks the
honeyed words of the devil. But God is within me, and He is
guiding me. She knew what she must do. But she had to be
careful.
The two men arranged the sleeping-bags for the women,
next to each other.
'Both of you get some sleep now.'
The women got into the unfamiliar sleeping-bags. The
night was incredibly clear and the sky was spangled with
glimmering stars. Lucia looked up at them and thought
happily: In just a few hours now, t'llbeonmy way to freedom.
As soon as they're all asleep.
She yawned. She had not realized how tired she was. The
long, hard journey and the emotional strain had taken their
toll. Her eyes felt heavy. I'll just rest for a little while, Lucia
thought.
She slept.
Sister Teresa lay near Lucia, wide awake, fighting the
186

demons trying to possess her, trying to send her soul to hell.
 must be strong. The Lord is testing me. I have been exiled,
so that I can find my way back to Him. And these men are
trying to stop me. I must not let them.
At four o'clock in the morning, Sister Teresa silently sat up
and looked around. Tomas Sanjuro was asleep only a few
feet from her. The tall, dark man called Rubio was keeping
watch at the edge of the clearing, his back to her. She could
see his silhouette against the trees.
Very quietly. Sister Teresa rose. She hesitated, thinking
about the cross. Should I carry it with me? But I'll be coming
back here very soon. I must find a place where it will be safe
until I return. She looked over to where Sister Lucia lay
sleeping. Yes. It will be safe with my sister in God, Sister
Teresa decided.
Silently she moved over to the sleeping-bag and gently
slipped the wrapped cross inside. Lucia did not stir. Sister
Teresa turned and moved into the woods, out of Rubio
Arzano's sight, and carefully began to make her way downhill
towards the soldiers' camp. The hill was steep and slippery
with dew, but God gave her wings and she sped downhill
without stumbling or falling, hurrying towards her salvation.
In the darkness ahead the figure of a man suddenly materialized.

A voice called out, 'Who goes there?'
'Sister Teresa.'
She approached the sentry. He wore an army uniform and
was carrying a rifle, pointed at her.
'Where did you come from, old woman?' he demanded.
She looked at him with golden eyes. 'God sent me.'
The sentry stared at her. 'Did He, now?'
'Yes. He sent me to see Colonel Acoca.'
The guard shook his head. 'You'd better tell Him you're
not the Colonel's type. Adios, senora.'
'You don't understand. I am Sister Teresa from the Abbey
Cistercian. I have been taken prisoner by Jaime Miro and
187
.---.--- ... ..uiiiibu expression mat came
over his face.
'You're - you're from the convent?'
Yes.'
The one at Avila?'
'Yes,' Teresa said impatiently. What was the matter with
the man? Didn't he realize how important it was that she be
rescued from those evil men?
The soldier said carefully, 'The Colonel isn't here just
now. Sister -' 
It was an unexpected blow. _
'- But Colonel Sostelo is in charge. I can take you tofl
him.' 
'Will he be able to help me?' a 'Oh, I'm sure he will. Follow me, please.'
The sentry was scarcely able to believe his good fortune.
Colonel Fal Sostelo had sent squadrons of soldiers scouring
the entire countryside searching for the four nuns, and they
had had no success. Now one of the sisters had stumbled
into the camp and given herself up to him. The Colonel was
going to be pleased. The Colonel was going to be very
pleased.
They reached the tent where Colonel Fal Sostelo and his
second in command were poring over a map. The men looked
up as the sentry and a woman entered.
'Excuse me. Colonel. This is Sister Teresa from the
Cistercian convent.'
Colonel Sostelo stared at her, unbelievingly. All of his
energies for the last three days had been focused on finding
Jaime Mird and the nuns, and now, here in front of him was
one of them. There was a God.
'Sit down. Sister.' 
There is no time for that. Sister Teresa thought. She had 
to make him realize how urgent this was. 'We must hurry. 
They are trying to take me back to Eze.' J
The Colonel was puzzled. 'Who's trying to take you back
to Eze?'
The men of Jaime Miro.'

He got to his feet. 'Sister - do you by any chance happen
to know where these men are?'
Sister Teresa said impatiently, 'Of course.' She turned and
pointed. "They're up in those hills hiding from you.'
Chapter 18
'a
Alan Tucker arrived in Avila the day after his conversation
with Ellen Scott. It had been a long flight, and Tucker should
have been exhausted, but he was exhilarated. Ellen Scott
was not a woman given to whims. There's something strange
going on behind all this, Alan Tucker thought, and if 1 play
my cards right, I have a hunch it could be very profitable for
me.
He checked into the Cuatro Postes Hotel and said to the
clerk behind the desk, 'Is there a newspaper office around
here?'
'Down the street, senor. To your left, two blocks. You
can't miss it.'
Thank you.' 'De nada.'
Walking down the main street, watching the town come
alive after its afternoon siesta. Tucker thought about the
mysterious girl he had been sent to bring back. This had to
be something important. But important why7 He could hear
Ellen Scott's voice.
If she's alive, bring her back to me. You are not to discuss
this with anyone.
No, ma'am. What shall I tell her?
Simply tell her that a friend of her father's wishes to meet
her. She'll come.
Tucker found the newspaper office. Inside, he approached
one of the half a dozen people working behind desks. - 'Perdon. I would like to see the managing editor.' ;
The man pointed to an office. 'In there, senor.' ',

'Gracias.'
Tucker walked over to the open door and looked inside.
A man in his mid-thirties was seated behind a desk, busily
editing copy.
'Excuse me,' Tucker said. 'Could I speak to you for a moment?'
The man looked up. 'What can I do for you?'
'I'm looking for a senorita.'
The editor smiled. 'Aren't we all, senorT
'She was left at a farmhouse around here when she was
an infant.'
The smile faded. 'Oh. She was abandoned?'
'Yes.'
'And you are trying to find her?'
'Yes.'
'How many years ago would that be, senorT
Twenty-eight.'
The young man shrugged. 'It was before my time.'
Perhaps it's not going to be so easy. 'Would you happen
to know anything about the woman or could you suggest
someone who might be able to help me?'
The editor leaned back in his chair, thinking. 'As a matter
of fact, I can. I would suggest you speak with Father
Berrendo.'
Father Berrendo sat in his study, a rug over his thin legs,
listening to the stranger.
When Alan Tucker had finished talking. Father Berrendo
said, 'Why do you wish to know about this matter, senorf It
happened so long ago. What is your interest in it?'
Tucker hesitated, choosing his words carefully. 'I am not
at liberty to say. I can only assure you that I mean the woman
no harm. If you could just tell me where the farmhouse is
where she was left ?'
The farmhouse. Memories came flooding back of the day
the Morases had come to him after they had taken the little
girl to hospital.
 think she's dying. Father. What shall we do? j
Father Berrendo had talked to his friend, Don Morago,
the chief of police.
'I think the baby was abandoned by tourists visiting Avila.
Could you check the hotels and inns and see if anyone arrived
with a baby and left without one?'
The police had gone through the registration cards that
all hotels were required to fill out, but they were of no
help.
'It is as if the baby just dropped out of the sky,' Don
Morago said.
And he had no idea of how close he had come to solving
the mystery.
When Father Berrendo had taken the infant to the orphanage,
Mercedes Angeles had asked, 'Has the baby got a
name?'
'I don't know.'
'Wasn't there a blanket or something with the name on
it?'
'No.'
Mercedes Angeles looked at the infant in the priest's arms.
'Well, we'll just have to give her a name, won't we?'
She had recently finished reading a romantic novel, and
she liked the name of the heroine in it.
'Megan,' she said. 'We'll call her Megan.'
And fourteen years later, Father Berrendo had taken
Megan to the Abbey Cistercian, j
So many years after that, this stranger was looking for her. Life always comes full circle. Father Berrendo thought. In some mysterious way, it has come full circle for Megan.
No, not Megan. That was the name given her by the
orphanage.
'Sit down, senor,' Father Berrendo said. 'There is much
to tell you.'

And he told him.
When the priest had finished, Alan Tucker sat there
quietly, his mind racing. There had to be a strong reason for
Ellen Scott's interest in a baby abandoned at a farmhouse
in Spain twenty-eight years earlier. A woman now called
Megan, according to the priest.
Tell her that a friend of her father's wishes to meet her.
If he remembered correctly, Byron Scott and his wife and
daughter had died in an airplane crash many years ago
somewhere in Spain. Could there be a connection? Alan
Tucker felt a growing sense of excitement.
'Father - I'd like to get into the convent to see her. It's
very important.'
The priest shook his head. 'I'm afraid you are too late.
The convent was attacked two days ago by agents of the
government.'
Alan Tucker stared at him. 'Attacked? What happened to
the nuns?'
'They were arrested and taken to Madrid.'
Alan Tucker got to his feet. 'Thank you. Father.' He
would catch the first plane to Madrid.
Father Berrendo went on: 'Four of the nuns escaped.
Sister Megan was one of them.'
Things were becoming complicated. 'Where is she now?'
'No one knows. The police and the army are searching for
her and the other sisters.'
'I see.' Under ordinary circumstances, Alan Tucker would
have telephoned Ellen Scott and informed her that he had
reached a dead end. But all his instincts as a detective told
him that there was something here that warranted further
investigation.
He placed a call to Ellen Scott.
'There's a complication, Mrs Scott.' He repeated his conversation
with the priest.
There was a long silence. 'No one knows where she is?'
'She and the others are on the run, but they can't hide out
FR1;-.. ... ..w anu nair me Spanish army are
looking for them. When they surface, I'll be there.'
Another silence. 'This is very important to me, Tucker.'
'Yes, Mrs Scott.'
Alan Tucker returned to the newspaper office. He was in
luck. It was still open.
He said to the editor, 'I would like to look through your
files, if I may.'
'Are you looking for something in particular?'
'Yes. There was an airplane crash here.'
'How long ago, senorT
If I'm right - 'Twenty-eight years ago. Nineteen forty-
eight.'
It took Alan Tucker fifteen minutes to find the item he
was looking for. The headline leaped out at him. 
PLANE CRASH KILLS EXECUTIVE FAMILY
1 October 1948. Byron Scott, President of Scott
Industries, his wife, Susan, and their one-year-old
daughter, Patricia, were burned to death in an airplane
crash ...
I've hit the jackpot! He could feel his pulse begin to race.
 this is what I think it is, I'm going to be a rich man ... a very rich man. 

Chapter 19
She was naked in her bed, and she could feel the male
hardness of Benito Patas pressing into her groin. His body
felt wonderful, and she moved closer to him, grinding her
hips against him, feeling the heat growing in her loins. She
started to stroke him, to excite him. But something was
wrong.  killed Patas, she thought. He's dead.
Lucia opened her eyes and sat up, trembling, looking
around wildly. Benito was not there. She was in the forest,
in a sleeping-bag. Something was pressing against her thigh.
Lucia reached down inside the sleeping-bag and pulled out
the canvas-wrapped cross. She stared at it, unbelievingly. God has just performed a miracle for me, Lucia thought.
She had no idea how the cross had got there, nor did she
care. She had it in her hands at last. All she had to do now
was to slip away from the others.
She crept out of the sleeping-bag and looked over to where
Sister Teresa had slept. She was gone. Lucia looked around
in the darkness, and she could barely make out the figure of
Tomas Sanjuro at the edge of the clearing, facing away from
her. She was not sure where Rubio was. It doesn't matter.
It's time to get out of here, Lucia thought.
She started to move to the edge of the clearing, away from
Sanjuro, bending low so she would not be seen.
At that instant all hell broke loose.
s.....> .vcx-iJ vYnii uionei Kamon Acoca to help capture
Jaime Miro and the nuns. But fate had blessed him by
delivering one of the nuns into his hands. Why share the
credit with Colonel Acoca when he could catch the terrorists
and keep all the glory? Fuck Colonel Acoca, Fal Sostelo
thought. This one is mine. Maybe the OPUS MUNDO will
use me instead of Acoca, with all his bullshit about chess
games and getting into the minds of people. No, it's time to
teach the scarred giant a lesson.
Colonel Sostelo gave specific orders to his men.
'Don't take any prisoners. You're dealing with terrorists.
Shoot to kill.'
Major Ponte hesitated. 'Colonel, there are nuns up there
with Mird's men. Shouldn't we ?'
'Let the terrorists hide behind the nuns? No. We'll take
no chances.'
Fal Sostelo selected a dozen men to accompany him on
the raid and he saw to it that they were heavily armed. They
moved noiselessly in the dark, up the slope of the mountain.
The moon had disappeared behind clouds. There was
almost no visibility. Good. They won't be able to see us
coming.
When his men were in position. Colonel Sostelo shouted,
for the sake of the record, 'Put down your arms. You're
surrounded.' And in the same breath he called out the
command, 'Fire! Keep firing!'
A dozen automatic weapons began spraying the clearing.
Tomas Sanjuro never had a chance. A hail of machine gun
bullets caught him in the chest and he was dead before he
hit the ground. Rubio Arzano was at the far edge of the
clearing when the firing started. He saw Sanjuro fall, and he
whirled and started to raise his gun to return the fire but
stopped. It was pitch black in the clearing and the soldiers
were firing blindly. If he returned their fire, he would give
his position away. f
To his amazement, he saw Lucia crouched two feet away
from him.
'Where's Sister Teresa?' he whispered.

'She's - she's gone.'
Stay low,' Rubio told her.
He grabbed Lucia's hand and zigzagged towards the forest,
away from the enemy fire. Shots whizzed dangerously close
as they ran, but moments later, Lucia and Rubio were among
the trees. They continued running.
'Hold on to me, Sister,' he said.
They heard the sound of their attackers behind them, but
gradually it died away. It was impossible to pursue anyone
through the inky blackness of the woods.
Rubio stopped to let Lucia catch her breath.
'We've lost them for now,' Rubio told her. 'But we have
to keep moving.'
Lucia was breathing hard.
'If you want to rest for a minute ?'
'No,' she said. She was exhausted, but she had no intention
of letting them catch her. Not now when she had the cross.
'I'm fine,' she said. 'Let's get out of here.'
Colonel Fal Sostelo was facing disaster. One terrorist dead,
but God alone knew how many had escaped. He did not
have Jaime Miro and he had only one of the nuns. He
knew he would have to inform Colonel Acoca of what had
happened. He was not looking forward to it.
The second call from Alan Tucker to Ellen Scott was even
more disturbing than the previous call.
'I've come across some rather interesting information, Mrs
Scott,' he said cautiously.
'Yes?'
'I went through some old newspaper files here, hoping to
get more information on the girl.'
'And?' She braced herself for what she knew was coming.
Tucker kept his voice casual. 'It seems that the girl was
abandoned about the time of your plane crash.'
Silence.
1 ic wcin on: i ne one that killed your brother-in-law and
his wife and their daughter, Patricia.'
Blackmail. There was no other explanation. So he had
found out.
That's right,' Ellen Scott said casually. 'I should have
mentioned that. I'll explain everything when you get back.
Have you any more news of the girl?'
'No, but she can't hide out for very long. The whole
country's looking for her.'
'Let me hear from you as soon as she's found.'
The line went dead.
Alan Tucker sat there, staring at the dead telephone in
his hand. She's a cool lady, he thought admiringly.  wonder
how she's going to feel about having a partner?
I made a mistake in sending him, Ellen Scott thought. Now
I'll have to stop him. And what was she going to do about
the girl? A nun! I won't judge her until I see her. Her secretary buzzed her on the intercom.
'They're ready for you in the board room, Mrs Scott.' 'St 'I'm coming.' 48
Lucia and Rubio Arzano kept moving through the woods,
stumbling and slipping, attacked by tree limbs and bushes
and insects, but each step took them farther away from their
pursuers.
Finally, Rubio Arzano said, 'We can stop here. They won't
find us.'
They were high in the mountains in the middle of a dense
forest.
Lucia lay down on the ground, fighting to catch her breath.
In her mind, she replayed the terrible scene she had witnessed
earlier. Tomas shot down without warning. And the
bastards intended to murder us all, Lucia thought. The only
reason she was still alive was because of the man sitting
beside her.

Lucia watched Rubio as he got to his feet and scouted the
area around them.
'We can spend the rest of the night here, Sister.'
'All right.' She was impatient to get moving, but she knew
she needed to rest.
As though reading her mind, Rubio Arzano said, 'We'll
move on again at dawn.'
Lucia felt a gnawing in her stomach. Even as she was
thinking about it, Rubio Arzano said, 'You must be hungry.
I'll go and find some food for us. Will you be all right here
by yourself?'
'Yes. I'll be fine.'
The big man crouched down beside her.
'Please try not to be frightened. I know how difficult it
must be for you to be out in the world again after all those
years in the convent. Everything must seem very strange to
you.'
Lucia looked up at him and said tonelessly, 'I'll try to get
used to it.'
'You're very brave, Sister.' Rubio rose. 'I'll be back
soon.'
She watched Rubio disappear into the trees. It was time
to make a decision, and she had two choices: she could
escape now, try to reach a nearby town and trade the gold
cross for a passport and enough money to get to Switzerland,
or she could stay with this man until they got farther away
from the soldiers. That will be safer, Lucia decided.
Lucia heard a noise in the woods and swung around. It
was Rubio Arzano. He moved towards her, smiling. In his
hand he held his beret, bulging with tomatoes, grapes and
apples.
He sat down on the ground next to her. 'Supper. A nice,
plump poulet was available but the fire we would have
needed to cook it would have given us away.'
Lucia stared at the contents of the beret. 'It looks like
manna from heaven. I'm starving.'
They had finished eating and were sitting against a tree.
Rubio Arzano was talking, but Lucia was paying no attention,
absorbed in her own thoughts.
Ten years, you said you were in the convent. Sister?'
Lucia was startled out of her reverie. 'What?'
'You've been in the convent for ten years?'
'Oh. Yes.'
He shook his head. "Then you have no idea what's been
happening in all that time.'
'Uh-no.'
'In the last ten years the world has changed a great deal,
Sister.'
'Has it?'
'5;.' Rubio said earnestly, 'Franco has died.'
No!'
'Oh, yes. Last year.'
And named Don Juan Carlos, his heir.
'You may find this very hard to believe, but a man has
walked on the moon. That is the truth.'
'Really?' Actually, two men, Lucia thought. What were
their names? Neil Armstrong and Buzz Something.
'Oh, yes. North Americans. And there is now a plane for
passengers that travels faster than sound.'
'Incredible.'  can't wait to travel in Concorde, Lucia
thought.
Rubio was childlike, so pleased to be bringing her up to
date on world events.
'There has been a revolution in Portugal, and in the United
States of America, their President Nixon was involved in a
big scandal and had to resign.'
Rubio is really sweet, Lucia decided.
He took out a pack of Ducados cigarettes, the heavy black
tobacco of Spain. 'I hope it won't offend you if I smoke,
Sister?'
'No,' Lucia said. 'Please go ahead.'
She watched him light up, and the moment the smoke
reached her nostrils she was desperate to have a cigarette.
'Do you mind if I try one?'

He looked at her in surprise. 'You wish to try a cigarette?'
'Just to see what it's like.' Lucia said quickly.
'Oh. Of course.'
He held the pack towards her. She took out a cigarette,
put it between her lips and he lit the end of it for her. Lucia
inhaled deeply, and as the smoke filled her lungs, she felt
wonderful.
Rubio was watching her, puzzled.
Lucia coughed. 'So that's what a cigarette tastes like.'
'Do you like it?'
'Not really, but '
She took another deep, satisfying puff. God, how she had
missed this. But she knew she had to be careful. She did not
want to make him suspicious. She put out the cigarette she
had held clumsily in her fingers. She had been in the convent
for only a few months, and yet Rubio was right. It did seem
strange to be out in the world again. She wondered how
Megan and Graciela were doing. And what had happened
to Sister Teresa? Had she been captured by the soldiers?
Lucia's eyes were beginning to sting. It had been a long,
tension-filled night. 'I think I may take a little nap.'
'Don't worry. I will watch over you. Sister.'
'Thank you,' she smiled. Within moments, she was asleep.
Rubio Arzano looked down at her and thought:  have
never seen a woman like this one. She was so spiritual that
she had dedicated her life to God, and yet at the same time
there was an earthiness about her. And she had behaved this
night as bravely as any man. You are a very special woman, Rubio Arzano thought as he watched her sleep. Little sister
of Jesus.
Chapter 20
Colonel Fal Sostelo was on his tenth cigarette.  can't put it
of f any longer, he decided. Bad news is best got out of the
way quickly.
He took several deep breaths to calm himself and then
he dialled a number. When he had Ram6n Acoca on the
telephone, he said, 'Colonel, we raided a terrorist camp last
night, where I was informed Jaime Miro was, and I thought
you should know about it.'
There was a dangerous silence.
'Did you catch him?'
'No.'
'You undertook this operation without consulting
me?'
'There was no time to '
'But there was time to let Miro escape.' Ram6n Acoca's
voice was filled with fury. 'What led you to undertake this
magnificently executed operation?'
Colonel Sostelo swallowed. 'We caught one of the nuns
from the convent. She led us to Miro and his men. We killed
one of them in the attack.'
'But the others all escaped?'
'Yes, Colonel.'
'Where is the nun now? Or did you let her get away, too?' :
His tone was scathing.
'No, Colonel,' Sostelo said quickly. 'She is here at the
camp. We have been questioning her and -'
'Don't. I'll question her myself. I'll be there in one hour.

See if you can manage to hang on to her until I get there.'
He slammed down the receiver.
Exactly one hour later. Colonel Ram6n Acoca arrived at the
camp where they were holding Sister Teresa. With him were
a dozen of his men from the GOE.
'Bring the nun to me,' Colonel Acoca ordered.
Sister Teresa was brought to the headquarters tent where
Colonel Acoca was waiting for her. He stood up politely
when she entered the tent and smiled.
'I am Colonel Acoca.'
At last! 'I knew you would come. God told me.'
He nodded pleasantly. 'Did he? Good. Please sit down,
Sister.'
Sister Teresa was too nervous to sit. 'You must help me.'
'We're going to help each other,' the Colonel assured her.
'You escaped from the Abbey Cistercian at Avila, is that
correct?'
'Yes. It was terrible. All those men. They did godless
things and '
And stupid things. We let you and the others escape. 'How
did you get here. Sister?'
'God brought me here. He's testing me as He once
tested '
Colonel Acoca said patiently, 'As well as God, did some
men also bring you here. Sister?'
'Yes. They kidnapped me. I had to escape from them.'
'You told Colonel Sostelo where he could find those men?'
'Yes. The evil ones. Raoul is behind it all, you see. He
sent me a letter and said '
'Sister, the man we're looking for in particular is Jaime
Miro. Have you seen him?'
She shivered. 'Yes. Oh, yes. He '
The Colonel leaned forward. 'Excellent. Now you must
tell me where I can find him.'
'He and the others are on their way to Eze.'
He frowned, puzzled. 'To Eze? To France?'
Her words were a wild babble. 'Yes. Monique deserted
Raoul, and he sent the men to kidnap me because of the
baby so '
He tried to control his growing impatience. 'Mir6 and his
men are headed north. Eze is to the east.'
'- You must not let them take me back to Raoul. I don't
want to see him ever again. You can understand that. I
couldn't face him '
Colonel Acoca said curtly, 'I don't give a damn about this
Raoul. I want to know where I can find Jaime Mir6.'
'I told you. He is in Eze waiting for me. He wants to -'
'You're lying. I think you're trying to protect Mir6. Now
I don't want to hurt you, so I'm going to ask you once more.
Where is Jaime Mir6?'
Sister Teresa stared at him helplessly. 'I don't know,' she
whispered. She looked around wildly. 'I don't know.'
'A moment ago you said he was in Eze.' His voice was
like a whiplash.
'Yes. God told me.'
Colonel Acoca had had enough. The woman was either
demented or a brilliant actress. Either way, she sickened
him with all her talk of God.
He turned to Patricio Arrieta, his lieutenant. "The sister's
memory needs prodding. Take her to the quartermaster's
tent. Perhaps you and your men can help her remember
where Jaime Mir6 is.'
'Yes, Colonel.'
Patricio Arrieta and the men with him had been part of
the group that had attacked the convent at Avila. They felt
responsible for letting the four nuns escape. Well, we can
make up for that now, Arrieta thought.
Arrieta turned to Sister Teresa. 'Come along with me,
Sister-'
'Yes.' Dear blessed Jesus, thank You. Shebabbled on.
'Are we leaving now? You won't let them take me to Eze,
will you?' S
'No,' Arrieta assured her. 'You're not going to Eze.'  The Colonel is right, he thought. She is playing games with 
204

us. Well, we'll show her some new games. I wonder if she'll
lie quietly, or if she'll scream?
When they reached the quartermaster's tent, Arrieta said,
'Sister, we've going to give you one last chance. Where is
Jaime Mir6?'
Haven't they asked me that before? Or was that someone
else? Was it here or - it's all terribly confusing. 'He kidnapped
me for Raoul because Monique deserted him and he
thought -'
'Bueno. If that's the way you want it,' Arrieta said, 'we'll
see if we can't refresh your memory for you.'
'Yes. Please. Everything is so puzzling.'
Half a dozen of Acoca's men had entered the tent, along
with some of Sostelo's uniformed soldiers.
Sister Teresa looked up. She blinked dazedly. 'Are these
men going to take me to the convent now?'
'They're going to do better than that,' Patricio Arrieta
grinned. 'They're going to take you to heaven. Sister.'
The men moved closer to her, surrounding her.
'That's a pretty dress you're wearing,' a soldier said. 'Are
you sure you're a nun, darling?'
'Oh, yes,' she said. Raoul had called her darling. Was this
Raoul? 'You see, we had to change clothes to escape from the
soldiers.' But these were soldiers. Everything was muddled.
One of the men pushed Teresa down on the cot. 'You're
no beauty, but let's see what you look like underneath all
those clothes.'
'What are you doing?'
He reached down and ripped off the top of her dress while
another man tore at her skirt.
'That's not a bad body for an old lady, is it, fellows?'
Teresa screamed.
She looked up at the circle of men surrounding her. God
will strike them all dead. He will not let them touch me, for I
am His vessel. 1 am one with the Lord, drinking from His
fountain of purity.
One of the soldiers unfastened his belt. An instant later
she felt rough hands pushing her legs apart, and as the soldier
sprawled on top of her, she felt his hard flesh penetrate her
and again she screamed.
'Now, God! Punish them now.'
She waited for the clap of thunder, the bright flash of
lightning that would destroy them all.
Nothing happened.
Another soldier climbed on top of her. A red haze came
over her eyes. Teresa lay there waiting for God to strike
almost unaware of the men who were ravaging her. She no
longer felt the pain.
Lieutenant Arrieta was standing next to the cot. After
each man finished with Teresa, he said, 'Have you had
enough. Sister? You can stop this at any time. All you have
to do is tell me where Jaime Miro is.'
Sister Teresa did not hear him. She screamed in her
mind: Smite them down with Your power, Lord. Wipe them
out as You wiped out the other wicked ones at Sodom and
Gomorrah.
Incredibly, He did not answer. It was not possible, for
God was everywhere. And then she knew. As the sixth man
entered her body, the epiphany suddenly came to her.
God was not listening to her because there was no God.
All these years she had deceived herself into worshipping a
Supreme power and had served Him faithfully. But there
was no Supreme Power.  God exists. He would have saved
me.
The red haze lifted from Sister Teresa's eyes and she got
a clear look at her surroundings for the first time. There
were at least a dozen soldiers in the tent waiting their turn
to rape her. Lieutenant Arrieta was standing at one side of
the bed watching. The soldiers in line were in full uniform,
not bothering to undress.
As one soldier lifted himself from Teresa, the next soldier
opened his fly and took out his penis. He squatted down
over her and a moment later penetrated her.
There is no God, but there is a Satan, and these are his
helpers. Sister Teresa thought. And they must die. All of
them.
As the soldier plunged into her. Sister Teresa grabbed the
pistol from his holster and before anyone could react, she
turned the pistol on Arrieta. The bullet hit him in the throat.
Sister Teresa pointed the gun at the other soldiers and
kept firing. Four of them fell to the floor dead before the
others came to their senses and began shooting at her.
Because of the soldier on top of her, they had difficulty
aiming.
Sister Teresa and her last ravisher died at the same
moment.
Jaime Mird came awake instantly, aroused by a movement
at the edge of the clearing. He slipped out of the sleeping-bag
and rose, gun in hand. He saw Megan on her knees, praying.
He stood there, studying her. There was an unearthly beauty
about the image of this lovely woman praying in the forest
in the middle of the night, and Jaime found himself resenting
it. If Felix Carpio hadn't blurted out that we were headed for
San Sebastian, I wouldn't have been burdened with the sister
in the first place.
It was imperative that he get to San Sebastian as quickly
as possible. Colonel Acoca and his men and the army were
all around them, and it would have been difficult enough
slipping through their net alone. With the added burden of
this woman to slow him down, the danger was increased
tenfold.
He walked over to Megan, angry, and his voice was harsher
than he had intended.
'I told you to get some sleep. I don't want you slowing us
down tomorrow.'
Megan looked up and said quietly, 'I'm sorry if I've
angered you.'
'Sister, I save my anger for more important things. Your
kind just bore me. You spend your lives hiding behind stone
walls waiting for a free trip to the next world. You make me
sick, all of you.'
'Because we believe in the next world?'
'No, Sister. Because you don't believe in this one. You
ran away from it.'

To pray for you. We spend our lives praying for you.'
And you think that will solve the problems of the world?'
'In time, yes.'
'There is no time. Your God can't hear your prayers
because of the noise of the cannons and the screams of
children being torn apart by bombs.'
'When you have faith '
'Oh, I have lots of faith, Sister. I have faith in what I'm
fighting for. I have faith in my men, and in my guns. What
I don't have faith in are people who walk on water. If you
think your God is listening now, tell him to get us to the
convent at Mendavia so I can be rid of you.'
He was angry with himself for losing his temper. It wasn't
her fault that the church had stood idly by while Franco's
Falangists tortured and raped and murdered Basques and
Catalans. It wasn't her fault, Jaime told himself, that my
family was among the victims.
Jaime had been a young boy then, but it was a memory
that would be etched for ever in his brain . . .
He had been awakened in the middle of the night by the
noise of bombs falling. They fell from the sky like deadly
flowers of sound planting their seeds of destruction everywhere.

'Get up, Jaime. Hurry!'
The fear in his father's voice was more frightening to the
boy than the terrible roar of the aerial bombardment.
Guernica was a stronghold of the Basques and General
Franco had decided to make it an object lesson.
'Destroy it.'
The dreaded Nazi Condor Legion and half a dozen Italian
planes had mounted a concentrated attack, and they showed
no mercy. The townspeople tried to flee from the rain
of death pouring down from the skies, but there was no
escape.
Jaime, his mother and father and two older sisters fled
with the others.
He was right. Everyone knew that the church was on the
side of the Caudillo, turning a blind eye to the savage
treatment of his enemies.
The Miro family headed for the church, fighting their way
through the panicky crowds trying to flee.
The young boy held his father's hand in a fierce grip
and tried not to hear the terrible noises around him. He
remembered a time when his father was not frightened, was
not running away.
'Are we going to have a war. Papa?'
'No, Jaime. That's Just newspaper talk. All we're asking
is that the government give us a reasonable amount of
independence. The Basques and the Catalans are entitled to
have their own language and flag and holidays. We're still one
nation. And Spaniards will never fight against Spaniards.'
Jaime was too young then to understand it, but of course 
it was more than the issue of the Catalans and Basques that 
was at stake. It was a deep ideological conflict between the 
Republican government and the right-wing Nationalists, and 
what started out as a spark of dissension quickly became an 
uncontrollable conflagration that drew in a dozen foreign
powers.
When Franco's superior forces had defeated the Republicans
and the Nationalists were firmly in control of Spain,
Franco turned his attention to the intransigent Basques.
'Punish them.'
And the blood continued to flow.
A hard core of Basque leaders had formed ETA, a movement
for a Basque Free State, and Jaime's father was asked
to join.
'No. It is wrong. We must gain what is rightfully ours by
peaceful means. War accomplishes nothing.'
But the hawks proved stronger than the doves, and ETA
quickly became a prime target.
Jaime had friends whose fathers were members of ETA,
and he listened to the stories of their heroic exploits. ;
210

 .,- -- ..... ...uo uumucu me neaa-
quarters of the guardia civil,' they would say.
Or, 'Did you hear about the bank robbery in Barcelona?
My father did that. Now they can buy weapons to fight the
fascists.'
And Jaime's father was saying, 'Violence is wrong. We
must negotiate.'
'We blew up one of their factories in Madrid. Why isn't
your father on our side? Is he a coward?'
'Don't listen to your friends, Jaime,' his father told him.
'What they are doing is criminal.'
'Franco ordered a dozen Basques executed without even
a trial. We're staging a nationwide strike. Is your father
going to join us?'
Papa ?'
'We are all Spaniards, Jaime. We must not let anyone
divide us.'
And the boy was torn. Are my friends right? Is my father
a coward? Jaime believed his father.
And now - armageddon. The world was collapsing around
him. The streets of Guernica were crowded with a screaming
mob trying to escape from the falling bombs. All around
them buildings and statues and pavements were exploding
in showers of concrete and blood.
Jaime and his mother and father and sisters had reached
the large church, the only building in the square still standing.
A dozen people were pounding at the door.
'Let us in! In the name of Jesus, open up!'
'What's going on?' cried Jaime's father.
"The priests have locked the church. They won't let us in.'
'Let's break the door in!'
No!'
Jaime looked at his father in surprise.
'We don't break into God's house,' his father said. 'He
will protect us wherever we are.'
Too late, they saw the squad of Falangists that appeared
from around the corner and opened machine-gun fire on
them, mowing down the unarmed crowd of men, women
211
aiiu Liniuren in me square. Even as Jaime's father felt the
bullets tearing into him, he grabbed his son and pushed him
down to safety, his own body shielding Jaime from the deadly
hail of bullets.
An eerie silence seemed to blanket the world. The sounds
of guns and running feet and screams vanished, a trick of
magic. Jaime opened his eyes and lay there for a long time,
feeling the weight of his father's body on him, like a loving
blanket. His father and mother and sisters were dead, along
with hundreds of others. And in front of their bodies were
the locked doors of the church.
Late that night, Jaime made his way out of the city and two
days later when he reached Bilbao, he joined ETA.
The recruiting officer had looked at him and said, 'You're
too young to join, son. You should be in school.'
'You're going to be my school,' Jaime Miro said quietly.
'You're going to teach me how to fight to avenge the murder
of my family.'
He never looked back. He was battling for himself and for
his family, and his exploits became legendary. Jaime planned
and executed daring raids against factories and banks and
carried out the executions of the oppressors. When any of
Jaime's men were captured, he conducted daredevil missions
to rescue them.
When Jaime heard about the GOE being formed to pursue
Basques, he smiled and said, 'Good. They've noticed.'
Jaime never asked himself if the risks he took had anything
to do with the cries of, 'Your father is a coward,' or if he
was trying to prove anything to himself and to others. It was
enough that he proved his bravery again and again, that he
was not afraid to risk his life for what he believed in.
Now, because one of his men had talked too freely, Jaime
found himself saddled with a nun.
It's ironic that her Church is on our side now. But it's much
too late, unless they can arrange a Second Coming and include
my mother and father and sisters, he thought bitterly.
They walked through the woods at night, the white moonlight
dappling the forest around them. They avoided the towns and
main roads, alertforany sign of danger. Jaime ignoredMegan.
He walked with Felix, talking about past adventures, and
Megan found herself intrigued. She had never known anyone
like Jaime Mir6. He was filled with such self-assurance.
 anyone can get me to Mendavia, Megan thought, this
man can.
There had been moments when Jaime had felt pity for the
sister, and even a reluctant admiration for the way she coped
on the arduous journey. He wondered how his other men
were getting along with their charges from God.
At least he had Amparo Jiron. At night Jaime found her
a great comfort.
She's as dedicated as I am, Jaime thought. She has even
more reason than I do to hate the government.
Amparo's entire family had been wiped out by the
Nationalist army. She was fiercely independent, and filled
with a deep passion.
At dawn they were nearing Salamanca, on the banks of the
Rio Tormes.
'Students come here from all over Spain,' Felix explained
to Megan, 'to attend the university here. It's probably the
best in all of Spain.'
Jaime was not listening. He was concentrating on his next
move. If I were the hunter, where would I set my trap?
He turned to Felix. 'We'll skip Salamanca. There's a
parador just outside town. We will stop there.'
--.. _,. 11 win me mainstream of
tourist traffic. Stone steps led to the lobby, which was
guarded by an ancient knight in armour.
As the group approached the entrance, Jaime said to the
two women, 'Wait here.'
He nodded to Felix Carpio and the two men disappeared. 'Where are they going?' Megan asked.
Amparo Jiron gave her a contemptuous look. 'Maybe they
went looking for your God.'
'I hope they find him,' Megan said evenly.
Ten minutes later the men were back. 'All clear,' Jaime told Amparo. 'You and the sister will
share a room. Felix will stay with me.' He handed her a key.
Amparo said petulantly, 'Querido, I want to stay with you,
not '
'Do as I say. Keep an eye on her.'
Amparo turned to Megan. 'Bueno. Come along. Sister.'
Megan followed Amparo up the stairs.
The room was one of a dozen set in a row along the
grey, bare corridor. Amparo unlocked the door and the two
women entered. The room was small and drab and sparsely
furnished, with wooden floors, stucco walls, a bed, a small
cot, a battered dressing-table and two chairs.
Megan looked around the room and exclaimed, 'It's
lovely.'
Amparo Jiron swung around in anger, thinking that Megan
was being sarcastic. 'Who the hell are you to complain
about-?'
'It's so large,' Megan went on.
Amparo looked at her for a moment, then laughed. Of
course it would seem large compared to the cells that the
sisters lived in.
Amparo started to get undressed.
Megan could not help staring at her. It was the first time
she had really looked at Amparo Jiron in the daylight. The
woman was beautiful, in an earthy way. She had red hair,
white skin, and was full-breasted, with a small waist and hips
that swayed as she moved.
214

mparu saw ner watcning. 'Sister - would you tell me
something? Why would anyone join a convent?'
It was a simple question to answer. 'What could be more
wonderful than to devote oneself to the glory of God?'
'Offhand, I could think of a thousand things.' Amparo
walked over to the bed and sat down. 'You can sleep on the
cot. From what I've heard about convents, your God doesn't
want you to be too comfortable.'
Megan smiled. 'It doesn't matter. I'm comfortable
inside.'
In their room across the corridor, Jaime Miro was stretching
out on the bed. Felix Carpio was trying to get settled on the
small cot. Both men were fully dressed. Jaime's gun was
under his pillow. Felix's gun was on the small, battered table
next to him.
'What do you think makes them do it?' Felix wondered
aloud.
'Do what, amigoT
'Lock themselves up in a convent all their lives like prisoners.'

Jaime Miro shrugged. 'Ask the sister. I wish to hell we
were travelling alone. I have a bad feeling about this.'
'Jaime, God will thank us for this good deed.'
'Do you really believe that? Don't make me laugh,'
Felix did not pursue the subject. It was not tactful to
discuss the Catholic Church with Jaime. The two men were
silent, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.
Felix Carpio was thinking: God put the sisters in our hands.
We must get them to a convent safely.
Jaime was thinking about Amparo. He wanted her badly
now. That damned nun. He started to pull up the covers
when he realized there was something he still had to do.
In the small, dark lobby downstairs, the manager sat quietly,
waiting until he was sure that the new guests were asleep.
215
nis nean was pounamg as he picked up the telephone and
dialled a number.
A lazy voice answered, 'Police Headquarters.'
The manager whispered into the telephone to his nephew
'Florian, I have Jaime Miro and three of his people here.
How would you like the honour of capturing them?'
had been a little girl kneeling at her bedside and her
father had stood beside her, ready to tuck her into bed.
Slowly, the words of the twenty-third Psalm started
coming.
"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh
me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the
still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the
paths of righteousness, for His name's sake . . .'
Memories came flooding back.
She and her father had owned the world. And he had been
so proud of her.
You were born under a lucky star, faccia del angelo.
And hearing that, Lucia had felt lucky and beautiful.
Nothing could ever hurt her. Was she not the beautiful
daughter of the great Angelo Carmine?
'. . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, I will fear no evil . . .'
The evil ones were the enemies of her father and brothers.
And she had made them pay.
'. . . For Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they
comfort me . . .'
Where was God when I needed comforting?
Thou prepares! a table before me in the presence of mine
enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth
over. . .'
She was speaking more slowly now, her voice a whisper.
What had happened, she wondered, to the little girl in the
white communion dress? The future had been so golden.
Somehow it had all gone wrong. Everything. I've lost my
father and my brothers and myself.
In the convent she had not thought about God. But now,
out here with this simple peasant . . .
Would you mind saying a prayer for us?
Lucia went on. 'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow
me all the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of
the Lord forever.'
Rubio was watching her, moved.
Thank you. Sister.'
218
Lucia nodded, unable to speak. What's the matter with
me? Lucia asked herself.
'Are you ready. Sister?'
She looked at Rubio Arzano and said, 'Yes. I'm ready.'
Five minutes later they were on their way.
They were caught in a sudden downpour and took shelter in
a deserted cabin. The rain beat against the roof and sides of
the cabin like angry fists.
'Do you think the storm will ever let up?'
Rubio smiled. 'It's not a real storm. Sister. It's what we
Basques call a sirimiri. It will stop as quickly as it started.
The earth is dry right now. It needs this rain.'
'Really?'
'Yes. I'm a farmer.'
It shows, Lucia thought.
'Forgive me for saying this. Sister, but you and I have a
lot in common.'
Lucia looked over at the country bumpkin and thought:
That will be the day. 'We do?'
'Yes. I truly believe that in many ways being on a farm
must be much like being in a convent.'
The connection eluded her. 'I don't understand.'
'Well, Sister, in a convent you think a lot about God and
His miracles. Is that not true?'
'Yes.'
'In a sense a farm is God. One is surrounded by creation
- all the things that grow from God's earth, whether it's
wheat or olives or grapes - everything comes from God,
does it not? These are all miracles, and you watch them
happen every day, and because you help them grow, you are
part of the miracle.'
Lucia had to smile at the enthusiasm in his voice.
Suddenly the rain stopped.
'We can move on now. Sister.'
219
'We will be coming to Rio Duero soon,' Rubio said. "The
Penafiel Falls is just ahead of us. We will go on to Aranda
de Duero and then Logrono, where we will meet the
others.'
You'll be going to those places, Lucia thought. And good
luck to you. I'll be in Switzerland, my friend.
They heard the sound of the Falls half an hour before
they reached them. The Penafiel Falls was a beautiful sight
cascading down into the swift-moving river. The roar of it
was almost deafening.
'I want to bathe,' Lucia said. It seemed years since she
had last had a bath.
Rubio Arzano stared at her. 'Here?'
No, you idiot, in Rome. 'Yes.'
'Be careful. The river is swollen because of the rain.'
'Don't worry.' She stood there, patiently waiting.
'Oh. I will go away while you undress.'
'Stay nearby,' Lucia said quickly. There were probably
wild animals in the woods.
As Lucia started to undress, Rubio hastily walked a few
yards away and turned his back.
'Don't go in too far. Sister,' he called. 'The river is treacherous.'

Lucia put down the wrapped cross where she could
keep an eye on it. The cool morning air felt wonderful on her naked body. When she had stripped completely, she
stepped into the water. It was cold and invigorating. She
turned and saw that Rubio was steadfastly looking in the
other direction, his back turned to her. She smiled to herself.
All the other men she had known would be feasting their
eyes.
She stepped in deeper, avoiding the rocks that were all
around, and splashed the water over herself, feeling the
rushing river tugging hard at her legs.
A few feet away a small tree was being swept downstream.
As Lucia turned to watch it, she suddenly lost her balance

and slipped, screaming. She fell hard, slamming her head
against a boulder.
Rubio turned and watched in horror as Lucia disappeared
downstream in the raging waters.
Chapter 23
At the police station in Salamanca, when Sergeant Florian
Santiago replaced the receiver, his hands were trembling.
 have Jaime Mir6 and three of his people here. How would you like the honour of capturing them?
The government had offered a large reward for the head
of Jaime Miro, and now the Basque outlaw was in his hands.
The reward money would change his whole life. He could
afford to send his children to a better school, he could buy
a washing machine for his wife and jewellery for his mistress.
Of course he would have to share some of the reward money
with his uncle. I'll give him twenty per cent, Santiago thought. Or maybe ten per cent.
He was well aware of Jaime Miro's reputation, and he had
no intention of risking his life trying to capture the terrorist. Let others face the danger and give me the reward.
He sat at his desk deciding the best way to handle the
situation. Colonel Acoca's name immediately sprang to his
mind. Everybody knew there was a blood vendetta between
the Colonel and the outlaw. Besides, the Colonel had the
whole GOE at his command. Yes, that was definitely the
way to proceed.
He picked up a telephone, and ten minutes later he was
speaking to the Colonel himself.
"This is Sergeant Florian Santiago calling from the police
station at Salamanca. I have tracked down Jaime Mir6.'
Colonel Ram6n Acoca fought to keep his voice even. 'Are
you certain of this?'
'Yes, Colonel. He is at the Parador Nacional Raimundo

de Borgon, just outside of town. He is spending the night.
My uncle is the manager. He telephoned me himself. There
is another man and two women with Mir6.'
'Your uncle is positive it is Mir6?'
'Yes, Colonel. He and the others are sleeping in the two
back rooms on the second floor of the inn.'
Colonel Acoca said, 'Listen to me very carefully. Sergeant.
I want you to go to the parador immediately and stand watch 'S outside to make certain none of them leaves. I should be
able to reach there in an hour. You are not to go inside.
And stay out of sight. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir. I will leave immediately.' He hesitated. 'Colonel,
about the reward money '
'When we catch Mir6, it's yours.'
'Thank you. Colonel. I am most '
'Go.'
'Yes, sir.'
Florian Santiago replaced the receiver. He was tempted
to call his mistress to tell her the exciting news, but that
could wait. He would surprise her later. Meanwhile, he had
a job to do.
He summoned one of the policemen on duty upstairs.
'Take over the desk. I have an errand to do. I'll be back
in a few hours.' And I'll come back a rich man, he thought. The first thing I'll buy will be a new car - a Seat. A blue one.
No, maybe it will be white.
Colonel Ram6n Acoca replaced the receiver and sat still,
letting his brain go to work. This time there would be no
slip-up. It was the final move in the chess game between
them. He would have to proceed very carefully. Mir6 would
have sentries alert for trouble.
Acoca called in his aide-de-camp.
'Yes, Colonel?'
'Pick out two dozen of your best marksmen. See that
they're armed with automatic weapons. We're leaving for
Salamanca in fifteen minutes.'
ies, sir.
There would be no escape for Mir6. The Colonel was
already planning the raid in his mind. The parador would be
completely surrounded by a cordon that would move in
quickly and quietly. A sneak attack before the butcher has a
chance to murder any more of my men. We'll kill them all in
their sleep.
Fifteen minutes later, his aide returned. 'We're ready to move. Colonel.'
Sergeant Santiago lost no time in getting to the parador. Even without the Colonel's warning, he would have had no
intention of going after the terrorists. But now, in obedience
to Acoca's orders, he stood in the shadows, twenty yards
away from the inn, where he had a good view of the front
door. There was a chill in the night air, but the thought of
the reward money kept Santiago warm. He wondered
whether the two women inside were pretty and whether they
were in bed with the men. Of one thing Santiago was certain:
in a few hours, they would all be dead.
The army truck moved into town quietly and drove towards
the parador.
Colonel Acoca flicked on a flashlight and looked at his
map, and when they were a mile from the inn, he said, 'Stop
here. We'll walk the rest of the way. Maintain silence.'
Florian Santiago was unaware of their approach until a
voice in his ear startled him with, 'Who are you?'
He turned and found himself facing Colonel Ramon
Acoca. My God, he's frightening-looking, Santiago thought.
'I am Sergeant Santiago, sir.'
'Has anyone left the inn?'
'No, sir. They're all inside, probably asleep by now.'
The Colonel turned to his aide. 'I want half our men to

form a perimeter around the hotel. If anyone tries to escape,
they are to shoot to kill. The others will come with me.
The fugitives are in the two back bedrooms upstairs. Let's
go-'
Santiago watched as the Colonel and his men entered
the front door of the parador, moving quietly. Santiago
wondered if there would be a lot of shooting. And if there
was, he wondered if his uncle might be killed in the crossfire.
That would be a pity. But on the other hand, there
would be no one he would have to share the reward money
with.
When Colonel Acoca and his men reached the top of the
stairs, he whispered, 'Take no chances. Open fire as soon as
you see them.'
His aide asked, 'Colonel, would you like me to go ahead
of you?'
'No.' He intended to have the pleasure of killing Jaime
Mir6 himself.
At the end of the corridor were the two rooms where Mir6
and his group were staying. Colonel Acoca silently motioned
six of his men to cover one door and the other six to cover
the other door.
'Now!' he screamed.
It was the moment he had been burning for. At his signal,
the soldiers kicked in both doors simultaneously and rushed
into the rooms, weapons ready. They stood there in the
middle of the empty rooms staring at the rumpled beds.
'Spread out. Hurry! Downstairs!' Acoca shrieked.
The soldiers raced through every room in the hotel, smashing
doors open, waking up startled guests. Jaime Mir6 and
the others were nowhere to be found. The Colonel stormed
downstairs to confront the hotel manager. There was no one
in the lobby.
'Hello,' he called out. 'Hello.' There was no response.
The coward was hiding.
One of the soldiers was staring at the floor behind the
desk. 'Colonel . . .'
Acoca strode over to his side and stared down at the floor.
... ,... unu g,t55u uuuy ui me manager was slumped
against the wall. A sign had been hung around his neck. It
read:
PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB.
Chapter 24
Rubio Arzano watched in horror as Lucia disappeared under
the rushing waters and was swept downstream. In a split
second, he turned to race along the river bank, leaping over
small logs and bushes. At the first bend of the river, he
caught a glimpse of Lucia's body coming towards him. Diving
in, he swam frantically to reach her, struggling against the
powerful current. It was almost impossible. He felt himself
being pulled away. Lucia was ten feet from him, but it seemed
like miles. He made one last heroic effort and grabbed her
arm, his fingers almost slipping away. He held her in a death
grip, as he began grappling his way to the safety of the shore.
When Rubio finally reached the river bank, he pulled
Lucia up on to the grass and he lay there, fighting for breath.
Lucia was unconscious and not breathing. Rubio turned her
over on her stomach, straddled her and began applying
pressure against her lungs. A minute went by, then two, and
just as he was beginning to despair, a stream of water gushed
out of her mouth and she groaned. Rubio uttered a prayer
of thanks.
He kept up the pressure, gentler now, until her heartbeat
was steady. She began to shiver from the cold. Rubio hurried
over to a clump of trees and pulled down handfuls of leaves.
He carried them over to her and started to dry her body with
them. He was wet and cold, and his clothes were soaked,
but he paid no attention. He had been panicky with fear that
Sister Lucia would die. Now, as he gently rubbed her naked
body with the dry leaves, unworthy thoughts came into his
mind.
sue nas the ooay of a goddess, f'orgive me, Lord, she  belongs to You, and I must not think these wicked H thoughts ... H
Lucia was gradually awakened by the gentle stroking of g
her body. She was on the beach with Ivo, and his soft tongue 
was moving down her body. Oh, yes, she thought. Oh, yes.  Don't stop, caro. She was aroused before she even opened 'S
her eyes.
When Lucia had fallen into the river, her last thought had
been that she was going to die. But she was alive, and she
found herself looking up at the man who had saved her.
Without even thinking, Lucia reached up and pulled Rubio
down to her. There was a look of shocked surprise on his
face. ..a8
'Sister -' he protested. 'We can't -' 
'Sh!'  'I,
Her lips were on his, fierce and hungry and demanding, '";
and her tongue was exploring his mouth. It was too much '
for Rubio. I
'Hurry,' Lucia whispered. 'Hurry.'
She watched as Rubio nervously stripped off his wet
clothes. He deserves a reward, she thought. So do I.
As Rubio moved hesitantly towards her, he said, 'Sister,
we shouldn't -'
Lucia was in no mood for conversation. She felt him
joining his body to hers in a timeless, mindless ritual, and
she gave herself up to the glorious sensations that flooded
her. It was all the sweeter because of her close brush with
death.
Rubio was a surprisingly good lover, both gentle and fierce
at the same time. He had a vulnerability that took Lucia
completely by surprise. And there was a look of such tenderness
in his eyes that Lucia felt a sudden lump in her throat.
 hope the big oaf isn't falling in love with me. He's so eager
to please me. When was the last time a man cared about
pleasing me? Lucia wondered. And she thought of her father.
And she wondered how he would have liked Rubio Arzano.
And then she wondered why she wondered whether her

father would have liked Rubio Arzano.  must be crazy. This
man is a farmer. I'm Lucia Carmine, the daughter of Angela Carmine. Rubio's life has nothing to do with my life. We were
thrown together by a stupid accident of fate.
Rubio was holding her and saying over and over, 'Lucia.
My Lucia.'
And the shining in his eyes told her everything he felt. He's so dear, she thought. And then: What is the matter with
me? Why am I even thinking about him like this? I'm running
away from the police and - She suddenly remembered the
gold cross and gasped. Oh, my God! How could I have
forgotten it even for a moment?
She sat up quickly. 'Rubio, I left a - a package on the
bank of the river back there. Would you bring it to me,
please? And my clothes?'
'Of course. I'll be right back.'
Lucia sat there waiting, frantic that something might have
happened to the cross. What if it was gone? What if someone
had come along and picked it up?
It was with an enormous feeling of relief that Lucia saw
Rubio returning with the wrapped cross under his arm.  mustn't let it out of my sight again, she thought. 'Thank you.'
Rubio handed Lucia her clothes. She looked up at him
and said softly, 'I won't need these right away.'
The sun on her naked skin made her feel lazy and warm,
and there was a wonderful comfort in Rubio's arms. It was
as though they had found a peaceful oasis and the dangers
they had been running away from seemed light years away.
'Tell me about your farm,' Lucia said idly.
His face lit up, and there was pride in his voice. 'It was a
small farm outside a little village near Bilbao. It was in my
family for generations.'
'What happened to it?'
His expression darkened. 'Because I am Basque, the
government in Madrid punished me with extra taxes. When
I refused to pay, they confiscated the farm. That was when
1 mei Jaime iviiro. i joined mm 10 ngni against the government
for what is right. I have a mother and two sisters, and
one day we will have our farm back, and I will run it again.'
Lucia thought of her father and two brothers locked away
in a prison for ever. 'Are you close to your family?'
Rubio smiled warmly. 'Of course. Families are our first
love, are they not?'
Yes, Lucia thought. But I will never see mine again.
'Tell me about your family, Lucia,' Rubio said. 'Before
you joined the convent, were you close to them?'
The conversation was taking a dangerous turn. What can
I tell him? My father is a mafioso. He and my two brothers
are in prison for murder. 'Yes - we are very close.'
'What does your father do?'
'He - he's a businessman.'
'Have you got brothers and sisters?'
'I have two brothers. They work for him.'
'Lucia, why did you enter the convent?'
Because the police are looking for me for murdering two
men. I've got to stop this conversation, Lucia thought. Aloud,
she said, 'I needed to get away.' That's close enough to the
truth.
'You felt the world was - was too much for you?'
'Something like that.'
'I have no right to say this, Lucia, but I am in love with
you.'
'Rubio '
'I want to marry you. In all my life, I have never said that
to another woman.'
There was something so touching and earnest about him. He doesn't know how to play games, she thought.  must be
careful not to hurt him. But the idea of Angela Carmine's
daughter being a farmer's wife! Lucia almost laughed aloud.
Rubio misunderstood the smile on Lucia's face. 'I will not
live in hiding for ever. The government will have to make
peace with us. Then I will return to my farm. Querida - I
want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. We will
have many children and the girls will all look like you . . .'

 can't let him go on like this, Lucia decided.  should stop
him now. But somehow she could not bring herself to do it.
She listened to Rubio paint romantic pictures of their life
together, and she found herself almost wishing it could
happen. She was so tired of running away. It would be
wonderful to find a haven where she could be safe, taken
care of by someone who loved her . . .  must be losing my
mind.
'Let's not talk about it now,' Lucia said. 'We should be
moving on.'
They travelled northeast, following the winding banks of the
Duero River, with its hilly countryside and lush green trees.
They stopped at the picturesque village of Villalba de Duero
at the foot of the mountains, and stopped to buy bread and
cheese and wine and had an idyllic picnic in a grassy meadow.
Lucia felt content at Rubio's side. There was a quiet
strength about him that seemed to give her strength. He's
not for me, but he's going to make some lucky woman very
happy, she thought.
When they had finished eating, Rubio said, 'The next town
is Aranda de Duero. It's a fairly large town. It would be best
if we skirted around it to avoid the GOE and the soldiers.'
It was the moment of truth, time to leave him. She had
been waiting for them to reach a large town. Rubio Arzano
and his farm were a dream, escaping to Switzerland was the
reality. Lucia knew how much she was going to hurt him,
and she could not bear to look into his eyes when she said,
'Rubio - I'd like us to go into town.'
He frowned. 'That could be dangerous, querida. The
soldiers '
'They won't be looking for us there.' She thought quickly.
'Besides, I - I need a change of clothes. I can't keep going
on in this.'
The idea of entering the town disturbed Rubio, but all he
said was, 'If that is what you wish.'
In the distance the walls and buildings of Aranda de Duero
.wwiiivJ iLiuic mem, nrc a nidii-maue mountain newn out
of the earth.
Rubio tried one more time. 'Lucia - you're sure you must
go into the town?'
'Yes. I'm sure.'
The two of them crossed the long bridge that led to the main
street, Avenida Castilla, and headed for the centre of town.
They passed a sugar factory and churches and poultry shops,
and the air was thick with their smells. Shops and blocks of
flats lined the avenue. They walked slowly, careful not to
draw attention to themselves. Finally, to her relief, Lucia
saw what she had been looking for - a sign that read: 'Casa
de Empenos' - a pawnshop. She said nothing.
They reached the village square, with its shops and markets
and bars, and they passed the Taverna Cueva, with its long
bar and wooden tables. There was a juke box inside, and
hanging from the oak beam ceiling were hams and strings of
garlic.
Lucia saw her opportunity. 'I'm thirsty, Rubio,' she said.
'Can we go in there?'
'Of course.'
Rubio took Lucia's arm and led her inside.
There were half a dozen men crowded around the bar.
Lucia and Rubio took a table in the corner.
'What would you like, queridaT
'Order a glass of wine for me, please. I'll be right back.
There's something I have to do.'
She rose and walked out into the street, leaving Rubio
staring after her, puzzled.
Outside, Lucia turned and hurried back to the Casa de
Empenos, clutching her tightly wrapped package. Across the
street she saw a door with a black sign in white lettering that
read, 'Policta'. She stared at it a moment, her heart skipping
a beat, then skirted it and entered the pawnshop.
A shrunken man with a large head stood behind the
counter, barely visible.

tfuenos ciias, senonw.
'Buenos di'as, senor. I have something I would like to sell.'
She was so nervous that she had to press her knees together
to keep them from shaking.
5i7'
Lucia unwrapped the gold cross and held it out. 'Would would
you be interested in buying this?'
The pawnbroker took it in his hands, and Lucia watched
the light that came into his eyes.
'May I ask where you acquired this?'
'It was left to me by an uncle who has just died.' Her
throat was so dry she could hardly speak.
The man fingered the cross, turning it over in his hands
slowly. 'How much are you asking for it?'
Her dream was coming to life. 'I want two hundred and
fifty thousand pesetas.'
He frowned and shook his head. 'No. It is worth only a
hundred thousand pesetas.'
'I would sell my body first.'
'Perhaps I could go as high as one hundred and fifty
thousand pesetas.'
'I would rather melt it down and let the gold run in the
streets.'
'Two hundred thousand pesetas. That is my last offer.'
Lucia took the gold cross from him. 'You are robbing me
blind, but I will accept it.'
She could see the excitement in his face. 'Bueno, senorita.' He reached for the cross.
Lucia pulled it back. 'There is a condition.'
'What condition would that be, senoritaT
'My passport was stolen. I need a new one in order to get
out of the country to visit my stricken aunt.'
He was studying her now, his eyes wise. He nodded. 'I
see.'
'If you can help me with my problem, then the cross is
yours.'
He sighed. 'Passports are difficult to come by, senorita. The authorities are very strict.'
Lucia watched him, saying nothing.
'I don't see how I can help you.'
Thank you, anyway, senor.' She started towards the door.
He let her reach it before he said, 'Momentito.'
Lucia stopped.
'Something has just occurred to me. I have a cousin who
is sometimes involved in delicate matters like this. He is a distant cousin, you understand.'
'I understand.'
'I could speak to him. When do you require this passport?'
'Today.'
The large head nodded slowly. 'And if I can do this thing,
we have a deal?'
'When I get my passport.'
'Agreed. Come back after eight o'clock and my cousin will
be here. He will arrange to take the necessary photograph
and insert it in the passport.'
Lucia could feel her heart pounding. 'Thank you, senor.'
'Would you like to leave the cross here for safekeeping?'
'It will be safe with me.'
'Eight o'clock, then. Hasta luego.'
She left the shop. Outside she carefully avoided the police
station and headed back to the taverna, where Rubio was
waiting. Her footsteps slowed. She had finally succeeded.
With the money from the cross, she would be able to get to
Switzerland and freedom. She should have been happy.
Instead she felt strangely depressed.
What's wrong with ? I'm on my way. Rubio will get over
me soon enough. He'll find someone else.
She remembered the look in his eyes when he said,  want
to marry you. In all my life, I have never said that to another
woman.
Damn the man, she thought. Well, he's not my problem.
Outside the taverna she paused and took a deep breath.
She forced a smile and walked inside to join him.

Chapter 25
The news media were in a feeding frenzy. The headlines
tumbled over one another. There was the attack on the
convent; the wholesale arrest of the nuns for sheltering
terrorists; the escape of four nuns; the murder of half a
dozen soldiers by one of the nuns before she was shot and
killed. The international news wires were on fire.
Reporters had arrived in Madrid from all parts of the
world and Prime Minister Martinez, in an effort to cool
things down, had agreed to a press conference. They were
gathered in his office, almost four dozen reporters, from all
over the world. Colonel Ramon Acoca and Colonel Fal
Sostelo were at the Prime Minister's side. The Prime Minister
had seen that afternoon's headline in the London Times:
TERRORISTS AND NUNS EVADE SPAIN'S ARMY
AND POLICE.
A reporter from Paris Match was asking, 'Mr Prime Minister,
do you have any idea where the missing nuns are now?'
Prime Minister Leopoldo Martinez replied, 'Colonel
Acoca is in charge of the search operation. I will let him
answer that.'
Colonel Acoca said, 'We have reason to believe that they
are in the hands of the Basque terrorists. I'm also sorry to
say there is evidence to indicate that the nuns are collaborating
with the terrorists.'
The reporters were scribbling feverishly.
'What about the shooting of Sister Teresa and the
soldiers?'
'We have information that Sister Teresa was working with
Jaime Miro. Under the pretext of helping us find Miro, she
went into an army camp and murdered half a dozen soldiers
before she could be stopped. I can assure you that the army
and the GOE are bending every effort to bring the criminals
to justice.'
'And the nuns who were arrested and taken to Madrid?'
'They are being interrogated,' Colonel Acoca said.
The Prime Minister was anxious to end the meeting. It
was difficult for him to keep his temper in check. The
failure to locate the nuns or capture the terrorists made his
government - and himself - look inept and foolish, and the
press was taking full advantage of the situation.
'Can you tell us anything about the backgrounds of the
four nuns who escaped. Prime Minister?' asked a reporter
from OGGI.
'I'm sorry. I can give you no further information. I repeat,
ladies and gentlemen, the government is doing everything in
its power to find the nuns.'
'Prime Minister, there have been reports about the brutality
of the attack on the convent at Avila. Would you respond
to that?'
It was a sore point with Martinez because it was true.
Colonel Acoca had grossly exceeded his authority. But he
would deal with the Colonel later. This was the time for a
show of unity.
He turned to the Colonel and said smoothly, 'Colonel
Acoca can respond to that.'
Colonel Acoca said, 'I, too, have heard those unfounded
reports. The facts are simple. We received reliable information
that the terrorist Jaime Miro and a dozen of his men
were hiding in the Abbey Cistercian and that they were
heavily armed. By the time we raided the abbey, they had
fled.'
'Colonel, we heard that some of your men molested '
'That is an outrageous accusation.'
Prime Minister Martinez said, 'Thank you, ladies and
gentlemen. That will be all. You will be informed of any
further developments.'

The press conference was over. When the reporters left,
the Prime Minister turned to Colonel Acoca and Colonel
Sostelo. 'They're making us look like savages in the eyes of
the world.'
Colonel Acoca had not the slightest interest in the Prime
Minister's opinion. What concerned him was a telephone
call he had received in the middle of the night.
Chapter 26
I'm going to kill her, Ricardo Mellado thought.  could
strangle her with my bare hands, throw her off the mountain,
or simply shoot her. No, I think strangling her would give me
the greatest pleasure.
Sister Graciela was the most exasperating human being he
had ever encountered. She was impossible. In the beginning
when Jaime Miro had assigned him to escort her, Ricardo
Mellado had been pleased. True, she was a nun, but she was
also the most ravishing beauty he had ever laid eyes on. He
was determined to get to know her, to find out why she had
decided to lock up all that exquisite beauty behind convent
walls for the rest of her life. Under the skirt and blouse she
was wearing, he could discern the rich, nubile curves of a
woman. It's going to be a very interesting trip, Ricardo
decided.
But things had taken a totally unexpected turn. The problem
was that Sister Graciela refused to speak to him. She
had not said one word since their journey began, and what
completely baffled Ricardo was that she did not appear to
be angry or frightened or upset. Not at all. She simply
retreated into some remote part of herself and appeared
totally uninterested in him and in what was going on around
her. They had travelled at a good pace, walking along hot,
dusty side roads, past fields of wheat, rippling golden in
the sunlight, and fields.-of barley, oats and grapevines.
They skirted the little villages along the way and went by
fields of sunflowers with their wide yellow faces following
the sun.
238

When they crossed the Moros River, Ricardo asked,
Would you like to rest awhile. Sister?'
Silence.
They were approaching Segovia before heading northeast
to the snow-capped Guadarrama mountains. Ricardo kept
trying to make polite conversation, but it was completely
hopeless.
'We will be at Segovia soon. Sister.'
No reaction.
What could I have done to offend her? 'Are you hungry,
Sister?'
Nothing.
It was as though he were not there. He had never felt so
frustrated in his life. Perhaps the woman is retarded, he
thought. That must be the answer. God gave her an unearthly
beauty and then cursed her with a feeble mind. But he did
not believe it.
When they reached the outskirts of Segovia, Ricardo noted
that the town was crowded, which meant that the guardia
civil would be even more alert than usual.
As they approached the Plaza del Conde de Cheste,
Ricardo saw soldiers of the guardia civil strolling in their
direction. He whispered, 'Hold my hand. Sister. We must
look like two lovers out for a stroll.'
She ignored him.
Jesus, Ricardo thought. Maybe she's deaf and dumb.
He reached over and took her hand in his, and her sudden
fierce resistance surprised him. She pulled away as if she had
been stung.
The guards were getting closer.
Ricardo leaned towards Graciela. 'You mustn't be angry,'
he said loudly. 'My sister feels the same way. After dinner
last night when she put the children to bed she was saying
that it would be much better if we men didn't sit around
together smoking smelly cigars and telling stories while you
women went off by yourselves. I'll bet '
239
1 ne guards nad passed. Kicardo turned to look at Graciela.
Her face was expressionless. Mentally, Ricardo began to
curse Jaime, wishing he had given him one of the other nuns.
This one was made of stone, with no chisel hard enough to
penetrate that cold exterior.
In all modesty, Ricardo Mellado knew that he was attractive
to women. Enough of them had told him so. He was light
complexioned, tall and well-built, with a patrician nose, an
intelligent face and perfect white teeth. He came from one
of the most prominent Basque families. His father was a
banker from the Basque country in the north and had seen
to it that Ricardo was well educated. He had gone to the
University of Salamanca, and his father had looked forward to his son joining him in the family business.
When Ricardo returned home, he dutifully went to work
at the bank, but within a short period of time he became
involved with the problems of his people. He began attending
meetings and rallies and protests against the government and
he soon became one of the leaders of ETA. His father
learned about his son's activities and called him into his
huge, panelled office and lectured him.
'I am a Basque, too, Ricardo, but I am also a businessman.
We cannot foul our own nest by encouraging a revolution in
the country where we make our living.'
'None of us is trying to overthrow the government. Father.
All we're demanding is freedom. The government's oppression
of the Basques and the Catalans is intolerable.'
The senior Mellado leaned back in his chair and studied
his son. 'My good friend the Mayor had a quiet word with
me yesterday. He suggested it would be to your benefit not
to attend any more rallies. It would be better if you expended
your energy on bank business.'
'Father '
'Listen to me, Ricardo. When I was young, my blood ran
hot, too. But there are other ways to cool it off. You're
engaged to a lovely girl. I hope you will have many children.'
He waved his hand at their surroundings. 'And you have
much to look forward to in your future.'

'But don't you see ?'
I see more clearly than you, my son. Your prospective
father-in-law is also unhappy with your activities. I would
not want anything to happen that would prevent the wedding.
Do I make myself clear?'
Yes, Father.'
The following Saturday Ricardo Mellado was arrested
leading a Basque rally in an auditorium in Barcelona. He
refused to let his father bail him out unless he would also
bail out the other demonstrators who had been arrested. His
father refused. Ricardo's career was ended and so was his
engagement. That had been five years earlier. Five years
of danger and narrow escapes. Five years filled with the
excitement of fighting for a cause he passionately believed
in. Now he was on the run, a fugitive from the police,
escorting a retarded and mute nun across Spain.
'We'll go this way,' he said to Sister Graciela. He was
careful not to touch her arm.
They turned off the main street on to St Valentin. On the
corner was a shop that sold musical instruments.
Ricardo said, 'I have an idea. Wait here. Sister. I'll be
right back.'
He entered the shop and walked up to a young clerk
standing behind the counter.
'Buenos dias. May I help you?'
'Yes. I would like to buy two guitars.'
The clerk smiled. 'Ah, you are in luck. We've just got in
some Ramirezes. They are the best.'
'Perhaps something of not such a high quality. My friend
and I are only amateurs.'
'As you wish, senor. What about these?' The clerk walked
over to a section of the store where a dozen guitars were on
display. 'I can let you have two Konos for five thousand
pesetas apiece.'
'I think not.' Ricardo selected two inexpensive guitars.
'These will do nicely,' he said.
A few moments later Ricardo walked back out to the
street, carrying the two guitars. He had half hoped Sister
Graciela would be gone. She was standing there, patiently
waiting.
Ricardo opened the strap on one of the guitars and held
out the instrument to her. 'Here, Sister. Put this over your
shoulder.'
She stared at him.
'It isn't necessary for you to play it,' Ricardo said patiently.
'It is only for effect.'
He shoved the guitar at her, and she reluctantly took it.
They walked along the winding streets of Segovia under the
enormous viaduct built by the Romans centuries ago.
Ricardo decided to try again. 'You see this viaduct. Sister?
There is no cement between the stones. Legend has it that
it was built by the devil two thousand years ago, stone piled
on stone, with nothing but the devil's magic to hold it
together.' He looked at her for some reaction.
Nothing.
To hell with her, Ricardo Mellado thought. I give up.
The members of the guardia civil were everywhere, and
whenever they passed them, Ricardo would pretend to be in
earnest conversation with Graciela, always careful to avoid
body contact.
The numbers of police and soldiers seemed to be increasing,
but Ricardo felt reasonably safe. They would be looking
for a nun in robes and a group of Jaime Miro's men, but
they would have no reason to suspect two young tourists
alone, carrying guitars.
Ricardo was feeling hungry, and even though Sister
Graciela had said nothing, he was sure that she must be
hungry also. They passed a small bodega.
'We'll stop in here and have a bite to eat. Sister.'
She stood there, watching him.
He sighed. 'Right. Suit yourself.'
He walked inside the small cafe. A moment later Graciela
followed him.
When they were seated, Ricardo asked, 'What would you
like to order. Sister?'
There was no response. She was infuriating.
Ricardo said to the waitress, 'Two gazpachos and two
helpings of chorizos.'
When the soup and sausages came, Graciela ate what was
put in front of her. He noticed that she ate automatically,
without enjoyment, as though fulfilling some duty. The men
seated at other tables were staring at her, and Ricardo could
not blame them. (would take the young Goya to capture her
beauty, he thought.
In spite of Graciela's sullen behaviour, Ricardo felt a lump
in his throat every time he looked at her, and he cursed
himself for a romantic fool. She was an enigma, buried
behind some kind of impenetrable wall. Ricardo Mellado
had known dozens of beautiful women, but none of them
had ever affected him this way. There was something almost
mystical about her beauty. The irony was that he had absolutely
no idea what lay behind the breath-taking fasade. Was
she intelligent or stupid? Interesting or dull? Cold-blooded
or passionate?  hope she's stupid, dull, and cold-blooded, Ricardo thought, or I won't be able to stand losing her. As
though I could ever have her. She belongs to God. He looked
away, afraid that she might sense what he was thinking.
When it was time to leave, Ricardo paid the bill and they
rose. During the journey he had noticed that Sister Graciela
was limping slightly. I'll have to get us some kind of transportation, he thought. We still have a long way to go.
They started down the street, and at the far end of town,
in the Manzanares el Real, they came upon a gypsy caravan.
There were four colourfully decorated wagons in the caravan,
pulled by horses. In the back of the wagons were women
and children, all dressed in gypsy costumes.
Ricardo said, 'Wait here. Sister. I'm going to try to get us
a lift.'
He approached the driver of the front wagon, a burly man
in full gypsy regalia, including wearing earrings.
'Buenos tardes, sehor. I would consider it a great kindness
if you could give my fiancee and me a lift.'
The gypsy looked over to where Graciela was standing.
'It is possible. Where are you headed?'
9'-'-'U''

"I can take you as far as Cerezo.'
"That would be of great value. Thank you.'
He shook the gypsy's hand and put money in it.
'Get in the last wagon.'
'Gracias.'
Ricardo returned to where Graciela was waiting. "The
gypsies are going to take us as far as Cerezo de Abajo,' he
told her. 'We'll go in the last wagon.'
For an instant, he was sure she was going to refuse. She
hesitated, then started towards the wagon.
There were half a dozen gypsies inside the wagon and they
made room for Ricardo and Graciela. As they climbed
aboard, Ricardo started to help the sister up, but the moment
he touched her arm, she pushed him away with a fierceness
that took him by surprise. All right, to hell with you. He
caught a glimpse of Graciela's bare leg as she lifted herself
on to the wagon, and he could not help thinking: She has the
most beautiful legs I've ever seen.
They made themselves as comfortable as possible on
the hard wooden floor of the wagon and the long journey
began. Graciela sat in a corner, her eyes closed and her
lips moving in prayer. Ricardo could not take his eyes off
her.
As the day wore on, the sun became a hot furnace, beating
down on them, baking the earth, and the sky was a deep,
cloudless blue. From time to time as the wagon crossed the
plains, huge birds soared overhead. Buitre leonado, Ricardo
thought. The lion-coloured griffon vultures.
Late in the afternoon the gypsy caravan came to a stop.
The leader approached their wagon.
'This is as far as we can take you. We're headed for
Vinuelas.'
Wrong direction. 'This is fine,' Ricardo assured him.
'Thank you.'
He started to reach out a hand for Graciela and quickly
thought better of it.
Ricardo turned to the leader of the gypsies. 'I would

consioer it a Kindness it you would sell some food to my
fiancee and me.'
The chief turned to one of the women and said something
in a foreign tongue, and a few moments later two packages
of food were handed to Ricardo.
'Muchas gracias.' He pulled out some money.
The gypsy chief studied him for a moment. 'You and the
sister have already paid for the food.'
You and the sister. So he knew. Yet Ricardo felt no sense
of danger. The gypsies were as oppressed by the government
as were the Basques and Catalans.
'VayanconDios.'
Ricardo stood there watching the caravan move out of
sight. He turned to Graciela. She was watching him, silent,
impassive.
'You won't have to put up with my company much longer,'
Ricardo assured her. 'In two days we will be in Logrono.
You'll meet your friends there and you'll be on your way to
the convent at Mendavia.'
No reaction. He could have been talking to a stone wall.
 am talking to a stone wall.
They had been dropped off in a peaceful valley rich with
orchards of apple, pear and fig trees. A few feet away from
them was the Tormes River, filled with fat trout. In the past,
Ricardo had fished there often. It would have been an ideal
place to stay and rest, but there was a long road to travel.
He turned to study the Guadarrama mountains, the range
that lay ahead of them. Ricardo knew the area well. There
were several trails that wound through the length of the
mountains. Cabras, wild mountain goats, and wolves roamed
the passes, and Ricardo would have chosen that if he had
been travelling alone. But with Sister Graciela at his side,
he decided on the safest.
'Well, we'd better get started,' Ricardo said. 'We have a
long climb ahead of us.'
He had no intention of missing the rendezvous with the
others in Logrono. Let the silent sister become someone
else's headache.
Sister Graciela stood there waiting for Ricardo to lead the
way. He turned and began to climb. As they started up the
steep mountain path, Graciela slipped on some loose pebbles
and Ricardo instinctively reached out to help her. She jerked
away from his hand and righted herself. Fine, he thought
angrily. Break your neck.
They kept moving upwards, heading towards the majestic
peak high above. The trail started to get steeper and narrower
and the chilled air became thinner. They were heading
east, passing through a forest of pine trees. Ahead of them
lay a village that was a haven for skiers and mountain
climbers. There would be hot food and warmth and rest
there, Ricardo knew. It was tempting. Too dangerous, he
decided. It would be a perfect place for Acoca to set a trap.
He turned to Sister Graciela. 'We'll skirt the village. Can
you go on a little farther before we rest?'
She looked at him and, as her answer turned and began
to walk.
The unnecessary rudeness offended him, and he thought:
Thank heavens at Logrono I will be rid of her. Why in the
name of God do I have mixed feelings about that?
They skirted the village, walking along the edge of the forest,
and soon they were on the path again, climbing upwards. It
was getting more difficult to breathe, and the path grew
steeper. As they rounded a bend, they came upon an empty
eagle's nest. They skirted another mountain village, quiet
and peaceful in the afternoon sun, and rested outside it,
stopping at a mountain stream where they drank the icy
water.
By dusk they had reached a rugged area that was famous
for its caves. After that the trail would start downwards.
From now on, Ricardo thought, it will be easy. The worst
is over.
He heard a faint buzzing sound overhead. He looked up,

searching for the source of it. An army plane appeared
suddenly over the top of the mountain, flying towards them.
'Down!' Ricardo shouted. 'Down!'
Graciela kept walking. The plane circled and began to
swoop lower.
'Get down!' Ricardo yelled again.
He jumped on her and pushed her down to the ground,
his body on top of hers. What happened next took him
completely by surprise. Without any warning, Graciela began
yelling hysterically, fighting him. She was kicking him in
the groin, clawing at his face, trying to rip at his eyes. But
the most astonishing thing was what she was saying. She was
screaming out a string of obscenities that sent Ricardo into
shock, a verbal torrent of filth that assailed him. He could
not believe that these words were coming from that beautiful,
innocent mouth.
He tried to grab her hands to protect himself from her
raking nails. She was like a wildcat under him.
'Stop it!' he shouted. 'I'm not going to hurt you. It's an
army scout plane. They've seen us. We've got to get out of
here.'
He held her down until her frantic struggling finally ceased.
Strange, strangled sounds were coming from her, and he
realized that she was sobbing. Ricardo, with all his experience
with women, was completely baffled. He was straddled
atop a hysterical nun who had the vocabulary of a truck
driver, and he had no notion of what to do next.
He made his voice as calm and as reasonable as possible.
'Sister, we have to find a place to hide quickly. The plane
will have reported us and in a few hours there'll be soldiers
swarming all over the place. If you ever want to reach the
convent, you'll get up and come with me.'
He waited a moment, then carefully raised himself off her
and sat alongside her until the sobs subsided. Finally Graciela
sat up. Her face was smudged from the dirt, her hair was
tousled, her eyes were red from crying, and yet her beauty
made Ricardo ache.
He said quietly, 'I'm sorry I frightened you. I don't seem
io unow now 10 oenave wnn you. i promise 10 try 10 oe more
careful in the future.'
She looked up at him with her luminous black eyes filled
with tears, and Ricardo had no idea what she was thinking.
He sighed and rose. She followed suit.
'There are dozens of caves around here,' Ricardo told her. 'We'll hide in one of them for the night. By dawn we can be
on our way again.'
His face was raw and bleeding where she had clawed at
him, but in spite of what had happened, he felt a defencelessness
about her, a fragility that touched him, that made him
want to say something to reassure her. But now he was the
one who was silent.
He could not think of a single thing to say.
The Cuevas del Aguila have been carved out by aeons of
winds and floods and earthquakes, and they come in an
infinite variety. Some of the caves are mere indentations in
the mountain rocks, others are endless tunnels never explored
by man.
A mile from where they had spotted the plane, Ricardo
found a cave that was to his satisfaction. The low entrance was almost covered by underbrush.
'Stay here,' he said.
He ducked into the entrance and walked into the cave. It was
dark inside, with only faint light spilling through the opening.
There was no telling what the length of the cave was, but it did
not matter, for there was no reason to explore it.
He went back outside to Graciela.
'It looks safe,' Ricardo said. 'Wait inside, please. I'll
gather some branches to cover up the mouth of the cave. I'll
be back in a few minutes.'
He watched Graciela as she went silently into the cave,
and Ricardo wondered whether she would be there when he
returned. He realized that he desperately wanted her to be.

Inside the cave, Graciela watched him leave. She sank to
the cold ground in despair.
I can't stand any more, she thought. Where areyou, Jesus?
Please release me from this hell.
And it had been hell. From the beginning Graciela had
been fighting the attraction she felt towards Ricardo. She
thought of the Moor. I'm afraid of myself. Of the evil in me.
I want this man, and I must not.
And so she had built a barrier of silence between them,
the silence she had lived with in the convent. But now,
without the discipline of the convent, without the Instrument
and prayers, without the crutch of the rigid routine, Graciela
found herself unable to banish her inner darkness. She had
spent years fighting the satanic urges of her body, fighting
the remembered sounds, the moans and sighs that came from
her mother's bed.
The Moor was looking at her naked body.
You're just a child. Get your clothes on and get out of
here . . .
I'm a woman.
She had spent so many years trying to forget the feel of
the Moor inside her, trying to push out of her mind the
rhythm of their bodies moving together, filling her, giving
her a feeling of being alive at last.
Her mother screaming. You bitch!
And the doctor saying: Our chief surgeon decided to sew
you up himself. He said you were too beautiful to have scars.
All the years of praying had been to purge herself of guilt.
And they had failed.
The first time Graciela looked at Ricardo Mellado, the
past had come flooding back. He was handsome and gentle
and kind. When Graciela was a little girl, she had dreamed
of someone like Ricardo. And when he was near her, when
he touched her, her body was instantly aflame and she was
filled with a deep shame.  am the bride of Christ, and my
thoughts are a betrayal of God. I belong to You, Jesus. Please
help me now. Cleanse my mind of impure thoughts.
Graciela had tried desperately to keep the wall of silence

between them, a wall that no one but God could penetrate,
a wall to keep out the devil. But did she want to keep the
devil out? When Ricardo had jumped on her and pushed her
to the ground, it was the Moor making love to her, and the
friar trying to rape her, and in her surging panic, it was them
she was fighting off. No, she admitted to herself, that's not
the truth. It was her own deep desire she was fighting. She
was torn between her spirit and the cravings of her flesh. 
must not give in. I must get back to the convent. He'll be back
any minute. What should 1 do?
Graciela heard a low mewing from the back of the cave
and quickly turned. There were four green eyes staring at
her in the dark, moving towards her. Graciela's heart began
to beat faster.
Two baby wolf cubs trotted up to her on soft, padded feet,
rubbing their heads against her. She smiled and began to
stroke them gently. There was a sudden rustle from the
entrance of the cave. Ricardo is back, she thought.
The next instant, an enormous grey wolf was flying at her
throat.
250
Chapter 27
Lucia Carmine paused outside the tavema in Aranda de
Duero and took a deep breath. Through the window she
could see Rubio Arzano seated inside, waiting for her.
 must not let him suspect, she thought. At eight o'clock
I'll have a new passport and be on my way to Switzerland.
She forced a smile and entered the taverna. Rubio grinned
in relief when he saw her, and as he rose, the look in his
eyes gave Lucia a pang.
'I was very worried, querida. When you were gone for so
long, I was afraid something terrible had happened to you.'
Lucia put her hand over his. 'Nothing happened.' Except
that I've bought my way to freedom. I'll be out of the country
tomorrow.
Rubio sat there looking into her eyes, holding her hand,
and there was such an intense feeling of love coming from
him that Lucia felt uneasy. Doesn't he know it could never
work? No. Because I haven't the courage to tell him. He's not
in love with me. He's in love with the woman he thinks I am.
He'll be much better off without me.
She turned away and looked around the room for the first
time. It was filled with locals. Most of them seemed to be
staring at the two strangers.
One of the young men in the cafe started to sing and others
joined in. A man walked over to the table where Lucia and
Rubio were sitting.
'You're not singing, senor. Join us.'
Rubio shook his head. 'No.'
'What's the problem, amigoT
251
Lucia's face, and explained. 'It is one of the old songs praising
Franco.'
Other men began to gather around the table. It was obvious
that they had been drinking.
'You were against Franco, senorT
Lucia saw Rubio's fists clench. Oh, God, not now. He
mustn't start anything that will attract attention.
She said to him wamingly, 'Rubio . . .'
And, thank God, he understood.
He looked up at the young men and said pleasantly, 'I
have nothing against Franco. I just don't know the words.'
'Ah. Then we'll all hum the song together.'
They stood there waiting for Rubio to refuse.
Rubio glanced at Lucia. 'Bueno.'
The men began to sing again, and Rubio hummed loudly.
Lucia could feel the tension in him as he held himself under
control. He's doing this for me.
When the song ended, a man slapped Rubio on the back.
'Not bad, old man. Not bad at all.'
Rubio sat there silently willing them to go away.
One of the men saw the package in Lucia's lap.
'What are you hiding there, queridaT
His companion said, 'I'll bet she's got something better
than that up her skirt.'
The men laughed.
'Why don't you pull your panties down and show us what
you've got there?'
Rubio sprang to his feet and grabbed one of the men by
the throat. He punched him so hard that he flew across the
room, breaking a table.
'No!' Lucia screamed. 'Don't!'
But it was too late. In an instant it became a free-for-all,
with everybody eagerly joining in. A wine bottle shattered
the glass behind the bar. Chairs and tables were knocked
over as men went flying through the air, screaming curses.
Rubio knocked down two men and a third ran towards him
and hit him in the stomach. He gave a grunt of pain.

'Rubio! Let's get out of here!' Lucia screamed.
He nodded. He was clutching his stomach. They pushed
their way through the melee and found themselves outside
on the street.
'We've got to get away,' Lucia said.
You will have your passport tonight. Come back after eight
o'clock.
She had to find a place to hide until then. Damn him! Why
couldn't he have controlled himself?
They turned down Calle Santa Maria, and the noises of
the fight behind them gradually diminished. Two streets
away they came to a large church, the Iglesia Santa Maria.
Lucia ran up the steps, opened the door and peered inside.
The church was deserted.
'We'll be safe in here,' she said.
They walked into the dimness of the church. Rubio was
still holding his stomach.
'We can rest for a while.'
'Yes.'
Rubio let his hand fall away from his stomach, and blood
came gushing out.
Lucia felt sick. 'My God! What happened?'
'A knife,' Rubio whispered. 'He used a knife.' He slumped
to the floor.
Lucia knelt at his side, panicky. 'Don't move.'
She removed his shirt and pressed it against his stomach,
trying to stem the flow of blood. Rubio's face was chalk
white.
'You shouldn't have fought them, you idiot,' Lucia said
angrily.
His voice was a slurred whisper. 'I could not let them
speak to you that way.'
 could not let them speak to you that way.
Lucia was touched as she had never been touched before.
She stood there staring at him and thought: How many times
has this man risked his life for me?
'I won't let you die,' she said fiercely. 'I'm not going to let
you die.' She stood up abruptly. 'I'll be right back.'
n>, luuiiu waii aiiu ivtcis 111 me pnc!>i s (-nanging room
in the rear of the church and she bathed Rubio's wound. His
face was hot to the touch, and his body was soaked in
perspiration. Lucia put cold towels on his forehead. Rubio's
eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep. Lucia cradled
his head in her arms and talked to him. It did not matter
what she said. She was talking to keep him alive, forcing him
to hold on to the thin thread of his existence. She babbled
on, afraid to stop for even a second.
'We'll work your farm together, Rubio. I want to meet
your mother and sisters. Do you think they'll like me? I want
them to, so much. And I'm a good worker, caro. You'll see.
I've never worked on a farm, but I'll learn. We'll make it
the best farm in all of Spain.'
She spent the afternoon talking to him, bathing his fevered
body, changing the dressing. The bleeding had almost
stopped.
'You see, caro? You're getting better. You're going to be
well. I told you. You and I will have such a wonderful life
together, Rubio. Only please don't die. Please!'
She found that she was weeping.
She watched the afternoon shadows paint the church walls
through the stained-glass windows and slowly fade away.
The setting sun dimmed the sky and finally it was dark. Lucia
changed Rubio's bandage again, and so close that it startled
her, the church bell began to ring. She held her breath and
counted. One . . . three . . . five . . . seven . . . eight. Eight
o'clock. It was calling her, telling her it was time to return
to the Casa de Empenos. Time to escape from this nightmare
and save herself.
She knelt down beside Rubio and felt his forehead again.
He was burning with fever. His body was soaked with perspiration
and his breathing was shallow and rasping. She could
see no sign of bleeding, but that could mean that he was
bleeding internally. God damn it. Save yourself, Lucia.
'Rubio . . . darling . . .'
254

He opened his eyes, only half conscious.
"I have to leave for a little while,' Lucia said.
He gripped her hand. 'Please . . .'
'It's all right,' she whispered. 'I'll be back.'
She rose and took a long last look at him.  can't help him, she thought.
Lucia picked up the gold cross and turned and hurried out
the church door, her eyes filled with tears. She stumbled out
on to the street and began to walk rapidly, heading towards
the pawnshop. The man and his cousin would be there
waiting for her with her passport to freedom. In the morning
when church services begin, they'll find Rubio and get him to
a doctor. They'll treat him and he'll get well. Except that he
will not live through the night, Lucia thought. Well, that's not
my problem.
The Casa de Empenos was just ahead. She was only a few
minutes late. She could see that the lights were on in the
shop. The men were waiting for her.
She began walking faster, then running. She crossed the
street and burst through the open door.
Inside the police station, a uniformed officer was behind
the desk. He looked up as Lucia appeared.
'I need you,' Lucia cried. 'A man has been stabbed. He
may be dying.'
The policeman did not ask questions. He picked up a
telephone and spoke into it. When he put the phone down,
he said, 'Someone will be with you in a moment.'
Two detectives appeared almost immediately.
'Someone has been stabbed, senoritaT
'Yes. Please follow me. Hurry!'
'We'll pick up the doctor on the way,' one of the detectives
said. "Then you can take us to your friend.'
They picked up the doctor at his home and Lucia hurried
the group to the church.
When they entered the church the doctor walked over to
the still figure on the floor and knelt beside him.
A moment later he looked up. 'He's alive, but barely. I'll
call for an ambulance.'
255
FR1;I've done all I can. Now let me get away safely and I'll never
bother you again.
One of the detectives had been staring at Lucia all the way
to the church. She looked so familiar. And then he suddenly
realized why. She bore an uncanny resemblance to the picture
in the Red, Top Priority Circulation from Interpol.
The detective whispered something to his companion and
now they both turned to study her. The two of them walked
over to Lucia.
'Excuse me, senorita. Would you be good enough to come
back to the station with us? We have a few questions we
wish to ask you.'

Chapter 28
Ricardo Mellado was a short distance away from the mountain
cave when suddenly he saw a large grey wolf trotting
towards the entrance. He froze for a single instant, then
moved as he had never moved in his life. He raced towards
the mouth of the cave, and burst through the entrance.
Sister!'
In the dim light he saw the huge, grey shape leaping
towards Graciela. Instinctively, he reached for his pistol and
fired. The wolf let out a yelp of pain and turned towards
Ricardo. He felt the sharp fangs of the wounded beast tearing
at his clothing and smelled the animal's fetid breath. The
wolf was stronger than he had expected, heavily muscled and
powerful. Ricardo tried to fight free, but it was impossible.
He felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. He was
only dimly aware of Graciela coming towards him and he
called, 'Get away!'
He saw Graciela's hand raised above his head, and as it
started to descend towards him, he glimpsed a huge rock in
it and he thought: She's going to kill me.
An instant later the rock swept past him and smashed into
the wolfs skull. There was a last savage gasp and the animal
lay still on the ground. Ricardo was huddled on the floor,
fighting for breath. Graciela knelt at his side.
'Are you all right?' Her voice was trembling with concern.
He managed to nod. He heard a whimpering sound behind
him and turned to see the cubs huddled in a corner.
He lay there, gathering his strength. Then he rose with
difficulty.
--- -.--... ...vumciiii an, snaKen.
Ricardo stood there, taking deep, lung-filling breaths until
his head cleared. The physical and emotional shock of their
close brush with death had taken a severe toll on both of
them.
'Let's get away from this place. They may come looking
for us here.'
Graciela shuddered at the reminder of how much danger  they were still in. aft
a
They travelled along the steep mountain path for the next
hour, and when they finally reached a small stream, Ricardo
said, 'Let's stop here.'
With no bandages or antiseptic, they cleaned the scratches
as best they could, bathing them in the clean, cold spring
water. Ricardo's arm was so stiff that he had trouble moving
it. To his surprise, Graciela said, 'Let me do it.'
He was even more surprised by the gentleness with which
she did the task.
Without warning, Graciela began trembling violently in
an aftermath of shock.
'It's all right,' Ricardo said. 'It's all over.'
She could not stop shaking.
Ricardo took her in his arms and said soothingly, 'Ssh. It's
dead. There's nothing more to fear.'
He was holding her closely, and he could feel her thighs
pressing against his body and her soft lips were on his and
she was holding him close, whispering things he could not
understand.
It was as though he had known Graciela always. And yet he
knew nothing about her. Except that she's God's miracle, he
thought.
Graciela was also thinking of God. Thank you, God,
for this joy. Thank you for finally letting me feel what love
is.

It riiio dccii an ca(-iciichi;c mr wnicn sne nad no words,
beyond anything she had ever imagined.
Ricardo was watching her, and her beauty still took his breath away. She belongs to me now, Ricardo thought. She
doesn't have to go back to a convent. We'll get married and
have beautiful children - strong sons. 'I love you,' he said. 'I'll never let you go, Graciela.'
Ricardo '
'Darling, I want to marry you. Will you marry me?'
And without even thinking, Graciela said, 'Yes. Oh, yes.'
And she was in his arms again, and she thought: This is
what I wanted and thought I would never have.
Ricardo was saying, 'We'll live in France for a while,
where we'll be safe. This fight will be over soon, and we'll
return to Spain.'
She knew that she would go anywhere with this man, and
that if there was danger, she wanted to share it with him.
They talked of so many things. Ricardo told her how he
had first become involved with Jaime Miro, and of the
broken engagement and of his father's displeasure. But when
Ricardo waited for Graciela to speak about her past, she was
silent.
She looked at him and thought:  can't tell him. He'll hate
me. 'Hold me,' Graciela begged.
They slept and woke up at dawn to watch the sun creeping
over the ridge of the mountain, bathing the hills in a warm
red glow.
Ricardo said, 'We'll be safer hiding out here today. We'll
start travelling when it gets dark.'
They ate from the sack of food that the gypsies had given
them, and planned their future.
'There are wonderful opportunities here in Spain,' Ricardo
said. 'Or there will be when we have peace. I have dozens
of ideas. We'll own our own business. We'll buy a beautiful
home and raise handsome sons.'
'And beautiful daughters.'
'And beautiful daughters.' He smiled. 'I never knew I
could be so happy.'
.....  111 i-ugruno in two days and meet the others'
Ricardo said. He took her hand. 'We'll tell them you won't
be returning to the convent.'
'I wonder if they'll understand.' Then she laughed. 'I don't
really care. God understands. I loved my life in the convent'
she said softly, 'but -' She leaned over and kissed him. 
Ricardo said, 'I have so much to make up to you.'
She was puzzled. 'I don't understand.'
'Those years you were in the convent, shut away from t
world. Tell me, darling - does it bother you that you've lo
all those years?'
How could she make him see? 'Ricardo - I didn't lo;
anything. Have I really missed so much?'
He thought about it, not knowing where to begin. He
realized that events he thought of as important would not
really have mattered to the nuns in their isolation. Wars,
like the Arab-Israeli War? Assassinations of political leaders
such as the American President John Kennedy and his
brother Robert Kennedy? And of Martin Luther King, Jr.,
the great black leader of the non-violence movement for
black equality? The Berlin Wall? Famines? Floods? Earthquakes?
Strikes and demonstrations protesting at man's inhumanity
to man?
In the end, how deeply would any of these things have
affected her personal life? Or the personal lives of the
majority of people on this earth?
Finally, Ricardo said, 'In one sense, you haven't missed
much. But in another sense, yes. Something important has
been going on. Life. While you were shut aw.ay all those
years, babies have been born and have grown up; lovers
have married; people have suffered and been happy; people
have died, and all of us out here were a part of that, a part
of the living.'
'And you think I never was?' Graciela asked. And the
words came tumbling out before she could stop them. 'I was
once a part of that life you are talking about, and it was a
living hell. My mother was a whore, and every night I had
260

init;!-"1 ""-"- ""-- "<" oJuiiccii years oia i gave my
, Jv (o a man because I was attracted to him and jealous of my mother and what she was doing.' The words were coming
. y torrent now. 'I would have become a whore, too, if I
had stayed there to be part of the life you think is so precious.
No I don't believe I ran away from anything. I ran to something. I found a safe world that is peaceful and good.'
Ricardo was staring at her, horrified. 'I - I'm sorry,' he
said. 'I didn't mean to '
She was sobbing now, and he took her in his arms and
said, 'Sh! It's all right. That's over. You were a child. I love
you.'
And it was as though Ricardo had given her absolution.
She had told him about the awful things she had done in the
past, and still he forgave her. And - wonder of wonders loved
her.
He held her very close. 'There is a poem by Federico
GarcfaLorca:
The night does not wish to come
so that you cannot come
and I cannot go.
But you will come
with your tongue burned by the salt rain.
The day does not wish to come
so that you cannot come
and I cannot come
and I cannot go.
But I will come
through the muddy waters of darkness.
Neither night nor day wishes to come
so that I may die for you and you die
for me.'
And suddenly she thought of the soldiers who were hunting
them and she wondered if she and her beloved Ricardo were
going to live long enough to have a future together.
261
Chapter 29
There was a link missing, a cjue to the past, and Alan Tucke
was determined to find it. There had been no mention in the
newspaper of a baby being abandoned, but it should be easy
enough to find out the date it was brought to the orphanage.!
If the date coincided with the time of the plane crash, E)len
Scott would have some interesting explaining to do. She
couldn 't be that stupid, Alan Tucker thought. To risk pretending
that the Scott heiress was dead, and then leave her on the
doorstep of a farmhouse. Risky. Very risky. On the other
hand, look at the reward: Scott Industries. Yes, she could
have pulled it off. If it is a skeleton in her closet, it's a live
one, and it's going to cost her plenty.
Tucker knew that he had to be very careful. He had no illusion about whom he was dealing with. He was confronting
raw power. He knew he had to have all the evidence in handj
before he made his move. 
His first stop was to return to Father Berrendo.
'Father -1 would like to speak to the farmer and his wifea
where Patricia - Megan was dropped off.' H
The old priest smiled. 'I hope your conversation with them
will not take place for a long time.' 
Tucker stared at him. 'You mean ?'
'They died many years ago.'
Damn. But there had to be other avenues to explore. 'You 
said the baby was taken to a hospital with pneumonia?'
'Yes.'
There would be records there. 'Which hospital was it?'
'It burned down in nineteen sixty-one. There is a new

nospiit" '"-' "c !>aw '"e iook of dismay on his visitor's
face. 'You must remember, senor, that the information you
are seeking goes back twenty-eight years. Many things have
changed.'
Nothing's going to stop me, Alan Tucker thought. Not
when I've come this close. There must be a file on her somewhere.

There was still one place left to investigate. The orphanage.

He was reporting daily now to Ellen Scott.
'Keep me informed of every development. I want to know
the moment the girl is found.'
And Alan Tucker wondered about the urgency in her
voice.
She seems in an awful big rush over something that happened
all those years ago. Why? Well, that can wait. First I
have to get the proof I'm looking for.
That morning Alan Tucker visited the orphanage. He looked
around the dreary community room where a noisy, chattering
group of children were playing, and he thought: This is where
the heiress to the Scott dynasty grew up, while that bitch in
New York kept all the money and all the power. Well, she's
going to share some of that with yours truly. Yes, sir, we'll
make a great team, Ellen Scott and me.
A young woman came up to him and said, 'May I help
you, senorT
He smiled. Yeah. You can help me to about a billion
dollars. 'I'd like to talk to whoever's in charge here.' "That would be Senora Angeles.'
'Is she here?'
'', senor. I will take you to her.'
He followed the woman through the main hall to a small
office at the rear of the building.
'Go in, please.'
- -._.. - --. w.isu me unice. me woman seated at the
desk was in her eighties. She had once been a very large
woman, but her frame had shrunk, so she looked as though
her body had at one time belonged to someone else.
Her hair was grey and thin, but her eyes were bright and
clear.
'Good morning, senor. May I help you? You have come
to adopt one of our lovely children? We have so many
delightful ones to choose from.' ?1
'No, sehora. I have come to inquire about a child who was
left here many years ago.'
Mercedes Angeles frowned. 'I do not understand.' '
'A baby girl was brought in here -' He pretended to
consult a piece of paper - 'in October of nineteen forty-
eight.'
'That is so long ago. She would not be here now. You see,
we have a rule, senor, that at the age of fifteen '
'No, sehora. I know she's not here. What I wish to know
is the exact date she was brought here.'
'I'm afraid I cannot help you, senor.'
His heart sank.
'You see, so many children are brought in here. Unless
you know her name -'
Patricia Scott, he thought. Aloud, he said, 'Megan. Her
name is Megan.'
Mercedes Angeles' face lit up. 'No one could forget that
child. She was a devil, and everyone adored her. Do you
know that one day she -'
Alan Tucker had no time for anecdotes. His instincts told
him how close he was to getting hold of a piece of the Scott
fortune. And this gabby old woman was the key to it. I must
be patient with her. 'Senora Angeles - I don't have much
time. Would you have that date in your files?'
'Of course, senor. We are commanded by the state to keep
very accurate records.'
Tucker's heart lifted.  should have brought a camera to
take a picture of the file. Never mind. I'll have it photocopied., 'Could I see that file, senoraT i
264

She frowned. "I don't know. Our records are confidential
and '
Of course,' Tucker said smoothly, 'and I certainly respect
that. You said you were fond of little Megan, and I know you'd want to do anything you could to help her. Well, that's
why I'm here. I have some good news for her.'
'And for this you need the date she was brought in here?'
He said glibly, 'That's just so I'll have the proof that she's
the person I think she is. Her father died and left her a small
inheritance, and I want to make sure she gets it.'
The woman nodded wisely. 'I see.'
Tucker pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. 'And to show
my appreciation for the trouble I've put you to, I'd like to
contribute a hundred dollars to your orphanage.'
She was looking at the roll of bills, an uncertain expression
on her face.
He peeled off another bill. 'Two hundred.'
She frowned.
'All right. Five hundred.'
Mercedes Angeles beamed. "That is very generous of you, senor. I will go and get the file.'
I've done it, he thought jubilantly. Jesus Christ, I've done
it! She stole Scott Industries for herself. If it hadn't been for
me, she would have gotten away with it.
When he confronted Ellen Scott with his evidence there
was no way she could deny it. The plane crash happened on
1 October. Megan was in the hospital for ten days. So she
would have been brought into the orphanage around 11
October.
Mercedes Angeles returned to the office, holding a file in
her hands. 'I found it,' she said proudly.
It was all Alan Tucker could do to keep from grabbing it
out of her hands. 'May I look at it?' he asked politely.
'Certainly. You have been so generous.' She frowned. 'I
hope you will not mention this to anyone. I should not be
doing this at all.'
'It will be our secret, senora.'
She handed him the file.
265
He iook a deep breath and opened it. At the top it said- Megan. Baby Girl. Parents unknown.' And then the datef But there was some mistake. J
'It says here that Megan was brought in here on 14 Jun
1948.'
'Ssenor.'
'That's impossible!' He was almost screaming. The pi
crash happened on I October.
There was a puzzled expression on her face. 'Impossiblel senary I do not understand.'
'Who - who keeps these records?'
'I do. When a child is left here, I put down the date and
whatever information is given to me.'
His dream was collapsing. 'Couldn't you have made a
mistake? About the date, I mean - couldn't it have beer
October the eleventh?'
'Senor,' she said indignantly. 'I know the difference between June the fourteenth and October the eleventh.'
It was over. He had built a dream on too flimsy a foundation.
So Patricia Scott had really died in the plane crash.
It was a coincidence that Ellen Scott was searching for a girl
who had been born around the same time.
Alan Tucker rose heavily and said, 'Thank you, senora.'
'De nada, senor.'
She watched him leave. He was such a nice man. And so
generous. His five hundred dollars would buy many things
for the orphanage. So would the hundred thousand dollar
cheque sent by the kind lady who had telephoned from New
York. October the eleventh was certainly a lucky day for our,
orphanage. Thank you. Lord.
Alan Tucker was reporting.
'Still no hard news, Mrs Scott. They're rumoured to
heading north. As far as I know, the girl is safe.'
The tone of his voice has completely changed, Ellen Scot
thought. The threat is gone. So he's visited the orphanage!

ue-s hack to being an employee. Well. after he finds Patricia,
that will change, too.
Report in tomorrow.'
Yes, Mrs Scott.'
Chapter 30
i
'Preserve me, Oh God, for in Thee I take refuge. Thou art
my Lord; I have no good apart from Thee. I love Thee, 0
Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer . . .' 
Sister Megan glanced up to see Felix Carpio watching he
a concerned expression on his face. l
She's really frightened, he thought. 
Ever since they had started on their journey, he had seei
Sister Megan's deep anxiety. Of course. It's only natural. She'si
been locked up in a convent for God only knows how manyi, years, and now she's suddenly thrown out into a strange, terrify ing world. We'II have to be very gentle with the poor girl. 
Sister Megan was indeed frightened. She had been praying 
hard ever since leaving the convent. 
Forgive me. Lord, for I love the excitement of what is{
happening to me, and I know that is wicked of me. 
But no matter how hard Sister Megan prayed, she could
not help thinking.  don't remember when I've had such a
good time. It was the most amazing adventure she had ever
had. In the orphanage she had often planned daring escapes,
but that was child's play. This was the real thing. She was in n
the hands of terrorists, and they were being pursued by the 
police and the army. But instead of being terrified. Sister 
Megan felt strangely exhilarated, al
I
After travelling all night they stopped at dawn. Megan and
Amparo Jiron stood by as Jaime Miro and Felix Carpic
huddled over a map.

It's four miles to Medina del Campo,' Jaime said. 'Let's
void it. There's a permanent army garrison stationed there.
We'll keep heading north-east to Valladolid. We should
reach it by early afternoon.' Easily, Sister Megan thought happily.
It had been a long and gruelling night without rest, but
Meean felt wonderful. Jaime was deliberately pushing the
eroup, but Megan understood what he was doing. He was
testing her, waiting for her to crack. Well, he's in for a
surprise, she thought.
As a matter of fact, Jaime Miro found himself intrigued
by Sister Megan. Her behaviour was not at all what he would
have expected of a nun. She was miles away from her
convent, travelling through strange territory, being hunted,
and she seemed to be actually enjoying it. What kind of nun
is she? Jaime Miro wondered.
Amparo Jiron was less impressed. I'll be glad to be rid of
her, she thought. She stayed close to Jaime, letting the nun
walk with Felix Carpio.
The countryside was wild and beautiful, caressed by the
soft fragrance of the summer wind. They passed old villages,
some of them deserted and forlorn, and saw an ancient
abandoned castle high on a hill.
Amparo seemed to Megan like a wild animal - gliding
effortlessly over hills and valleys, never seeming to
tire.
When finally hours later Valladolid loomed up in the
distance, Jaime called a halt.
Jaime turned to Felix. 'Everything is arranged?'
'Yes.'
Megan wondered exactly what had been arranged. She
found out very quickly.
Tomas is instructed to contact us at the bullring.'
'What time does the bank close?'
'Five o'clock. There will be plenty of time.'
Jaime nodded. 'And today there should be a fat payroll.'

Good Lord, they're going to rob a bank, Megan thought.
FR1;ii was a nine more excuemeni man sne nad Bargained for.
'What about a car?' Amparo was asking.
'No problem,' Jaime assured her.
They're going to steal one, Megan thought. God isn't going
to like this.
When the group reached the outskirts of Valladolid, Jaime
warned, 'Stay with the crowds. Today is bullfight day and
there will be thousands of people. Let's not get separated.'
Jaime Mir6 had been right about the crowds. Megan had
never seen so many people. The streets were swarming with
pedestrians and cars and motorcycles, for the bullfight had
drawn not only tourists, but citizens from all the neighbouring
towns. Even the children on the street were playing at
bullfighting.
. Megan was fascinated by the crowds and the noise and the
bustle around her. She looked into the faces of passers-by and
wondered what their lives were like. Soon enough I'll be back
in the convent where I won't be allowed to look at anyone's face
again. I might as well take advantage of this while I can.
The pavements were filled with vendors displaying
trinkets, religious medals and crosses, and everywhere was
the pungent smell of fritters frying in boiling oil.
Megan suddenly realized how hungry she was.
It was Felix who said, 'Jaime, we're all hungry. Let's try
some of those fritters.'
Felix bought four of them and handed one to Megan. Try
this. Sister. You'll like it.'
It was delicious. For so many of her years, food was not
meant to be enjoyed, but to sustain the body for the glory
of the Lord. This one's for me, Megan thought irreverently.
'The arena is this way,' Jaime said.
They followed the crowds past the park in the middle of
town to the Plaza Poinente, which flowed into the Plaza
de Toros. The arena itself was inside an enormous adobe
structure, three storeys high. There were four ticket windows
at the entrance. Signs on the left said, 'Sol', and on the right,

.cQnbra'. Sun or shade. There were hundreds of people landing in queues waiting to purchase tickets.
Wait here,' Jaime ordered.
They watched him as he walked over to where half a dozen
touts were hawking tickets.
Megan turned to Felix. 'Are we going to watch a bullfight?'
Yes, but don't worry. Sister,' Felix reassured her. 'You
will find it exciting.'
Worry? Megan was thrilled by the idea. At the orphanage,
one of her fantasies had been that her father had been a great torero, and Megan had read every book on bullfighting
that she could get her hands on.
Felix was saying, 'The real bullfights are held in Madrid
and Barcelona. The bullfight here will be by novilleros, instead of professionals. They are amateurs. They have not
been granted the alternativa.
Megan knew that the alternativa was the accolade given
only to the top-ranked matadors.
The ones we will see today fight in rented costumes instead
of the gold-encrusted suit of lights, against bulls with filed,
dangerous horns that the professionals refuse to fight.'
'Why do they do it?'
Felix Carpio shrugged. 'Mas cornadas da el hambre. Hunger is more painful than horns.'
Jaime returned, holding four tickets. 'We're all set,' Jaime
said. 'Let's go in.'
Megan felt a growing sense of excitement.
As they approached the entrance to the huge arena, they
passed a poster plastered to the wall. Megan stopped and
stared at it.
'Look!'
There was a picture of Jaime Mir6, and under it:
WANTED FOR MURDER
JAIME MIR6
ONE MILLION PESETAS REWARD
FOR HIS CAPTURE
DEAD OR ALIVE
- ..- .. ravening wnn, the terrorist who
held her life in his hands.
Jaime was studying the picture. 'Not a bad likeness.' He
ripped off the poster, folded it and put it in his pocket.
What good will that do? Amparo wondered. They must
have posted hundreds of them.
Jaime grinned. 'This particular one is going to bring us a
fortune, querida.'
What a strange remark, Megan thought. She could not help
admiring his coolness. There was an air of solid competence
about Jaime Miro that Megan found reassuring. The soldiers
will never catch him, she thought. ' 'Let's go inside.' 
There were twelve widely spaced entrances to the building, j
The red iron doors had been flung open, each one numbered. I
Inside the entrance there were puestos selling cola and beer, 
and next to them small toilet cubicles. In the stands, each I
section and seat were numbered. The tiers of stone benches I
made a complete circle, and in the centre was the large arena 
covered with sand. There were commercial signs every1
where: BANCO CENTRAL . . . BOUTIQUE CAL- J
ZADOS . . . SCHWEPPES . . . RADIO POPULAR . . . 
Jaime had purchased tickets on the shady side and as they I
sat down on the stone benches, Megan looked around in 
wonder. It was not at all as she had imagined it. When she  was a young girl, she had seen romantic colour photographs
of the bullring in Madrid, huge and elaborate. This was
a makeshift ring. The tribunas were rapidly filling up with
spectators.
A trumpet sounded. The bullfight began.
Megan leaned forward in her seat, her eyes wide. A huge 
bull charged into the ring and a matador stepped out from 
behind a small wooden barrier at the side of the ring andl
began teasing the animal. '
'The picadors will be next,' Megan said excitedly.
Jaime Mir6 looked at her in wonder. He had been concerned
that the bullfight would make her ill and that she

,.. ..ii.o.-i oiiciiiiuii id mem. instead, she seemed to be
having a wonderful time. Strange.
A picador was approaching the bull, riding a horse covered
with a heavy blanket. The bull lowered its head and charged
at the horse, and as it buried its horns in the blanket, the
picador drove an eight foot pica into the bull's shoulder.
Megan was watching, fascinated. 'He's doing that to
weaken the bull's neck muscles,' she explained, remembering
the well-loved books she had read all those years
ago.
Felix Carpio blinked in surprise. 'That's right. Sister.'
Megan watched as the pairs of colourfully decorated
banderillas were slammed into the bull's shoulders.
Now it was the matador's turn. He stepped into the ring
holding at his side a red cape with a sword inside it. The bull
turned and began to charge.
Megan was getting more excited. 'He will make his passes
now,' she said. 'First the pose veronica, then the media
veronica, and last the rebolera.'
Jaime could contain his curiosity no longer. 'Sister-where
did you learn all this?'
Without thinking, Megan said, 'My father was a bullfighter.
Watch!'
The action was so swift that Megan could barely follow
it. The maddened bull kept charging at the matador, and
each time he neared him, the matador swung his red cape
to the side and the bull followed the cape. Megan was
concerned.
'What happens if the bullfighter gets hurt?'
Jaime shrugged. 'In a place like this, the town barber will
take him over to the barn and sew him up.'
The bull charged again, and this time the matador leapt
out of the way. The crowd booed.
Felix Carpio said apologetically, 'I am sorry this is not a
better fight. Sister. You should see the great ones. I have
seen Manolete and el Cordobes and Ordonez. They made
bullfighting a spectacle never to be forgotten.'
'I have read about them,' Megan said.
' I
.-_..--, ....... uu ever neard the wonderful story i
about Manolete?'
'Which story?'
'At one time, the story goes, Manolete was just another
bullfighter, no better and no worse than a hundred others.
He was engaged to a beautiful young girl, but one day when
Manolete was in the ring a bull gored him in the groin and
the doctor patched him up and told him that he would no
longer be able to have children. Manolete loved his fiancee
so much that he didn't tell her, because he was afraid she
wouldn't marry him. They married and a few months later
she proudly told Manolete that she was going to have a baby.
Well, of course he knew that it wasn't his baby, and he left
her. The heartbroken girl killed herself. Manolete reacted
like a madman. He had no more desire to live, so he went
into the bullring and did things that no matador had ever
done before. He kept risking his life, hoping to be killed,
and he became the greatest matador in the world. Two years
later he fell in love again and married the young lady. A few
months after the wedding she came to him and proudly
announced that she was going to have his baby. And that's ,
when Manolete discovered that the doctor had been wrong.' 
Megan said, 'How awful.' a
Jaime laughed aloud. 'That's an interesting story. I wonder
if there is any truth to it.'
'I would like to think so,' Felix said. 
Amparo was listening, her face impassive. She had 
watched Jaime's growing interest in the nun with resentment. 
The sister had better watch her step. I
Aproned food vendors were moving up and down the aisles I
calling out their wares. One of them approached the row I
where Jaime and the others were seated. I
1 Empanadas,' he called out. 'Empanadas calientes.'
Jaime raised a hand. 'Aqui.'
The vendor skilfully tossed a wrapped package across the
crowd into Jaime's hands. Jaime handed ten pesetas to the
man next to him to be passed to the vendor. Megan watched
as Jaime lowered the wrapped empanada to his lap and
carefully opened it. Inside the wrapping was a piece of paper.
Jaime read it, then read it again, and Megan saw his jaw
tighten.
Jaime slipped the paper into his pocket. 'We're leaving,'
he said curtly. 'One at a time.' He turned to Amparo. 'You
first. We'll meet at the gate.'
Wordlessly, Amparo got up and made her way across to
the aisle.
Jaime nodded to Felix, and Felix rose and followed
Amparo.
'What is happening?' Megan asked. 'Is something wrong?'
'We're leaving for Logrono.' He rose. 'Watch me. Sister.
If I'm not stopped, go to the gate.'
Megan watched, tense, as Jaime made his way to the aisle
and started towards the exit. No one seemed to pay any
attention to him. When Jaime had disappeared from sight,
Megan rose and started to leave. There was a roar from the
crowd and she turned to look back at the bullring. A young
matador was lying on the ground being gored by the savage
bull. Blood was pouring on to the sand. Megan closed her
eyes and offered up a silent prayer: Oh, blessed Jesus, have
mercy on this man. He shall not die, but he shall live. The
Lord has chastened him sorely, but he has not given him over
to death. Amen. She opened her eyes, turned and hurried
out.
Jaime, Amparo and Felix were waiting for her at the
entrance.
'Let's move,' Jaime said.
They started walking.
'What's wrong?' Felix asked Jaime.
'The soldiers shot Tomas,' Jaime said tersely. 'He's dead.
And the police have Rubio. He was stabbed in a bar fight.'
Megan crossed herself. 'What's happened to Sister Teresa
and Sister Lucia?' she asked anxiously.
'I don't know.' Jaime turned to the others. 'We must
hurry.' He looked at his watch. 'The bank should be busy.'
--,----_,_- ..-..f.. mi, > >-ha auggcsicu. HSgOingi
to be dangerous for just the two of us to hold up the bank
now.'
Megan listened to what he was saying and thought: TAaj won't stop him. She was right.
The three of them were headed for the huge car-park
behind the arena. When Megan caught up with them, Felix
was examining a blue Seat sedan.
This should do,' Felix said.
He fumbled with the lock on the door for a moment,
opened it and put his head inside. He crouched down under
the wheel, and a moment later the engine started.
'Get in,' Jaime told them.
Megan stood there, uncertainly. 'You're stealing a car?'
'For Christ's sake,' Amparo hissed. 'Stop acting like a nun
and get into the car.'
The two men were in the front seat, with Jaime at the
wheel. Amparo scrambled into the back.
'Are you coming or not?' Jaime demanded.
Megan took a deep breath and got into the car next to
Amparo. They started off. Megan closed her eyes. Dear
Lord, where are You leading me?
'If it makes you feel any better. Sister,' Jaime said, 'we're
not stealing this car. We're confiscating it in the name of the
Basque army.'
Megan started to say something, then stopped. There was
nothing she could say that would make him change his mind.
She sat there in silence as Jaime drove towards the centre of
town.
He's going to rob a bank, Megan thought, and in the eyes
of God, I'll be as guilty as he is. She crossed herself and
began silently to pray.
The Banco de Bilbao is on the ground floor of a nine-storey
apartment building on the Calle de Cervantes at the Plaza
de Circular.
When the car pulled up in front of the building, Jaime said

to helix, 'Keep the engine running. If there's any trouble,
take off and meet the others in Logrono.'
Felix stared at him in surprise. 'What are you talking
about? You're not going in there alone? You can't. The odds
are too great, Jaime. It's too dangerous'
Jaime slapped him on the shoulder. 'If they get hurt, they
get hurt,' he said with a grin. He stepped out of the car.
They watched as Jaime walked into a leather goods shop
next door to the bank. A few minutes later he emerged
carrying an attache case. He nodded to the group in the car
and entered the bank.
Megan could hardly breathe. She began to pray:
Prayer is a calling.
Prayer is a listening.
Prayer is a dwelling.
Prayer is a presence.
Prayer is a lamp
aflame with Jesus.
I am calm and filled with peace.
She was not calm and filled with peace.
Jaime Miro walked through two sets of doors that led to the
marble lobby of the bank. Inside the entrance, mounted high
on the wall, he noted a security camera. He gave it a casual
glance, then looked the room over. Behind the counters a
staircase led to a second floor, where bank officers were
working at desks. It was near closing time and the bank
was filled with customers eager to finish transacting their
business. There were queues of people in front of the three
tellers' cages, and Jaime noticed that several of the customers
were carrying packages.
Jaime stepped into a queue and patiently waited his turn.
When he reached the teller's cage, he smiled pleasantly
and said,''Buenos tardes.'
'Buenos tardes, senor. What can we do for you today?'
Jaime leaned against the window and pulled out the folded
wciiiicu pusici. nc iidnucu n lu me iciier. woulU you lane
a look at this, please?'
The teller smiled. 'Certainly, senor.'
He unfolded it, and as he saw what it was, his eyes
widened. He looked up at Jaime, and panic was in his eyes.
'It's a nice likeness, isn't it?' Jaime said softly. 'As you can
tell from that, I have killed many people, so one more
really won't make a difference to me. Do I make myself
understood?'
'P-perfectly, senor. P-perfectly. I have a family. I beg of
you '
'I respect families, so I will tell you what I want you to do
to save your children's father.' Jaime pushed the attache
case towards the teller. 'I want you to fill this for me. I want
you to do it quickly and quietly. If you truly believe that the
money is more important than your life, then go ahead and
raise the alarm.'
The teller shook his head. 'No, no, no.'
He began to pull money out of the cash drawer and stuffj it into the attache case. His hands were trembling.
When the attache case was full, the cashier said, 'There
you are, senor. I - I promise you I won't raise any alarm.'
'That's very wise of you,' Jaime said. 'I'll tell you why, amigo.' He turned around and pointed to a middle-aged
woman standing near the end of the line, carrying a package
wrapped in brown paper. 'Do you see that woman? She is
one of us. There is a bomb in that package. If the alarm
should sound, she will set off the bomb instantly.'
The cashier turned even paler. 'No, please!'
'You will wait until ten minutes after she leaves the bank
before you make a move,' Jaime warned.
'On my children's life,' the teller whispered.
'Buenos tardes.'
Jaime took the attache case and moved towards the door.
He felt the cashier's eyes riveted on him. I
Jaime stopped at the side of the woman with the package. 
'I must compliment you,' Jaime said. 'That is a mostJ
becoming dress you are wearing.' '

She Diusneo. wny inanK you, senor - gracias.
'De nada."
Jaime turned to nod to the cashier, then strolled out of
the bank. It would be at least fifteen minutes before the
woman finished her business and left. By that time, he and
the others would be long gone.
As Jaime came out of the bank and walked towards the
car, Megan almost fainted with relief.
Felix Carpio grinned. The bastard got away with it.' He
turned to Megan. 'I beg your pardon. Sister.'
Megan had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. He did it, she thought. And all by himself. Wait until I tell
the sisters what happened. And then she remembered. She
could never tell this to anyone. When she went back to the
convent, there would be only silence for the rest of her life.
It gave her an odd feeling.
Jaime said to Felix, 'Move over, amigo. I'll drive.' He
tossed the briefcase into the back seat.
'Everything went well?' Amparo asked.
Jaime laughed. 'Couldn't have gone better. I must remember
to thank Colonel Acoca for his calling card.'
The car started down the street. At the first corner, Calle
de Tudela, Jaime made a left turn. Suddenly, appearing out
of nowhere, a policeman moved in front of the car and held
out a hand signalling him to stop. Jaime stepped on the
brake. Megan's heart began to pound.
The policeman walked over to the car.
Jaime asked calmly, 'What's the problem, officer?'
'The problem, senor, is that you are driving the wrong way
down a one-way street. Unless you can prove you are legally
blind, you are in trouble.' He pointed to the sign at the entrance. "The street is clearly marked. Motorists are expected to respect
a sign like that. That is the reason it has been placed there.'
Jaime said apologetically, 'A thousand pardons. My
friends and I were in such a serious discussion that I did not
see the sign.'
The policeman was leaning into the driver's window. He was studying Jaime, a puzzled expression on his face.
.  ..... .. ., f,w,u aa lu ici me sec your registration,
please.'
'Of course,' Jaime said.
He reached down for the revolver which was under his
jacket. Felix was ready to spring into action. Megan held her
breath.
Jaime pretended to be searching his pockets. 'I know I
have it here somewhere.'
At that moment from across the Plaza came a loud scream
and the policeman turned to look. A man on the street corner was beating a woman, hitting her about the head and
shoulders with his fists. 
'Help!' she cried. 'Help me! He's killing me!' j
The policeman hesitated for only an instant. 'Wait here,';
he commanded. 
He raced back down the street towards the man and 
woman. ;
Jaime put the car into gear and slammed down on the
accelerator. The car shot down the one-way street, scattering
traffic headed towards them, horns angrily blaring at them.
When they reached the corner, Jaime made another turn
towards the bridge that led out of town on the Avenida
Sanchez Arjona.
Megan looked at Jaime and crossed herself. She could
hardly breathe.
'Would you - would you have killed the policeman if that
man had not attacked the woman?'
Jaime did not bother to answer.
'The woman wasn't being attacked. Sister,' Felix explained.
'Those were our people. We are not alone. We have
many friends.'
Jaime's face was grim. 'We're going to have to get rid of
this car.'
They were leaving the outskirts of Valladolid. Jaime
turned on to N620, the highway to Burgos, on the way to
Logrorio. He was careful to stay within the speed limit.
'We'll get rid of the car as soon as we get past Burgos,' he
announced.

 can't believe this is happening to me, Megan thought.  escaped from the convent, I'm running away from the army,
and I'm travelling in a stolen car with terrorists who have just
robbed a bank. Lord, what else do You have in mind for me?
FR1;FR2;Chapter 31
Colonel Ramon Acoca and half a dozen members of th
GOE were in the middle of a strategy meeting. They wer
studying a large map of the countryside.
The scarred giant said, 'It's obvious that Miro is heading north towards Basque country.'
That could mean Burgos, Vitoria, Logrono, Pamplona i
San Sebastian.'
San Sebastian, Acoca thought. But I've got to catch him
before he reaches there.
He could hear the voice on the phone: You're running ouA
of time. "
He could not afford to fail.
They were driving through the rolling hills that heralded the
approach to Burgos.
Jaime was quiet behind the wheel. When he finally
spoke, he said, 'Felix, when we get to San Sebastian, I want
to make arrangements to get Rubio away from the
police.'
Felix nodded. 'It will be a pleasure. It will drive them
crazy.'
Megan said, 'What about Sister Lucia?'
'What?'
'Didn't you say that she had been captured, too?'
Jaime said wryly, 'Yes, but your Sister Lucia turned out
to be a criminal wanted by the police for murder.'
The news shook Megan. She remembered how Lucia had

kim-ii '-""'fe'- "'"- ""'' -ouaucu llicill 10 niUC in IDC OlilS.
She liked Sister Lucia.
She said stubbornly, 'Since you're going to rescue Rubio,
you should save them both.'
What the devil kind of nun is this? Jaime wondered.
But she was right. Smuggling Rubio and Lucia out from
under the noses of the police would be wonderful propaganda
and would make headlines.
Amparo had sunk into a sullen silence.
Suddenly, in the distance, on the road ahead of them were
three army trucks filled with soldiers.
We'd better get off this road,' Jaime decided.
At the next intersection he turned on to Highway N120
and headed east.
'Santo Domingo de la Calzada is up ahead. There's an old
deserted castle there. We can spend the night in it.'
They could see its outline from the distance, high on a
hill. Jaime took a side road, avoiding the town, and the castle
loomed larger and larger as they approached it. A few
hundred yards from it was a lake.
Jaime stopped the car. 'Everybody out, please.'
When they were all out of the car, Jaime pointed the steering
wheel down the hill towards the lake, jammed the accelerator
down, released the handbrake and jumped clear. They stood
there watching as the car disappeared into the water.
Megan was about to ask him how they were going to get
to Logrono. She stopped herself. Foolish question. He will
steal another car, of course.
The group turned to examine the abandoned castle. There
was a huge stone wall circling it, with crumbling turrets on
each corner.
'In the old days,' Felix told Megan, 'princes used these
castles as prisons for their enemies.'
And Jaime is an enemy of the state, and if he is caught,
there will be no prison for him. Only death, Megan thought. He has no fear. She remembered his words:
 have faith in what I'm fighting for. I have faith in my
men, and in my guns.
FR1;--------- --y, ----- -.v.. io i-iiui. iwu i (.lie llUIll gate
The gates were iron and had rusted away so badly that they
were able to push them open and squeeze through into a
courtyard paved in stone.
The inside of the castle seemed enormous to Megan. There
were narrow passageways and rooms everywhere, and facing
the outside were gun ports, where the defenders of the castle
could repel attackers.
Stone steps led to a second floor and there was another claustro, an inner patio. The stone steps narrowed as they
walked up to a third floor, and then a fourth. The castle was
deserted.
'Well at least there are plenty of places to sleep here,'
Jaime said. 'Felix and I will go forage for food. Pick out your
rooms.'
The two men started downstairs again. T!
Amparo turned to Megan. 'Come on. Sister.' 4
They walked down the corridor and the rooms all looked
alike to Megan. They were empty stone cubicles, cold and
austere, some larger than others.
Amparo picked out the largest. 'Jaime and I will sleega
here.' She looked at Megan and asked slyly, 'Would you lik '
to sleep with Felix?'
Megan looked at her and said nothing.
'Or perhaps you'd rather sleep with Jaime.' AmpaiQ stepped closer to Megan. 'Don't get any ideas. Sister. He
much too much man for you.' j
'You don't have to concern yourself. I'm not interestedI
And even as she said it, Megan wondered whether Jaime 
Miro was much too much man for her.
When Jaime and Felix returned to the castle an hour later
Jaime was clutching two rabbits and Felix was carrying;
firewood. Felix bolted the front door behind them. Megarf
watched as the men made a fire in the large fireplace.8 Jaime skinned and cooked the rabbits on a spit over the
fire.

"Sorry we van i uncr yuu iciuies a real leasi, renx said,
'but we'll eat well in Logrono. Meanwhile - enjoy.'
When they had finished their meagre meal, Jaime said,
Let's get to sleep. I want to make an early start in the
morning.'
Amparo said to Jaime, 'Come, querido. I have our bedroom
picked out.'
'Bueno. Let's go.'
Megan watched them go upstairs, hand in hand.
Felix turned to Megan. 'Have you chosen your bedroom,
Sister?'
'Yes, thank you.'
'All right, then.'
Megan and Felix walked up the stairs together.
'Good night,' Megan said.
He handed Megan a sleeping-bag. 'Good night. Sister.'
Megan wanted to ask Felix about Jaime, but she hesitated.
Jaime might think she was prying, and for some reason,
Megan wanted very much for Jaime to have a good opinion
of her. That's really odd, Megan thought. He's a terrorist, a
murderer, a bank robber, and heaven only knows what else,
and I'm worried about whether the man thinks well of me.
But even as Megan thought it, she knew that there was
another side to it. He's a freedom fighter. He robs banks to
finance his cause. He risks his life for what he believes in.
He's a brave man.
As Megan passed their bedroom, she heard Jaime and
Amparo inside laughing. She walked into the small, bare
room where she was to sleep and knelt on the cold stone
floor. 'Dear God, forgive me for -' Forgive me for what?
What have I done?
For the first time in her life, Megan was unable to pray.
Was God up there listening?
Megan crawled into the sleeping-bag Felix had given her,
but sleep was as remote as the cold stars she could see
through the narrow window.
What am I doing here? Megan wondered. Her thoughts
drifted back to the convent. . . the orphanage. And before
.-...,.- wiuier or a great bullfighter. Bi wouldn 't it be wonderful to know? It was almost dawn before Megan drifted off to sleep.
At the prison in Aranda de Duero, Lucia Carmine was a
celebrity.
'You're a big fish in our little pond,' the guard told her.
The Italian government is sending someone to escort you
home. I'd like to escort you to my house, bonitaputa. What
bad thing did you do?'
'I cut off a man's balls for calling me bonitaputa. Tell me
- how is my friend?'
'He's going to live.'
Lucia said a silent prayer of gratitude. She looked around
the stone walls of her grim, grey cell and thought: How the
hell do I get out of here? !s

Chapter 32
The report of the bank robbery was handled through regular
police channels, and it was not until two hours after the
robbery occurred that a police lieutenant notified Colonel
Acoca about it.
An hour later, Colonel Acoca was in Valladolid. He was
furious at the delay.
'Why wasn't I informed immediately?'
'I'm sorry. Colonel, but it never occurred to us that '
'You had him in your hands and you let him get
away!'
'It wasn't our '
'Send in the bank teller.'
The bank teller was filled with a sense of self-importance.
'It was my window he came to. I could tell he was a killer
by the look in his eye. He '
'There is no doubt in your mind that the man who held
you up was Jaime Miro?'
'None. He even showed me a wanted poster of himself. It
was '
'Did he come into the bank alone?'
'Yes. He pointed to a woman in the queue and he said she
was a member of his gang, but after Miro left I recognized
her. She's a secretary who's a regular customer and '
Colonel Acoca said impatiently, 'When Miro left, did you
see in which direction he went?'
'Out the front door.'
The interview with the traffic policeman was no more
helpful.
, --_--.--. Jaiuic iviiro
and another man and two women in the back.'
'In what direction were they headed?'
The policeman hesitated. 'They could have gone in any
direction, sir, once they got off the one-way street.' His face
brightened. 'I can describe the car, though.'
Colonel Acoca shook his head in disgust. 'Don't bother.'
She was dreaming, and in her dream there were the voices
of a mob and they were coming for her to burn her at the
stake for robbing a bank. ( wasn't for me. It was for the
cause. The voices grew louder.
Megan opened her eyes and sat up, staring at the unfamiliar
castle walls. The sound of voices was real. They
were coming from outside.
Megan rose and hurried over to the narrow window.
Directly below, in front of the castle, was an encampment
of soldiers. Megan was filled with a sudden panic. They've
caught us. I've got to find Jaime.
She hurried to the room where he and Amparo had slept
and looked inside. It was empty. She ran down the steps to
the reception hall on the main floor. Jaime and Amparo
were standing near the bolted front door, whispering.
Felix ran up to them. 'I checked the back. There's n
other way out of here.'
'What about the back windows?'
'Too small. The only way out is through the front door.'
Where the soldiers are, Megan thought. We're trapped.
Jaime was saying, 'It's just our damned bad luck that they
picked this place to camp.'
'What are we going to do?' Amparo whispered.
'There's nothing we can do. We'll have to stay here until
they leave. If '
And at that moment there was a loud knock at the front
door. An authoritative voice called out, 'Open up in there.'
Jaime and Felix exchanged a quick look, and without a
word drew their guns.

i ne voice caned out again, 'We know there's someone in
there. Open up.'
Jaime said to Amparo and Megan, 'Get out of the way.'
It's hopeless, Megan thought, as Amparo moved behind
Jaime and Felix. There must be two dozen armed soldiers out
there. We haven't got a chance.
Before the others could stop her, Megan moved swiftly to
the front door and opened it.
'Thank the Lord you've come!' Megan exclaimed. 'You
must help me.'
Chapter 33
The army officer stared at Megan. 'Who are you? What
are you doing in there? I'm Captain Rodriguez, and we're looking for -'
'You're just in time. Captain.' She grabbed his arm. 'My
two little sons have typhoid fever, and I've got to get them
to a doctor. You must come in and help me with them.'
'Typhoid fever?'
'Yes.' Megan was pulling on his arm. 'It is terrible. They
are burning up. They are covered with sores and are very
sick. Bring your men in and help me carry them out to -'
'Senora You must be mad. That is highly contagious.'
'Never mind that. They need your help. They may be
dying.' She was pulling on his arm.
'Let go of me.'
'You can't leave me. What will I do?'
'Get back inside and stay there until we can notify the
police to send an ambulance or a doctor.'
'But-'
'That's an order, senora. Get inside.'
He called out, 'Sergeant, we're moving out of here.'
Megan closed the front door, leaning against it, drained.
Jaime was staring at her in stunned amazement. 'My God,
that was brilliant. Where did you learn to lie like that?'
Megan turned to him and sighed. 'When I was in the
orphanage, we had to learn to defend ourselves. I hope God
will forgive me.'
'I wish I could have seen the look on that Captain's face.'
Jaime burst into laughter. 'Typhoid fever! Jesus Christ!' He

saw the iook on Megan s iace. 'i oeg your pardon, sister.
From outside they could hear the sounds of the soldiers packing their tents and moving out.
When the troops had departed, Jaime said, 'The police
will be here soon. Anyway, we have an appointment in
Logrono.'
Fifteen minutes after the soldiers had departed, Jaime said,
'It should be safe to leave now.' He turned to Felix. 'See
what you can pick up in town. Preferably a sedan.'
Felix grinned. 'No problem.'
Half an hour later they were in a beat-up grey sedan
heading east.
To Megan's surprise, she was seated next to Jaime. Felix
and Amparo were in the back seat. Jaime glanced at Megan,
a grin on his face.
'Typhoid fever,' he said. And burst out laughing.
Megan smiled. 'He did seem eager to get away, didn't he?'
'Did you say you were in an orphanage. Sister?'
'Yes.'
Where?'
'In A vila.'
'You don't look Spanish.'
'So I've been told.'
'It must have been hell for you in the orphanage.'
She was startled by the unexpected concern. 'It could have
been,' she said. 'But it wasn't.'  wouldn't let it be, she
thought.
'Have you any idea who your parents were?'
Megan recalled her fantasies. 'Oh, yes. My father was a
brave Englishman who drove an ambulance for the loyalists
in the Spanish Civil War. My mother was killed in the fighting
and I was left on the doorstep of a farmhouse.' Megan
shrugged. 'Or my father was a foreign prince who had an
affair with a peasant girl and abandoned me to avoid a
scandal.'
Jaime glanced at her, saying nothing.
.. ou auiuny. i aon i Know who my parents
were.'
They drove on in silence for a while, a
'How long were you behind the walls of the convent?' I
'About fifteen years.'
Jaime was astonished. 'Jesus!' Hastily, he added, 'I beg
your pardon. Sister. But it's like talking to someone from
another planet. You have no idea what's happened in the
world in the past fifteen years.'
'I'm sure that whatever changed is only temporary. It will
change again.'
'Do you still want to go back to a convent?'
The question took Megan by surprise.
'Of course.'
'Why?' Jaime made a sweeping gesture. 'I mean - there is
so much that you must miss behind the walls. Here we
have music and poetry. Spain gave the world Cervantes and
Picasso, Lorca, Pizarro, DeSoto, Cortez. This is a magical country.'
There was a surprising mellowness about this man, a softJ
fire. J
Unexpectedly Jaime said, 'I'm sorry for wanting to desert J
you earlier. Sister. It was nothing personal. I have had badJ
experiences with your Church.'
'That is difficult to believe.'
'Believe it.' His voice was bitter.
In his mind's eye he could see the buildings and statues 
and streets of Guernica exploding in showers of death. He could still hear the screams of the bombs mingling with the
screams of the helpless victims being torn apart. The only
place of sanctuary was the church.
The priests have locked the church. They won't let us in.
And the deadly hail of bullets that had murdered his
mother and father and sisters. No. Not the bullets, Jaime
thought. The Church.
'Your Church stood behind Franco and allowed unspeakable
things to be done to innocent civilians.'
'I'm sure the Church protested,' Megan said.

'No. It wasn't until nuns were being raped by his Falangists
and priests were being murdered and churches were being
burned that finally the Pope broke with Franco. But
that didn't bring my mother or father or sisters back to
life.'
The passion in his voice was frightening.
'I'm sorry. But that was long ago. The war is over.'
'No. Not for us it isn't. The government will still not permit
us to fly the Basque flag or celebrate our national holidays
or speak our own language. No, Sister. We're still being
oppressed. We'll keep on fighting until we gain our independence.
There are half a million Basques in Spain
and a hundred and fifty thousand more in France. We
want our independence - but your God is too busy to help
us.'
Megan said earnestly, 'God cannot take sides, for He is
in all of us. We are all a part of Him, and when we try to
destroy Him, we destroy ourselves.'
To Megan's surprise, Jaime smiled. 'We are a lot alike,
you and I, Sister.'
'We are?'
'We may believe in different things, but we believe with a
passion. Most people go through life without caring deeply
about anything. You devote your life to God; I devote my
life to a cause. We care.'
And Megan thought: Do I care enough? And if I do, why
am I enjoying being with this man? I should be thinking only
of returning to a convent. There was a power in Jaime Miro
that was like a magnet. Is he like Manolete? Risking his life
taking daring chances because he has nothing to lose?
'What will they do to you if the soldiers catch you?' Megan
asked.
'Execute me.' He said it so matter-of-factly that for a
moment Megan thought she had misunderstood.
'Aren't you afraid?'
'Of course I'm afraid. We're all afraid. None of us wants
to die. Sister. We'll meet your God soon enough. We don't
want to rush it.'
1 nai depends on your point of view. The difference be- i
tween a patriot and a rebel depends on who is in power at
the moment. The government calls us terrorists. We call,
ourselves freedom fighters. Jean Jacques Rousseau said that
freedom is the power to choose our own chains. I want that,
freedom.' He studied her a moment. 'But you don't have to''
concern yourself with any of these things, do you? OnceJ
you're back in the convent, you'll no longer be interested in
the world outside.' :
Was that true? Being out in the world again had turned I
her life upside down. Had she given up her freedom? There
was so much she wanted to know, so much she had to learn.
She felt like an artist with a blank canvas about to start
sketching a new life. If I go back to a convent, she thought,
 will be shut away from life again. And even as she thought
it, Megan was appalled by the word if. When I go back, she
corrected herself hastily. Of course I'm going back. I have
nowhere else to go.
They camped that night in the woods.
Jaime said, 'We're about thirty miles from Logrono and
we aren't supposed to meet the others for two days. It will
be safer for us to stay on the move until then. So tomorrow
we will head toward Vitoria. The next day we'll go into
Logrono and just a few hours after that. Sister, you'll be at
the convent in Mendavia.'
For ever. 'Will you be all right?' Megan asked.
'Are you worried about my soul. Sister, or my body?'
Megan found herself blushing.
'Nothing will happen to me. I'll cross the border into
France for a while.'
'I will pray for you,' Megan told him.
"Thank you,' he said gravely. 'I will think of you praying
for me and it will make me feel safer. Get some sleep now.
We'll make Leon tomorrow.'
As Megan turned to lie down, she saw Amparo staring at
her from me rar end of the clearing. There was a look of
naked hatred on Amparo's face.
fo one takes my man from me. No one.
Chapter 34
- i
Early the following morning, they reached the outskirts of
Nanclares, a small village west of Vitoria. They came to a
filling station with a garage, where a mechanic was working
on a car. Jaime pulled into the garage.
'Buenos dias,' the mechanic said. 'What is the problem?'
'If I knew,' Jaime replied, 'I would fix it myself and charge
for it. This car is as useless as a mule. It sputters like an old
woman and has no energy.'
'It sounds like my wife,' the mechanic grinned. 'I think
you may have a carburettor problem, senor.'
Jaime shrugged. 'I know nothing about cars. All I know
is that I have a very important appointment in Madrid
tomorrow. Can you have it fixed by this afternoon?'
The mechanic said, 'I have two jobs ahead of you,
senor, but -' He let the rest of the sentence hang in the
air.
'I will be glad to pay you double.'
The mechanic's face brightened. 'Will two o'clock be all
right?'
'Wonderful. We'll get something to eat and come back at
two.'
Jaime turned to the others, who had been listening to the
conversation in amazement. 'We're in luck,' Jaime said.
'This man is going to fix the car for us. Let's go eat.'
They got out of the car and followed Jaime down the
street.
'Two o'clock,' the mechanic said.
'Two o'clock.'

When they were out of earshot, Felix said, 'What are you
doing? There's nothing wrong with the car.'
Except that by now the police will be looking for it, Megan
thought. But they'll be looking on the road, not in a garage.
It's a clever way to get rid of it.
'By two o'clock we'll be gone, won't we?' Megan
asked.
Jaime looked at her and grinned. 'I have to make a phone
call. Wait here.'
Amparo took Jaime's arm. 'I'll go with you.'
Megan and Felix watched them walk off.
Felix looked at Megan and said, 'You and Jaime are
getting along well, yes?'
'Yes.' She felt suddenly shy.
'He is not an easy man to know. But he is a man of great
honour and great bravery. He is a very caring man. There
is no one like him. Did I tell you how he saved my life,
Sister?'
'No. I would like to hear.'
'A few months ago the government executed six freedom
fighters. In revenge, Jaime decided to blow up the dam at
Puente la Reina, south of Pamplona. The town below was
headquarters for the army. We moved in at night, but someone
tipped off the GOE, and Acoca's men caught three of
us. We were sentenced to die. It would have taken an army
to storm our prison, but Jaime figured out a way. He set the
bulls loose in Pamplona, and in the confusion got two of us
away. The third one was beaten to death by Acoca's men.
Yes, Sister, Jaime Miro is very special.'
When Jaime and Amparo returned, Felix asked, 'What is
happening?'
'Friends are picking us up. We'll have a lift into Vitoria.'
Half an hour later, a truck appeared. The back of it was
covered by canvas.
'Welcome,' the driver said cheerfully. 'Hop in.'
'Thank you, amigo.'
'It's a pleasure to be of assistance to you, senor. It's good
that you called. The damned Soldiers are swarming around
iiivi. iitaa. 11 is nui saic n->i yuu anu your mends 10 De out in
the open.'
They climbed into the back of the truck, and the huge
vehicle headed northeast.
'Where will you be staying?' the driver asked.
'With friends,' Jaime said.
And Megan thought: He doesn't trust anyone. Not even
someone who is helping him. But how can he? His life is in
danger. And she thought of how terrible it must be for Jaime
to be living under that shadow, running from the police and
the army. And all because he believed in an ideal so much
that he was willing to die for it. What was it he had said? The difference between a patriot and a rebel depended on who
was in power at the moment.
The drive was a pleasant one. The thin canvas cover offered
security, and Megan realized how much tension she had felt
when they were out in the open fields, knowing that they
were all being hunted. And Jaime lives under that tension
constantly. How strong he is.
She and Jaime talked, and the conversation flowed easily
as though they had known each other for ever. Amparo Jiron
sat listening to them, saying nothing, her face impassive.
'When I was a boy,' Jaime told Megan, 'I wanted to be an
astronomer.'
Megan was curious. 'What made you ?'
'I had seen my mother and father and sisters shot down,
and friends murdered, and I couldn't face what was happening
here on this bloody earth. The stars were an escape.
They were millions of light years away, and I used to dream
of going to them one day and getting away from this awful
planet.'
She was watching him, silent.
'But there is no escape, is there? In the end, we all have
to face up to our responsibilities. So I came back down to
earth. I used to believe that one person could not make a
difference. But I know now that that is not true. Jesus

made a difference, Muhammad and Gandhi and Einstein and
Churchill.' He smiled wryly. 'Don't misunderstand. Sister.
I'm not comparing myself to any of them. But in my small
way, I do what I can. I think we must all do what we can.'
And Megan wondered whether his words were meant to
have a special meaning for her.
'When I got the stars out of my eyes, I studied to be an
engineer. I learned to build buildings. Now I blow them up.
And the irony is that some of the buildings I've blown up
are ones that I've built.'
They reached Vitoria at dusk.
'Where shall I take you?' the truck driver asked.
'You can drop us off here, at the corner, amigo.'
The truck driver nodded. 'Right. Keep up the good fight.'
Jaime helped Megan down from the truck. Amparo
watched, her eyes blazing. She allowed her man to touch no
other woman. She's a whore, Amparo thought. And Jaime
is horny for that bitch of a nun. Well, that won't last. He will
soon find that her milk is thin. He needs a real woman.
The group took to the side streets, keeping a wary eye
out for trouble. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a
one-storey stone house nestled in a narrow street and surrounded
by a high fence.
'This is it,' Jaime said. 'We will stay here tonight and leave
tomorrow when it is dark.'
They entered through the front gate and went to the door.
It took Jaime but a moment to slip the lock and they all went
inside.
'Whose house is this?' Megan asked.
'You ask too many questions,' Amparo said. 'Just be
grateful we've kept you alive.'
Jaime looked at Amparo a moment. 'She's proved her
right to ask questions.' He turned to Megan. 'It's the house
of a friend. You're in Basque country now. From here on our
journey will be easier. There will be comrades everywhere,
watching and protecting us. You'll be at the convent the day
after tomorrow.'
And Megan felt a small, chill that was almost a sorrow.
vrntii is me mulivr wim my: sne wonuereu. uj course I want
to go hack. Forgive me. Lord. I asked that You bring me
home to Your safety, and You are.
'I'm starved,' Felix said. 'Let's see what's in the kitchen.'
It was completely stocked.
Jaime said, 'He left plenty of food for us. I will make us
a wonderful dinner.' He smiled at Megan. 'I think we deserve
it, don't you?'
Megan said, 'I didn't know men cooked.'
Felix laughed. 'Basque men take pride in their cooking.
You are in for a treat. You will see.'
Handing Jaime the ingredients he asked for, they watched
as he prepared a piperade of fresh roasted, peeled green
peppers, sliced white onions, tomatoes, eggs and ham
sauteed together. As it started to cook, Megan said, 'It smells
delicious.'
'Ah, that's just the appetizer. I'm going to make a famous
Basque dish for you, polio at chilindron.'
He didn't say 'for us', Amparo noted. He said, 'for you'.
For the bitch.
Jaime cut up slices of chicken, sprinkled salt and pepper
over them and browned the chicken in hot oil while in a
separate pan he started cooking onions, garlic and tomatoes.
'We'll let it simmer for half an hour.'
Felix had found a bottle of red wine. He passed out glasses.
'The red wine of Rioja. You will like this.' He offered a glass
to Megan. 'Sister?'
The last time Megan tasted wine had been at communion.
'Thank you,' she said.
Slowly Megan raised the glass to her lips and took a sip.
It was delicious. She took another sip and she could feel a
warmth moving down her body. It felt wonderful.  must
enjoy all this while I can, Megan thought. ( will be over
soon.
During dinner, Jaime seemed unusually preoccupied.
'What's troubling you, amigoT Felix asked.
Jaime hesitated. 'We have a traitor in the movement.'
There was a shocked silence.

'What - what makes you think that?' Felix demanded.
'Acoca. He keeps getting too close to us.'
Felix shrugged. 'He's the fox and we're the rabbits.'
'It's something more than that.'
'What do you mean?' Amparo asked.
'When we were going to blow up the dam at Puente la
Reina, Acoca was tipped off.' He looked at Felix. 'He set a
trap and caught you and Ricardo and Zamora. If I hadn't
been delayed, I would have been captured with you. And
look what happened at the parador.'
'You heard the manager telephoning the police,' Amparo
pointed out.
Jaime nodded. 'Right. Because I had a feeling that something
was wrong.'
Amparo's face was sombre. 'Who do you think it is?'
Jaime shook his head. 'I'm not sure. Someone who knows
all our plans.'
'Then let's change our plans,' Amparo said. 'We'll meet
the others at Logrono and skip Mendavia.'
Jaime glanced at Megan. 'We can't do that. We have to
get the sisters to their convent.'
Megan looked at him and thought: He's already done
enough for me. I mustn't put him in greater danger than he's
already in.
'Jaime, I can '
But he knew what she was going to say. 'Don't worry,
Megan. We're all going to get there safely.'
He's changed, Amparo thought. In the beginning he wanted
nothing to do with any of them. Now he's willing to risk his
life for her. And he calls her Megan. It's no longer Sister.
Jaime was going on. 'There are at least fifteen people who
know our plans.'
'We have to find out which one it is,' Amparo insisted.
'How do we do that?' Felix asked. He was nervously
picking at the edges of the tablecloth.
Jaime said, 'Paco is in Madrid doing some checking for
me. I've arranged for him to telephone me here.' He looked
at Felix for a moment, then looked away.
people knew the exact route that the three groups were
taking. It was true that Felix Carpio had been imprisoned
by Acoca. It was also true that that would have provided a
perfect alibi for Felix. At the propitious moment, an escape
could have been planned for him. Except thatgot him out
first, Jaime thought. Paco is checking on him. I hope he calls
soon.
Amparo rose and turned to Megan. 'Help me with the
dishes.'
The two women began clearing the table and the men
went into the living room.
'The nun - she's holding up well,' Felix said.
'Yes.'
'You like her, don't you?'
Jaime found it difficult to look at Felix. 'Yes. I like her.' 3 And you would betray her along with the rest of us.
'What about you and Amparo?'
'We're cut from the same cloth. She believes in the cause
as much as I do. Her entire family was killed by Franco's
Falangists.' Jaime rose and stretched. Time to turn in.'
'I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight. Are
you certain there's a spy?'
Jaime looked at him and said, 'I'm certain.'
When Jaime came downstairs for breakfast in the morning,
Megan did not recognize him. His face had been darkened
and he was wearing a wig and a moustache. He was dressed
in scruffy clothes. He looked ten years older.
'Good morning,' he said. And his voice coming out of that
body startled her.
'Where did you ?'
'This is a house I use from time to time. I keep an
assortment of things here that I need.'
He said it casually, but it gave Megan a sudden insight
into the kind of life he led. How many other houses and
disguises did he need to stay alive? How many other close

calls had ne naa mat she knew nothing about? She remembered
the ruthlessness of the men who had attacked the
convent and she thought:  they catch Jaime, they'll show
him no mercy. I wish I knew how to protect him.
And Megan's mind was filled with thoughts she had no
right to be thinking.
Amparo prepared breakfast. Bacalao - steamed, salted codfish
- goat's milk, cheese and thick, hot chocolate with churros.
As they were eating, Felix asked, 'How long are we going
to stay here?'
Jaime replied casually, 'We'll leave when it gets dark.'
But he had no intention of letting Felix use that information.

'I have some errands to do,' he told Felix. 'I'll need your
help.'
'Right.'
Jaime called Amparo aside. 'When Paco calls, tell him I'll
be back shortly. Take a message.'
She nodded. 'Be careful.'
'Don't worry.' He turned to Megan. 'Your last day.
Tomorrow you'll be at the convent. You must be eager to
get there.'
She looked at him a long moment. 'Yes.' Not eager, Megan
thought. Anxious. I wish I weren't anxious. I'm going to shut
myself away from this, but for the rest of my life, I'm going
to wonder what happened to Jaime and Felix and the others.
Megan stood there watching as Jaime and Felix left. She
sensed a tension between the two men that she did not
understand.
Amparo was studying her, and Megan remembered her
words: Jaime is too much man for you.
Amparo said curtly, 'Make up the beds. I'll prepare lunch.'
'All right.'
Megan went into the bedroom. Amparo stood there watching
her, then walked into the kitchen.
ror me nexi nour, Megan worked, busily concentrating
on cleaning and dusting and polishing, trying not to think,
trying to keep her mind off what was bothering her.
 must put him out of my mind, she thought.
It was impossible. He was like a force of nature, taking
over everything in his path.
She polished harder.
When Jaime and Felix returned, Amparo was waiting for
them at the door. Felix looked pale.
'I'm not feeling too well. I think I'll lie down for a bit.'
They watched him disappear into a bedroom.
'Paco called,' Amparo said excitedly.
'What did he say?'
'He has some information for you, but he didn't want to
discuss it on the phone. He's sending someone to meet you.
This person will be at the town square at noon.'
Jaime frowned, thoughtful. 'He didn't say who it is?'
'No. Just that it was urgent.'
'Damn it. I - never mind. All right. I'll go and meet him.
I want you to keep an eye on Felix.'
She looked at him, puzzled. 'I don't un-?'
'I don't want him using the telephone.'
A flash of understanding crossed her face. 'You think that
Felix is ?'
'Please. Just do as I ask.' He looked at his watch. 'It's
almost noon. I'll leave now. I should be back in an hour.
Take care, querida.'
'Don't worry.'
Megan heard their voices.
 don't want him using the telephone.
You think that Felix is ?
Please. Just do as I ask.
So Felix is the traitor, Megan thought. She had seen him
go into his bedroom and close the door. She heard Jaime
leave.
Megan walked into the living room.
Amparo turned. 'Have you finished?'
'Not quite, I -' She wanted to ask where Jaime had gone,

what they were going to do with Felix, what was going to
happen next, but she did not want to discuss that with this
woman. ' wait until Jaime returns.
'Finish up,' Amparo said.
Megan turned and went back into the bedroom. She
thought about Felix. He had seemed so friendly, so warm.
He had asked her many questions, but now that seeming act
of friendliness took on a different meaning. The bearded
man was looking for information that he could pass on to
Colonel Acoca. All their lives were in danger.
Amparo may need help, Megan thought. She started
towards the living room, then stopped.
A voice was saying, 'Jaime just left. He will be alone on
a bench in the main plaza. Your men should have no trouble
picking him up.'
Megan stood there, frozen.
'He's walking, so it should take him about fifteen minutes
to get there.'
Megan listened with growing horror.
'Remember our deal. Colonel,' Amparo said into the
telephone. 'You promised not to kill him.'
Megan backed into the hallway. Her mind was in a turmoil.
So Amparo was the traitor. And she had sent Jaime into a
trap.
Backing away quietly, so Amparo would not hear her,
Megan turned and ran out the back door. She had no idea
how she was going to help Jaime. She knew only that she
had to do something. She stepped outside the gate and
started down the street, moving as fast as she could without
attracting attention, heading towards the centre of the town.
'Please, God. Let me be on time,' Megan prayed.
The walk to the town square was a pleasant one, with side
streets shaded by towering trees, but Jaime was unaware of
his surroundings. He was thinking about Felix. He had been
like a brother to Felix, had given him his full trust. What
had turned Felix into a traitor willing to put all their lives in
_. - ..., cuiawcr. rrny couian t faco have discussed it on the telephone? Jaime
wondered.
Jaime was approaching the town square. In the middle of
the plaza was a fountain and shady trees with benches scattered
around. Children were playing games. A couple of old
men were playing boule. Half a dozen men were seated on
park benches, enjoying the sunshine, reading, dozing, or
feeding the pigeons. Jaime crossed the street, slowly moving
along the path, and took a seat on one of the benches. He
looked at his watch just as the tower clock began chiming
noon. Pace's man should be coming.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime saw a police car pull up at the far end of the square. He looked in the other
direction. A second police car arrived. Officers were getting
out, moving towards the park. His heart began to beat faster, i It was a trap. But who had set it? Was it Paco, who sent the ;
message, or Amparo who delivered it? She had sent him to
the park. But why? Why? f
There was no time to worry about that now. He had to
escape. But Jaime knew that the moment he tried to make
a run for it, they would shoot him down. He could try to
bluff it out, but they knew he was there.
Think of something. Fast!
A street away, Megan was hurrying towards the park. As it
came into view, she took in the scene at a glance. She saw
Jaime seated on a bench, and the policemen closing in on
the park from both sides.
Megan's mind was racing. There was no way for Jaime to
escape.
Megan was walking past a tienda. Ahead of her, blocking
her path, a mother was pushing a pram. The woman stopped,
set the pram against the wall of the shop and went inside to
make a purchase. Without a moment's hesitation, Megan
grabbed the handle of the pram and moved across the street
into the park.

The police were walking along the benches now, questioning the men seated there. Megan elbowed her way past a
policeman and went up to Jaime, pushing the pram ahead
of her.
She yelled, 'jMadre de Dios! There you are, Manuel! I've
been looking everywhere for you. I've had enough! You promised to paint the house this morning, and here you are
sitting in the park like some millionaire. Mother was right.
You're a good-for-nothing bum. I never should have married
you in the first place!'
It took Jaime less than a fraction of a second. He got to
his feet. 'Your mother is an expert on burns. She married
one.If she--'
'Who are you to talk? If it wasn't for my mother, our baby
would starve to death. You certainly don't bring any bread
into the house . . .'
The policemen had stopped, taking in the argument.
'If that one was my wife,' one of them muttered, 'I'd send
her back to her mother.'
'I'm damned tired of your nagging, woman,' Jaime roared.
'I've warned you before. When we get home, I'm going to
teach you a lesson.'
'Good for him,' one of the policemen said.
Jaime and Megan noisily quarrelled their way out of the
park, pushing the pram before them. The policemen turned
their attention back to the men seated on the benches.
'Identification, please?'
'What's the problem, officer?'
'Never mind. Just show me your papers.'
All over the park, men were pulling out wallets and extracting
bits of paper to prove who they were. In the midst
of this, a baby began to cry. One of the policemen looked up.
The pram had been abandoned at the corner. The quarrelling
couple had vanished.
Thirty minutes later, Megan walked in at the front door of
the house. Amparo was nervously pacing up and down.
'Where have you been?' Amparo demanded. 'You
shouldn't have left the house without telling me.'
'I had to go out to take care of something.'
'What?' Amparo asked suspiciously. 'You don't know
anyone here. If you -'
Jaime walked in through the door. The blood drained
from her face. She quickly regained her composure.
'What - what happened?' Amparo asked. 'Didn't you go
to the park?'
Jaime said quietly, 'Why, Amparo?'
And she looked into his eyes and she knew it was over.
'What made you change?'
She shook her head. 'I haven't changed. You have. I've
lost everyone I loved in this stupid war you're fighting. I'm
sick of all the bloodshed. Can you stand hearing the truth
about yourself, Jaime? You're as bad as the government
you're fighting. Worse, because they're willing to make
peace, and you're not. You think you're helping our country?
You're destroying it. You rob banks and blow up cars and
murder innocent people, and you think you're a hero. I loved
you, and I believed in you once, but - Her voice broke.
This bloodshed has to end.'
Jaime walked up to her, and his eyes were ice. 'I should
kill you.'
'No,' Megan gasped. 'Please! You can't.'
Felix had come into the room and was listening to the
conversation. 'Jesus Christ! So she's the one. What do we
do with the bitch?'
Jaime said, 'We'll have to take her with us and keep an
eye on her.' He took Amparo by the shoulders and said
softly, 'If you try one more trick, I promise you you'll die.'
He shoved her away and turned to Megan and Felix. 'Let's
get out of here before her friends arrive.'

Chapter 35
'You had Miro in your hands and you let him escape?'
'Colonel - with all due respect - my men '
'Your men are assholes. You call yourselves policemen?
You're a disgrace to your uniforms.'
The chief of police stood there, cringing under the withering
scorn of Colonel Acoca. There was nothing else he could
do, for the Colonel was powerful enough to have his head.
And Acoca was not yet through with him.
'I hold you personally responsible. I'll see that you're
relieved from duty.'
'Colonel '
'Get out. You make me sick to my stomach.'
Colonel Acoca was boiling with frustration. There had not
been enough time for him to reach Vitoria and catch Jaime
Miro. He had had to entrust that to the local police. And
they had bungled it. God alone knew where Miro had gone
to now.
Colonel Acoca went to the map spread out on a table in
front of him. They will be staying in Basque country, of
course. That could be Burgos or Logrono or Bilbao or San Sebastian. I'll concentrate on the north-east. They'll have to
surface somewhere.
He recalled his conversation with the Prime Minister that
morning.
'Your time is running out. Colonel. Have you read the
morning papers? The world press is making us look like
clowns. Miro and those nuns have made us a laughingstock.'
'Prime Minister, you have my assurance '
'King Juan Carlos has ordered me to set up an official
inquiry board into the whole matter. I can't hold it off any
longer.'
'Delay the inquiry for just a few more days. I'll have Mir6
and the nuns by then.'
There was a pause. 'Forty-eight hours.'
It was not the Prime Minister whom Colonel Acoca was
afraid of disappointing, nor was it the King. It was the OPUS
MUNDO. When he had been summoned to the panelled
office of one of Spain's leading industrialists, his orders had
been explicit: 'Jaime Mir6 is creating an atmosphere harmful
to our organization. Stop him. You will be well rewarded.'
And Colonel Acoca knew what the unspoken part of the
conversation was: Fail and you will be punished. Now his
career was in jeopardy. And all because some stupid policemen
had let Mir6 walk away under their noses. Jaime Mir6
might hide anywhere. But the nuns. . .A wave of excitement
coursed through Colonel Acoca. The nuns! They were the
key. Jaime Mir6 might hide anywhere, but the sisters could
find sanctuary only in another convent. And it would almost
certainly be in a convent of the same order.
Colonel Acoca turned to study the map again. And there
it was: Mendavia. There was a convent of the Cistercian order
at Mendavia. That's where they're headed, Acoca thought
triumphantly. Well, so am I.
Only I'll be there first, waiting for them.
The journey for Ricardo and Graciela was coming to an end.
The last few days had been the happiest that Ricardo had
ever known. He was being hunted by the military and the
police, his capture meant certain death, and yet none of that
seemed to matter. It was as though he and Graciela had
carved out an island in time, a paradise where nothing could
touch them. They had turned their desperate journey into a
wonderful adventure that they shared together.
They talked endlessly, exploring and explaining, and their
words were tendrils that drew them even closer together.
310

They spoke of the past, the present, and the future. Particularly
the future.
'We'll be married in church,' Ricardo said. 'You'll be the
most beautiful bride in the world . . .'
And Graciela could visualize the scene and was thrilled
by it.
'And we'll live in the most beautiful house . . .'
And she thought: I've never had a house of my own, or a
real room of my own.
There was the little casa she shared with her mother and
all the uncles, and then the convent cell, living with the
sisters.
'And we'll have handsome sons and beautiful
daughters . . .'
And I will give them all the things I never had. They will
be so loved.
And Graciela's heart soared.
There was one thing troubling her. Ricardo was a soldier
fighting for a cause he passionately believed in. Would he
be contented living in France, withdrawing from the battle?
She knew she had to discuss it with him.
Ricardo - how much longer do you think this revolution
is going to go on?
It was a question she had not asked.
It's already gone on too long, Ricardo thought. The government
had made peace overtures, but ETA had rejected
them. It had done worse than reject them. It had responded
to the offers with a series of increased terrorist attacks.
Ricardo had tried to discuss it with Jaime.
"They're willing to compromise, Jaime. Shouldn't we meet
them half way?'
"Their offer is a trick - they want to destroy us. They're
forcing us to go on fighting.'
And because Ricardo loved Jaime and believed in him,
he continued to support him. But the doubts refused to die.
And as the bloodshed increased, so did his uncertainty. And
now Graciela was asking. How much longer do you think
this revolution is going to go on?
311
1 oon i Know, Kicardo told her. 'I wish it were over. But
I will tell you this, my darling. Nothing will ever come
between us - not even a war. There will never be words
enough to tell you how much I love you.'
And they went on dreaming.
They travelled during the night, making their way through
the fertile, green countryside, past El Burgo and Soria. At
dawn, from the top of a hill, they saw Logrono in the far
distance. To the left of the road was a stand of pine trees
and beyond that a forest of electric power lines. Graciela
and Ricardo followed the winding road down to the outskirts
of the bustling city.
'Where are we going to meet the others?' Graciela asked.
Ricardo pointed to a poster on a building they were passing.
It read:
CIRQUE JAPON.'
THE WORLD'S MOST SENSATIONAL CIRCUS FRESH FROM JAPAN!
24 JULY FOR ONE WEEK
AVENIDA CLUB DEPORTIVO
There,' Ricardo told her. 'We'll meet them there this
afternoon.'
In another part of the city, Megan, Jaime, Amparo and Felix
were also looking at a circus poster. There was a feeling of
enormous tension in the group. Amparo was never out of
their sight. Ever since the incident at Vitoria, the men treated
Amparo as an outcast, ignoring her most of the time and
speaking to her only when necessary.
Jaime looked at his watch. 'The circus should be starting,'
he said. 'Let's go.'
At police headquarters in Logrono, Colonel Ramdn Acoca
was finalizing his plans.

'Are the men deployed around the convent?'
'Yes, Colonel. Everything is in place.'
Excellent.'
Acoca was in an expansive mood. The trap he had set was
foolproof, and there would be no bungling policemen to
spoil his plans this time. He was personally conducting the
operation. The OPUS MUNDO was going to be proud of
him. He went over the details with his officers once again.
"The nuns are travelling with Mir6 and his men. It's important
that we catch them before they walk into the convent.
We'll be spread out in the woods around it. Don't move until
I give the signal to close in.'
'What are our orders if Jaime Mir6 resists?'
Acoca said softly, 'I hope he does try to resist.'
An orderly came into the room. 'Excuse me. Colonel.
There is an American here who would like to speak to you.'
'I have no time now.'
'Yes, sir.' The orderly hesitated. 'He says it's about one
of the nuns.'
'Oh? An American, did you say?'
'Yes, Colonel.'
'Send him in.'
A moment later, Alan Tucker was ushered in.
'I'm sorry to disturb you. Colonel. I'm Alan Tucker. I'm
hoping you can help me.'
'Yes? How, Mr Tucker?'
'I understand that you're looking for one of the nuns from
the Abbey Cistercian - a Sister Megan.'
. The Colonel sat back in his chair, studying the American.
'How does that concern you?'
'I'm looking for her too. It's very important that I find
her.'
Interesting, Colonel Acoca thought. Why is it so important
for this American to find a nun? 'You have no idea where
she is?'
'No. The newspapers '
The goddamn press again. 'Perhaps you could tell me why
you are looking for her.'
'Then I'm afraid I can't help you.'
'Colonel - could you let me know if you find her?'
Acoca gave him a thin smile. 'You'll know.'
The whole country was following the hegira of the nuns. The
press had reported the narrow escape ofJaime Mir6 and one
of the nuns in Vitoria.
So they're heading north, Alan Tucker thought. Their best
bet to get out of the country is probably San Sebastian. I've
got to get hold of her. He sensed that he was in trouble with
Ellen Scott.  handled that badly, he thought.  can make up for it by bringing her Megan.
He placed a call to Ellen Scott.
The Cirque Japon was held in Logrono's outlying district of l!
Guanos, in a huge tent, and ten minutes before the circus
was due to begin, the tent was filled to capacity. Megan,  Jaime, Amparo and Felix made their way down the crowded I aisle to their reserved seats. There were two empty seats
next to Jaime.
He stared at them and said, 'Something's wrong. Ricardc
and Sister Graciela were supposed to be here.' He turned to
Amparo. 'Did you ?'
'No. I swear it. I know nothing about it.'
The lights dimmed and the show began. There was a roarl
from the crowd, and they turned to look at the arena. A
bicycle rider was circling the ring, and as he pedalled an
acrobat leaped onto his shoulder. Then, one by one, a swarm
of other performers jumped on, clinging to the front andj back and sides of the bicycle until it was invisible. Thej
audience cheered, j
A trained bear act was on next, and then a tightrope 
walker. The audience was enjoying the show tremendously, 
but Jaime and the others were too nervous to pay any
attention. Time was running out.

'We'll wait another fifteen minutes,' Jaime decided. 'If
they're not here by then '
A voice said, 'Excuse me - are these seats taken?'
Jaime looked up to see Ricardo and Graciela, and grinned.
'No. Please sit down.' And then, in a relieved whisper, 'I'm
damned glad to see you.'
Ricardo nodded at Megan and Amparo and Felix. He
looked around. 'Where are the others?'
'Haven't you seen the newspapers?'
'Newspapers? No. We've been in the mountains.'
'I have bad news,' Jaime said. 'Rubio is in a prison hospital.'

Ricardo stared at him. 'How ?'
'He was stabbed in a bar fight. The police picked him up.'
'Mierdaf Ricardo was silent a moment, then sighed. 'We'll
just have to get him out, won't we?'
'That's my plan,' Jaime agreed.
'Where's Sister Lucia?' Graciela asked. 'And Sister
Teresa?'
It was Megan who answered. 'Sister Lucia has been arrested.
She was - she was wanted for murder. Sister Teresa
is dead.'
Graciela crossed herself. 'Oh, my Lord.'
In the arena a clown was walking a tightrope, carrying a
poodle under each arm, and two Siamese cats in his capacious
pockets. As the dogs tried to reach the cats, the wire swayed
wildly and the clown pretended to be fighting to keep his
balance. The audience was roaring. It was difficult to hear
anything over the noise of the crowd. Megan and Graciela
had so much to tell each other. Almost simultaneously, they
began to talk in the sign language of the convent. The two
men looked on in astonishment.
Ricardo and I are going to marry . . .
That's wonderful. . .
What has been happening to you?
Megan started to reply and realized there were no signs
to convey the things she wanted to say. It would have to
wait.

Let's move, Jaime said. ' 1 here's a van outside waiting to
take us to Mendavia. We'll drop the sisters off there and be
on our way.'
They started up the aisle, Jaime holding Amparo's arm.
When they were outside in the car-park, Ricardo said,
'Jaime, Graciela and I are getting married.'
A grin lit up Jaime's face. 'That's wonderful! Congratulations.'
He turned to Graciela. 'You couldn't have picked
a better man.'
Megan put her arms around Graciela. 'I'm very happy for
you both.'
And she thought: Was it easy for her to make the decision
to leave the convent? Am I wondering about Graciela? Or
am I wondering about myself?
Colonel Acoca was receiving an excited report from an aide.
'They were seen at the circus less than an hour ago. By
the time we could bring up reinforcements, they had gone.
They left in a blue and white van. You were right. Colonel.
They are headed for Mendavia.'
So it's finally over. Colonel Acoca thought. The chase had
been an exciting one, and he had to admit that Jaime Miro
had been a worthy opponent. The OPUS MUNDO will have
even bigger plans for me now.


Through a pair of high-powered Zeiss binoculars. Colonel
Acoca watched the blue and white van appear over the crest
of a hill and head for the convent below. Heavily armed
troops were hidden among the trees along both sides of the
road and around the convent itself. There was no way that
anyone could escape.
As the van approached the entrance to the convent and
braked to a stop. Colonel Acoca barked into his walkie-
talkie, 'Close in! Now!'
The manoeuvre was executed perfectly. Two squads of
soldiers armed with automatic weapons swung into position,

blocking the road and surrounding the van. Colonel Acoca
stood watching the scene for an instant, savouring his
moment of glory. Then he slowly approached the van, gun
in hand.
'You're surrounded,' he called out. 'You haven't got a
chance. Come out with your hands up. One at a time. If you
try to resist, you'll all die.'
There was a long moment of silence, and then the van door
slowly opened and three men and three women emerged,
trembling, their hands raised high above their heads.
They were strangers.
Chapter 36
High on a hill above the convent, Jaime and the others
observed Acoca and his men move in on the van. They saw
the terrified passengers get out, hands raised, and watched
the scene played out in pantomime.
Jaime Miro could almost hear the dialogue:
Who are you?
We work at a hotel outside Logrono.
What are you doing here?
A man gave us five thousand pesetas to deliver this van to
the convent.
What man?
I don't know. I never saw him before.
Is this his picture?
Yes. That's him.
'Let's get out of here,' Jaime said.
They were in a white station wagon, heading back to
Logrono. Megan was looking at Jaime in wonder.
'How did you know?'
"That Colonel Acoca would be waiting for us at the convent?
He told me.'
'What?'
"The fox has to think like the hunter, Megan. I put myself
in Acoca's place. Where would he set a trap for me? He did
exactly what I would have done.'
'And if he had not shown up?'
'Then it would have been safe to take you into the convent.'

'What happens now?' Felix asked.
It was the question uppermost in all their minds.
'Spain isn't safe for any of us for a while,' Jaime decided.
'We'll head directly for San Sebastian and into France.'
He looked at Megan. 'There are Cistercian convents
there.'
It was more than Amparo could bear.
'Why don't you give yourself up? If you keep on this way,
there will be more blood spilled and more lives taken -'
'You've lost the right to speak,' Jaime said curtly. 'Just be
grateful you're still alive.' He turned to Megan. 'There are
ten mountain passes across the Pyrenees leading from San
Sebastian to France. We'll cross there.'
'It's too dangerous,' Felix objected. 'Acoca's going to be
looking for us in San Sebastian. He'll be expecting us to
cross the border into France.'
'If it's that dangerous -' Graciela began.
'Don't worry,' Jaime assured her. 'San Sebastian is Basque
country.'
The station wagon was approaching the outskirts of
Logrono again.
'All the roads to San Sebastian will be watched,' Felix
warned. 'How do you plan for us to get there?'
Jaime had already decided. 'We'll take the train.'
'The soldiers will be searching the trains,' Ricardo
objected.
Jaime gave Amparo a thoughtful look. 'No. I don't think
so. Our friend here is going to help us. Do you know how
to reach Colonel Acoca?'
She hesitated. 'Yes.'
'Good. You're going to call him.'
They stopped at one of the telephone booths along the
highway. Jaime followed Amparo into the booth and closed
the door. He was holding a pistol to her side.
'You know what to say?'
'Yes.'
He watched her dial a number, and when a voice answered,
she said, "This is Amparo Jiron. Colonel Acoca is expecting
my i-uii . . . niciiiK yuu. am iuukcu up ai Jaime. "iney're
putting me through.' The gun was pressing against her. 'Do
you have to ?'
'Just do as you were told.' His voice was ice.
A moment later, Jaime heard Acoca's voice come over
the phone. 'Where are you?'
The gun pressed against her harder. 'I - I'm - we're just
leaving Logrono.'
'Do you know where our friends are going?'
Yes.'
Jaime's face was inches from her, his eyes hard.
'They've decided to reverse themselves to throw you off.
They're on their way to Barcelona. He's driving a white
Seat. He'll be taking the main highway.'
Jaime nodded at her.
'I -1 have to go now. The car is here.'
Jaime pressed down the receiver. 'Very good. Let's go.
We'll give him half an hour to call off his men here.'
Thirty minutes later they were at the railway station.
There were three classes of trains from Logrono to San
Sebastian: the Talgo was the luxury train; the second class
train was the Ter; and the worst and cheapest trains, uncomfortable
and dirty, were misnamed the expresos, which
stopped at every little station from Logrono to San Sebastian.
Jaime said, 'We'll take the expreso. By now all of Acoca's
men will be busy stopping every white Seat on the road to
Barcelona. We'll buy our tickets separately and meet in the
last compartment of the train.' Jaime turned to Amparo.
'You go first. I'll be right behind you.'
And she knew why, and hated him for it. If Colonel Acoca
had set a trap, she would be the bait. Well, she was Amparo" Jiron. She would not flinch.
She walked into the station while Jaime and the others
watched. There were no soldiers.

They re an oui covering me mgnway to tfarcelona. It s going to be a madhouse, Jaime thought wryly. Every other
car is a white Seat.
One by one the group purchased their tickets and headed
for the train. They boarded without incident. Jaime took
the seat next to Megan. Amparo sat in front of them,
next to Felix. Across the way Ricardo and Graciela sat
together.
Jaime said to Megan, 'We'll reach San Sebastian in three
hours. We'll spend the night there and in the early morning
we'll cross over into France.'
'And after we get to France?'
She was thinking of what would happen to Jaime, but
when he replied, he said, 'Don't worry. There's a Cistercian
convent just a few hours across the border.' He hesitated.
'If that's what you still want.'
So he had understood her doubts. Is that what I want? They were coming to more than a border that divided two
countries. This border would divide her old life from her
future life . . . which would be ... what? She had been
desperate to return to a convent, but now she was filled with
doubts. She had forgotten how exciting the world outside
the walls could be. I've never felt so alive. Megan looked
over at Jaime and admitted to herself: And Jaime Miro is a
part of it.
He caught her glance and looked into her eyes, and Megan
thought: He knows it.
The expreso stopped at every hamlet and village along the
track. The train was packed with farmers and their wives,
merchants and salesmen, and at each stop passengers noisily
embarked and disembarked.
The expreso made its way slowly through the mountains,
fighting the steep gradients.
When the train finally pulled into the station in San
Sebastian, Jaime said to Megan, "The danger is over. This is
our city. I've arranged for a car to be here for us.'
A large sedan was waiting in front of the station. A driver
wearing a large boina vasca, the wide-brimmed beret of the
d<islucs, giccicu Jouuc wiin waiin nugs, anu me group got
into the car.
Megan noticed that Jaime stayed close to Amparo, ready
to grab her if she tried to make a move. What's he going to
do with her? Megan wondered.
'We were worried about you, Jaime,' the driver said.
'According to the press, Colonel Acoca is conducting a big
hunt for you.'
Jaime laughed. 'Let him keep hunting, Gil. I am out of
season.'
They drove down the Avenida Sancho el Sabio, towards
the beach. It was a cloudless summer day and the streets
were crowded with strolling couples bent on pleasure, and
the harbour was alive with yachts and smaller craft. The
distant mountains formed a picturesque backdrop for the
city. Everything seemed so peaceful.
'What are the arrangements?' Jaime asked the driver.
'The Hotel Niza. Largo Cortez is waiting for you.'
'It will be good to see the old pirate again.'
The Niza was a medium class hotel in the Plaza Juan de
Olezabal, off San Martin Street on the corner of a busy
square. It was a white building with brown shutters and a
big blue sign on the top of the roof. The rear of the hotel
backed on to a beach.
When the car pulled up in front of the hotel, the group
got out and followed Jaime into the lobby.
Largo Cortez, the hotel owner, ran up to greet them. He
was a large man. He had only one arm as the result of a daring
exploit, and he moved awkwardly, as though off-balance.
'Welcome,' he beamed. 'I have been expecting you for a
week now.'
Jaime shrugged. 'We had a few delays, amigo.'
Largo Cortez grinned. 'I read about them. The papers
are full of nothing else.' He turned to look at Megan and
Graciela. 'Everyone is supporting you. Sisters. I have your
rooms all prepared.'

We 11 oe staying overnigm, Jaime told him. 'We'll leave first thing in the morning and cross into France. I want a
good guide who knows all the passes - either Cabrera Infante
or Jose Cebrian.'
'I will arrange it,' the hotel owner assured him. 'There will
be six of you?'
Jaime glanced at Amparo. 'Five.'
Amparo looked away.
'I suggest that none of you registers,' Cortez said. 'What
the police don't know won't hurt them. Why don't you let
me take you to your rooms, where you can refresh yourselves?
Then we'll have a magnificent supper.'
'Amparo and I are going to the bar to have a drink,' Jaime
said. 'We'll join you later.'
Largo Cortez nodded. 'As you wish, Jaime.'
Megan was watching Jaime, puzzled. She wondered what
he planned to do with Amparo. Was he going to
cold-bloodedly -? She could not bear even to think about it.
Amparo was wondering, too, but she was too proud to
ask.
Jaime led her into the bar at the far end of the lobby and
took a table in the corner.
When the waiter approached them, Jaime said, 'A glass
of wine, por favor.
'One?'
'One.'
Amparo watched as Jaime took out a small packet and
opened it. It contained a fine, powdery substance.
'Jaime -' There was desperation in Amparo's voice.
'Please listen to me! Try to understand why I did what I did.
You're tearing the country apart. Your cause is hopeless.
You must stop this insanity.'
The waiter reappeared and set a glass of wine on the table.
When he walked away, Jaime carefully poured the contents
of the packet into the glass and stirred it. He pushed the
glass in front of Amparo.
'Drink it."
'No!'
Not many of us are privileged to choose the way we die,'
Jaime said quietly. 'This way will be quick and painless.
If I turn you over to my people, I can't make any such
promise.'
'Jaime - I loved you once. You must believe me.
Please '
'Drink it.' His voice was implacable.
Amparo looked at him for a long moment, then picked up
the glass. 'I'll drink to your death.'
He watched as Amparo put the glass to her lips and
swallowed the wine in one gulp.
She shuddered. 'What happens now?'
'I'll help you upstairs. I'll put you to bed. You'll sleep.'
Amparo's eyes filled with tears. 'You're a fool,' she whispered.
'Jaime - I'm dying, and I tell you that I loved you
so -' Her words were beginning to slur.
Jaime rose and helped Amparo to her feet. She stood up,
unsteady. The room seemed to be rocking.
'Jaime '
He guided her out of the door and into the lobby, holding
her up. Largo Cortez was waiting for him with a key.
'I'll take her to her room,' Jaime said. 'See that she's not
disturbed.'
'Right.'
Cortez watched as Jaime half-carried Amparo up the
stairs.
In her room, Megan was thinking how strange it felt to be
by herself in a hotel in a resort town. San Sebastian was
filled with people on holiday, honeymooners, lovers enjoying
themselves in a hundred other hotel rooms.
But what had Jaime done to Amparo? Could he possibly
have . . . but no, he could never have done that. Or could
he?
And suddenly Megan wished Jaime were there with her,
and wondered what it would be like to have him making love
to her. All the feelings that she had been suppressing for so

long came flooding into her mind in a wild torrent of
emotions. I want him, she thought. Oh, Lord, what's happening
to me? What can I do?
Ricardo was whistling as he dressed. He was in a wonderful
mood. I'm the luckiest man in the world, he thought. We'll
be married in France. There's a beautiful church across the
border in Bayonne. Tomorrow . . .
In her room, Graciela was taking a bath, luxuriating in
the warm water, thinking of Ricardo. She smiled to herself
and thought: I'm going to make him so happy. Thank you,
God.
Felix Carpio was thinking about Jaime and Megan. A blind
man can see the electricity between them, he thought. It is
going to bring bad luck. Nuns belong to God. It's bad enough
that Ricardo has taken Sister Graciela from her calling. But
Jaime had always been reckless. What was he going to do
about this one?
The five of them met for supper in the hotel dining room.
No one mentioned Amparo.
Looking at Jaime, Megan felt suddenly embarrassed,
as though he could read her mind. It's better not to ask
questions, she decided. I know he could never do anything
brutal.
They found that Largo Cortez had not exaggerated about
the supper. The meal began with gazpacho, the thick, cold
soup made from tomatoes, cucumbers and water-soaked
bread, followed by a salad of fresh greens, a huge dish of paella - rice, shrimp, chicken and beef in a wonderful sauce,
and ended with a delicious flan. It was the first hot meal
Ricardo and Graciela had had in a long time.
When the meal was over, Megan rose. 'I should be getting
to bed.'
-_. - .- e,"- w """ lu y""- rie escorted ' her to a deserted corner of the lobby. 'About tomorrow . . .' J
Yes?'
And she knew what he was going to ask. What she did not
know was what she was going to answer. I've changed, Megan
thought.  was so sure about my life before. I believed I had
everything 1 wanted.
And Jaime was saying, 'You don't really want to go back
to a convent, do you?'
Do I?
He was waiting for an answer.
 have to be honest with him, Megan thought. She looked! into his eyes and said, 'I don't know what I want, Jaime. I'm
confused.'
Jaime smiled. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
'Megan - this fight will be over soon. We'll get what we want I because the people are behind us. I can't ask you to share
the danger with me now, but I would like you to wait for
me. I have many Basque friends living in France. You would
be safe with them.'
Megan looked at him a long time before she answered, a
'Jaime - give me time to think about it.' "
'Then you're not saying no?'
Megan said quietly, 'I'm not saying no.'
None of the group slept that night. They had too much to
think about, too many conflicts to resolve. Megan stayed
awake, reliving the past. The years in the orphanage, and
the sanctuary of the convent. . . The sudden expulsion into
a world she had given up for ever. Jaime Mir6 was risking
his life fighting for what he believed in. And what do I believe
in? Megan asked herself. How do 1 want to spend the rest of
my life?
She had made a choice once. Now she was forced to choose
again. She would have to have an answer by morning.

Graciela was thinking about the convent, too. They were
such happy, peaceful years. I felt so close to God. Will I miss
that?
Jaime was thinking about Megan. She mustn't go back. I want her at my side. What will her answer be?
Ricardo was too excited to sleep, busily making plans for
the wedding. The church at Bayonne . . .
Felix was wondering how to dispose of Amparo's body. Let
Largo Cortez take care of it.
Early the following morning, the group met in the lobby.
Jaime approached Megan.
'Good morning.'
'Good morning.'
'Have you thought about our conversation?'
She had thought of nothing else all night. 'Yes, Jaime.'
He looked into her eyes, trying to read the answer there.
'Will you wait for me?'
'Jaime '
At that moment Largo Cortez hurried up to them. With
him was a leathery-looking man in his fifties.
'I'm afraid there won't be any time for breakfast,' Cortez
said. 'You should be leaving. This is Jose Cebrian, your
guide. He will take you across the mountains into France.
He's the best guide in San Sebastian.'
'I'm glad to see you, Jose,' Jaime said. 'What's your
plan?'
'We're going to take the first part of the journey by foot,'
Jose Cebrian told the group. 'On the other side of the border,
I've arranged for cars to be waiting for us. We should hurry.
Come along, please.'
1 he group moved out into the street, painted yellow by
the rays of the bright sun.
Largo Cortez came out of the hotel to see them off. 'Safe
journey,' he said.
"Thank you for everything,' Jaime replied. 'We'll be back, amigo. Sooner than you think.'
'We go this way,' Jos6 Cebrian ordered.
The group started to turn towards the square. And at
that moment, soldiers and members of the GOE suddenly
materialized at both ends of the street, sealing it off. There
were at least a dozen of them, all heavily armed. Colonel
Ramon Acoca and Colonel Fal Sostelo were leading them.
Jaime glanced quickly towards the beach, looking for an
escape route. Another dozen soldiers were approaching from
there. There was no escape. They would have to fight. Jaime
instinctively reached for his gun.
Colonel Acoca called out, 'Don't even think about it,
Mir6, or we'll shoot all of you down where you're standing.'
Jaime's mind was racing furiously, looking for a way out.
How had Acoca known where to find him? Jaime turned and
saw Amparo standing in the doorway, a look of profound
sorrow on her face.
Felix said, 'What the bloody hell! I thought you '
'I gave her sleeping pills. They should have knocked her
out until we got across the border.'
"The bitch!'
Colonel Acoca walked towards Jaime. 'It's over.' He
turned to one of his men. 'Disarm them.'
Felix and Ricardo were looking towards Jaime for guidance,
ready to follow his lead. Jaime shook his head. Reluctantly,
he handed over his gun, and Felix and Ricardo
followed suit.
'What are you going to do with us?' Jaime asked.
Several passersby stopped to watch the proceedings.
Colonel Acoca's voice was curt. 'I'm taking you and your
gang of murderers back to Madrid. We'll give you a fair
military trial and then hang you. If I had my way, I'd hang
you here, now.'

'Let the sisters go,' Jaime said. "They had nothing to do
with this.'
They're accomplices. They're as guilty as you are.'
Colonel Acoca turned and gave a signal. The soldiers
motioned to the onlookers to move aside to let three army
trucks drive up.
'You and your assassins will travel in the middle truck,'
the Colonel informed Jaime. 'My men will be in front of you
and at the back of you. If any of you makes one false move,
they have orders to kill all of you. Do you understand?'
Jaime nodded.
Colonel Acoca spat into Jaime's face. 'Good. Into the
truck.'
There was an angry murmur from the growing crowd.
Amparo watched impassively from the doorway as Jaime
and Megan, Graciela and Ricardo and Felix climbed into the
truck, surrounded by soldiers with automatic weapons.
Colonel Fal Sostelo walked up to the driver of the first
truck. 'We'll head straight for Madrid. No stops along the
way.'
'Yes, Colonel.'
By now, many people had gathered in the street to watch
what was happening. Colonel Acoca started to climb into
the first truck. He called out to those in front of the truck,
'Clear the way.'
From the side streets more people began to emerge.
'Move along,' Colonel Acoca called. 'Out of the way.'
And still they came, the men wearing the wide Basque boinas. It was as though they were responding to some
invisible signal. Jaime Mir6 is in trouble. They came from
shops and homes. Housewives dropped what they were doing
and moved out into the street. Shopkeepers about to open
for business heard the news and hurried on to the hotel. And
still they came. Artists and plumbers and doctors, mechanics
and salesmen and students, many carrying shotguns and
rifles. They were Basques, and this was their homeland. It
started with a few, and then a hundred, and within minutes
it had swollen to more than a thousand, filling the pavements
ana sireeis, completely surrounding the army trucks. They
were ominously silent.
Colonel Acoca observed the huge crowd in desperation.
He screamed, 'Everybody get out of the way or we'll start
shooting.'
Jaime called out, 'I wouldn't advise it. These people hate
you for what you're trying to do to them. A word from me
and they'll tear you and your men to pieces. There's one
thing you forgot. Colonel. San Sebastian is a Basque town.
It's my town.' He turned to his group. 'Let's get out of here.'
Jaime helped Megan down from the truck, and the others
followed. Colonel Acoca watched helplessly, his face tight
with fury.
The crowd was waiting, hostile and silent. Jaime walked
up to the Colonel. 'Take your trucks and get back to Madrid.'
Acoca looked around at the still growing mob. 'I - you
won't get away with this, Miro.'
'I have got away with it. Now get out of here.' He spat in
Acoca's face.
The Colonel stared at him for a long, murderous moment. It can't end this way, he thought desperately.  was so close.
It was checkmate. But he knew that it was worse than a
defeat for him. It was a death sentence. The OPUS MUNDO
would be waiting for him in Madrid. He looked at the sea
of people surrounding him. He had no choice.
He turned to his driver, and his voice was choked with
fury. 'We're moving out.'
The crowd stepped back, watching as the soldiers climbed
into the trucks. A moment later, the trucks began rolling
down the street, and the crowd began to cheer wildly. It
started out as a cheer for Jaime Miro, and it grew louder
and louder, and they were cheering for their freedom and
their fight against tyranny, and their coming victory, and the
streets reverberated with the noise of their celebration.
Two teenagers were screaming themselves hoarse. One
turned to the other. 'Let's join ETA.'
An elderly couple held each other, and the woman said,
'Now maybe they'll give us back our farm.'

An old man stood alone in the crowd, silently watching
the army trucks leave. When he spoke, he said, "They'll be
back one day.'
Jaime took Megan's hand and said, 'It's over. We're free.
We'll be across the border in an hour. I'll take you to my
aunt.'
She looked into his eyes. 'Jaime '
A man pushed his way towards them through the crowd
and hurried up to Megan.
'Excuse me,' he said breathlessly. 'Are you Sister Megan?'
She turned to him, puzzled. 'Yes.'
He breathed a sigh of relief. 'I've had quite a time finding
you. My name is Alan Tucker. I wonder if I could speak to
you for a moment?'
'Yes.'
'Alone.'
'I'm sorry. I'm just leaving for '
'Please. This is very important. I've come all the way from
New York to find you.'
She looked at him, puzzled. 'To find me? I don't understand.
Why ?'
'I'll explain it to you, if you'll give me a moment.'
The stranger took her arm and walked her down the street,
talking rapidly. Megan glanced back once at where Jaime
Miro was standing, waiting for her.
Megan's conversation with Alan Tucker turned her world
upside down.
'The woman I represent would like to see you.'
'I don't understand. What woman? What does she want
with me?'
 wish I knew the answer to that, Alan Tucker thought.
'I'm not at liberty to discuss that. She's waiting for you in
New York.'
It made no sense. There must be some mistake. 'Are you
sure you have the right person - Sister Megan?'
'Yes. But your name isn't Megan. It's Patricia.'
And in a sudden, blinding flash, Megan knew. After all
these years, her fantasy was about to come true. She was
finally going to learn who she was. The very idea of it was
thrilling . . . and terrifying.
'When - when would I have to leave?' Her throat was
suddenly so dry that she could barely speak the words.
 want you to find out where she is and bring her back as
quickly as possible.
'Right away. I'll arrange a passport for you.'
She turned and saw Jaime standing in front of the hotel,
waiting.
'Excuse me a moment.'
Megan walked back to him in a daze, and she felt as
though she were living a dream.
'Are you all right?' Jaime asked. 'Is that man bothering
you?'
'No. He's-no.'
Jaime took Megan's hand. 'I want you to come with me
now. We belong together, Megan.'
Your name isn't Megan. It's Patricia.
And she looked at Jaime's strong, handsome face, and she
thought:  want us to be together. But we'll have to wait. First
I have to find out who I am.
'Jaime - I want to be with you. But there is something I
have to do first.'
He studied her, his face troubled. 'You're going to leave?'
'For a little while. But I'll be back.'
He looked at her for a long time, then slowly nodded. 'All
right. You can reach me through Largo Cortez.'
'I'll come back to you. I promise.'
And she meant it. But that was before the meeting with
Ellen Scott.
Chapter 37
'Deus Israel vos; et ipse sit vobiscum, qui, misertus est duobus
unicis plenius benedis cere . . . The God of Israel joins you
together, and He be with you and now. Lord, make them
bless Thee more fully. Blessed are all they that love the
Lord, that walk in His ways. Glory . . .'
Ricardo looked away from the priest and glanced at
Graciela standing at his side.  was right. She is the most
beautiful bride in the world.
Graciela was still, listening to the words of the priest
echoing through the cavernous, vaulted church. There
was such a sense of peace in the church. It seemed to
Graciela to be filled with the ghosts of the past, all the
thousands of people who had come here generation after
generation, to find forgiveness and fulfilment and joy.
It reminded her so much of the convent.  feel as though
I've come home again, Graciela thought. As though I
belong.
'Exaudi nos, omni potens et misericors deus; ut quod nostro
ministratur officio tua benedictione potius impleatua per
dominum . . . Hear us, Almighty and merciful God, that
what is done by our ministry may be abundantly fulfilled
with Thy blessing . . .'
He has blessed me, more than I deserve. Let me be worthy
of Him.
'In te sperav, domine: Dixi: Tues deus meus: in manibus
tuis tempora mea...'
'In Thee, 0 Lord, have I hoped; I said: Thou art my God;
my times are in Thy hands . . .'
.j ,.,>uj. i iin. u wicmn vuw w aevote
the rest of my life to Him.
'Suscipe quaesumus domine, pro sacra connubii lege munus
oblatum...'
'Receive, we beseech Thee, 0 Lord, the offering we make
to Thee on behalf of the holy hands of wedlock . . .'
The words seemed to reverberate in Graciela's head. She
felt as though time had stopped.
'Deus qui potestate virtutis tuae de nihilo cuneta fecisti...'
'Oh, God, who has hallowed wedlock to foreshadow the
union of Christ with the church . . . look in Thy mercy upon
this, Thy handmaid, who is to be joined in wedlock and
entreats protection and strength from Thee . . .'
But how can He show me mercy when I am betraying Him?
Graciela was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. The
walls seemed to be closing in on her.
'Nihil in ea ex actibus suis ille auctor praevaricationis
usurpet...'
'Let the father of sin work none of his evil deeds in
her . . .'
That was the moment when Graciela knew. And she felt
as though a great burden had been lifted from her. She was
filled with an exalted, ineffable joy.
The priest was saying, 'May she win the peace of the
kingdom of heaven. We ask Thee to bless this marriage,
and '
'I'm already married,' Graciela said aloud.
There was a moment of shocked silence. Ricardo and the
priest were staring at her. Ricardo's face was pale.
'Graciela, what are you ?'
She took his arm and said gently, 'I'm sorry, Ricardo.'
'I - I don't understand. Have - have you stopped loving
me?'
She shook her head. 'I love you more than my life. But
my life doesn't belong to me any more. I gave it to God a
long time ago.'
'No! I can't let you sacrifice your '
'Darling Ricardo ... It is not a sacrifice. It's a blessing.

In the convent I found the first peace I had ever known.
You're a part of the world I gave up - the best part. But I
did give it up. I must return to my world.'
The priest was standing there, listening, silent.
'Please forgive me for the pain I am causing you, but I
can't go back on my vows. I would be betraying everything
I believe in. I know that now. I could never make you happy,
because I could never be happy. Please understand.'
Ricardo stared at her, shaken, and no words would come.
It was as though something in him had died.
Graciela looked at his stricken face, and her heart went
out to him. She kissed him on the cheek. 'I love you,' she
said softly. Her eyes filled with tears. 'I will pray for you. I
will pray for us both.'
Chapter 38
On a late Friday afternoon, a military ambulance drove up
to the emergency entrance to the hospital at Aranda de
Duero. An ambulance attendant accompanied by two uniformed
policemen went through the swing doors and approached
the supervisor behind the desk.
'We have an order here to pick up a Rubio Arzano,' one
of the policemen said. He handed over the document.
The supervisor looked at it and frowned. 'I don't think I
have the authority to release him. It should be handled by
the administrator.'
'Fine. Get him.'
The supervisor hesitated. "There's a problem. He's away
for the weekend.'
'It's not our problem. There's our release order, signed
by Colonel Acoca. Do you want to call him and tell him you
won't honour it?'
'No,' he said hastily. 'That won't be necessary. I'll have
them get the prisoner ready.'
Half a mile away, in front of the city jail, two detectives
emerged from a police car and entered the building. They
approached the desk sergeant.
One of the men showed his badge. 'We're here to pick up
Lucia Carmine.'
The sergeant looked at the two detectives in front of him
and said, 'No one told me anything about this.'
One of the detectives sighed. 'Goddamned bureaucracy.


The left hand never tells the right hand what it's doing.'
'Let me see that release order.'
The detectives handed it to him.
'Colonel Acoca signed it, huh?'
'That's right.'
'Where are you taking her?'
'Madrid. The Colonel is going to question her himself.'
'Is he? Well, I think I'd better check it out with him.'
'There's no need to do that,' the detective protested.
'Mister, we've got orders to keep a tight grip on this lady.
The Italian government is having an orgasm over getting her
back. If Colonel Acoca wants her, he's going to have to tell
me himself.'
'You're wasting time, and '
'I have a lot of time, amigo. What I don't have is another
ass if I lose mine over this.' He picked up the phone and
said, 'Get me Colonel Acoca in Madrid.'
'Jesus Christ!' the detective said. 'My wife is going to
kill me if I'm late for dinner again. Besides, the Colonel's
probably not even in, and '
The phone on the desk rang. The sergeant reached for it.
'I have the Colonel's office on the line.'
The sergeant gave the detectives a triumphant look.
'Hello. This is the desk sergeant at the police station in
Aranda de Duero. It is important that I speak to Colonel
Acoca.'
One of the detectives looked at his watch impatiently. 'Mierda! I have better things to do than stand around and '
'Hello. Colonel Acoca?'
The voice boomed out over the phone. 'Yes. What is it?'
'I have two detectives here. Colonel, who want me to
release a prisoner into your custody.'
'Lucia Carmine?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Did they show you an order signed by me?'
'Yes, sir. They '
'Then what the fuck are you bothering me for? Release
her.'
'I just thought -'
'Don't think. Follow orders.'
The line went dead.
The sergeant swallowed. 'He - er '
'He has a short fuse, hasn't he?' the detective grinned.
The sergeant rose, trying to retain his dignity. 'I'll have
her brought out.'
In the alley at the back of the police station, a small boy
was watching a man on the telephone pole disconnect a
clamp from a wire and climb down.
'What are you doing?' the boy asked.
The man ruffled his hand through the boy's hair. 'Helping
out a friend, muchacho. Helping out a friend.'
Three hours later, at an isolated farmhouse to the north,! Lucia and Rubio Arzano were reunited.


He was awakened by the telephone at 3.00 a.m. The familii voice said, 'The Committee would like to meet withi
you.' s!
'Yes, sir. When?' i
'Now, Colonel. A limousine will pick you up in one hour.J Be ready, please.' a
'Yes, sir.' 1
He replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed.
He lit a cigarette and let the smoke bite deep into his lungs.
A limousine will pick you up in one hour. Be ready, please.
He would be ready.
He went into the bathroom and examined his image in the
mirror. He was looking into the eyes of a defeated man.
 was so close, he thought bitterly. 5o close.
Colonel Acoca began to shave, very carefully, and when
he was finished, he took a long, hot shower, then selected
the clothes he was going to wear.
Exactly one hour later, he walked to the front door and
took a last look at the home he knew he would never see
338

again. There would be no meeting, of course. They would
have nothing further to discuss with him.
There was a long, black limousine waiting in front of the
house. A door opened as he approached the car. There were
two men in the front and two in the back.
'Get in, Colonel.'
He took a deep breath and entered the car. A moment
later, it sped away into the black night.
It's like a dream, Lucia thought. I'm looking out the window
at the Swiss Alps. I'm actually here.
Jaime Miro had arranged for a guide to see that she
reached Zurich safely. She had arrived late at night.
In the morning, I'll go to the Leu Bank.
The thought made her nervous. What if something had
gone wrong? What if the money was no longer there? What
if . . .?
As the first light of dawn inched over the mountains, Lucia
was still awake.
A few minutes before nine, she left the Baur au Lac Hotel
and stood in front of the bank, waiting for it to open.
A kindly-looking, middle-aged man unlocked the door.
'Come in, please. I hope you haven't been waiting long?'
Only a few months, Lucia thought. 'No. Not at all.'
He ushered her inside. 'What can we do for you?'
Make me rich. 'My father has an account here. He asked
me to come in and - and take it over.'
'Is it a numbered account?'
'Yes.'
'May I have the number, please?'
'B2A149207.'
He nodded. 'One moment, please.'
She watched him disappear towards a vault at the back.
The bank was beginning to fill with customers. ( must be
there, Lucia thought. Nothing must go 339
- --- ...... ..., .uii.ng n>.;i. Jiic wuiq reaa nothing in
his face.
"This account - you say it was in your father's name?'
Her heart sank. 'Yes. Angelo Carmine.'
He studied her for a moment. "The account carries two
names.'
Did that mean she would not be able to touch it? 'What '
She could scarcely get the words out. '- What's the other 
name?'
'Lucia Carmine.'
And in that instant, she owned the world.
The account amounted to a little over thirteen million
dollars.
'How would you like it handled?' the banker asked.
'Could you transfer it to a bank in Brazil? Rio?'
'Certainly. It will be there this afternoon.'
It was that simple.
Lucia's next stop was at a travel agency near the hotel.
There was a large poster in the window advertising
Brazil.
It's an omen, Lucia thought happily. She went inside.
'May I help you?'
'Yes. I would like two tickets to Brazil.'
There are no extradition laws there.
She could not wait to tell Rubio how well everything was
going. He was in Biarritz waiting for her call. They would
be going to Brazil together.
'We can live in peace there for the rest of our lives,' she
had told him.
Now, everything was finally set. After all the adventure
and the dangers ... the arrest of her father and brothers
and her vengeance against Benito Patas and Judge Buscetta
... the police looking for her and her escape to the convent
. . . Acoca's men and the phony friar . . . Jaime Mir6 and
Teresa and the gold cross . . . and Rubio Arzano. Most of
all, dear Rubio. How many times had he risked his life for
her? He had saved her from the soldiers in the woods . . .
from the raging waters at the waterfall . . . from the men in

the bar at Aranda de Duero. The very thought of Rubio
warmed Lucia.
She returned to her hotel room and picked up the telephone,
waiting for the operator to answer.
There will be something for him to do in Rio. What? What
can he do? He'll probably want to buy a farm somewhere out
in the country. But then what would I do?
An operator's voice said, 'Number, please.'
Lucia sat there staring out of the window at the snow-
covered Alps. We have two different lives, Rubio and I. We
live in different worlds. I'm the daughter of Angela Carmine.
'Number, please?'
He's a farmer. That's what he loves. How can I take him
away from that? I can't do that to him.
The operator was getting impatient. 'Can I help you?'
Lucia said slowly, 'No. Thank you.' She replaced the
receiver.
Early the following morning, she boarded a Swissair flight
to Rio.
She was alone.
Chapter 39
The meeting had taken place in the luxurious drawing room
of Ellen Scott's townhouse. She paced back and forth, waiting
for Alan Tucker to arrive with the girl. No. Not a girl.
A woman. A nun. What would she be like? What had life
done to her? What have I done to her?
The butler walked into the room. 'Your guests have arrived,
Madam.'
She took a deep breath. 'Show them in.'
A moment later, Megan and Alan Tucker entered.
She's beautiful, Ellen Scott thought.
Tucker smiled. 'Mrs Scott, this is Megan.'
Ellen Scott looked at him and said quietly, 'I won't need
you any more.' And her words had a finality to them.
His smile faded.
'Goodbye, Tucker.'
He stood there a moment, uncertain, then nodded and
left. He could not get over his feeling that he had missed
something. Something important. Too late, he thought. Too
bloody late.
Ellen Scott was studying Megan. 'Sit down, please.'
Megan took a chair, and the two women sat there inspecting
each other.
She looks like her mother, Ellen Scott thought. She's grown
up to be a beautiful woman. She recalled the terrible night
of the accident, the storm and the burning plane.
You said she was dead . . . There's another way . . . The

pilot said we were near Avila. There should be plenty of tourists there. There's no reason for anyone to connect the
baby with the plane crash . . . We'll drop her off at a nice
farmhouse outside of town. They'll adopt her and she'll grow
up to have a lovely life here . . . You have to choose, Milo.
You can either have me, or you can spend the rest of your
life working for your brother's child.
And now here was the past confronting her. Where to
begin?
'I'm Ellen Scott, President of Scott Industries. Have you
heard of it?'
'No.'
Of course she would not have heard of it, Ellen Scott
chided herself.
This was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated.
She had concocted a story about an old friend of the family
who had died, and a promise to take care of his daughter, and
- but the moment she had looked at Megan, Ellen Scott knew
that it would not work. She had no choice. She had to trust
Patricia - Megan - not to destroy them all. Ellen Scott thought
of what she had done to the woman seated before her, and her
eyes filled with tears. But it's too late for tears. It's time to make
amends. It's time to tell the truth.
Ellen Scott leaned across to Megan and took her hand. 'I
have a story to tell youshe said quietly.
That had been three years earlier. For the first year, until
she became too ill to continue, Ellen Scott had taken Megan
under her wing. Megan had gone to work for Scott Industries,
and her aptitude and intelligence had delighted the older
woman.
'You'll have to work hard,' Ellen Scott said. 'You'll learn,
as I had to learn. In the beginning, it will be difficult, but in
the end, it will become your life.'
And it had.
Megan worked hours that none of her employees could
even begin to emulate.
FR1;-.ui wnn-c ai luui u ciock in me morning and
work all day. How do you do it?'
Megan smiled and thought: If I slept until four o'clock in
the morning at the convent. Sister Betina would scold me.
Ellen Scott was gone, but Megan had kept learning, and
kept watching the company grow. Her company. Ellen Scott
had adopted her. 'So we won't have to explain why you're
a Scott,' she said. But there was a note of pride in her voice.
It's ironic, Megan thought. A II those years at the orphanage
when no one would adopt me. And now I'm being adopted
by my own family.
He has a wonderful sense of humour.

Chapter 40
A new man was behind the wheel of the getaway car, and it
made Jaime Miro nervous.
'I'm not sure of him,' he told Felix Carpio. 'What if he
drives off and leaves us?'
'Relax. He's my cousin's brother-in-law. He'll be fine.
He's been begging for a chance to go out with us.'
'I have a bad feeling,' Jaime said.
They had arrived in Seville early that afternoon, and had
examined half a dozen banks before choosing their target.
The bank was on a side street, small, not too much traffic,
close to a factory which would be making deposits there.
Everything seemed perfect. Except for the man in the getaway
car.
'Is he all that's worrying you?' Felix asked.
'No.'
'What, then?'
It was a difficult one to answer. 'Call it a premonition.'
He tried to say it lightly, mocking himself.
Felix took it seriously. 'Do you want to call it off?'
'Because I have the nerves of an old washerman today?
No, amigo. It will all go as smooth as silk.'
In the beginning, it had.
There were half a dozen customers in the bank, and Felix
held them at bay with an automatic weapon while Jaime
cleared out the cash drawers. Smooth as silk.
As the two men were leaving, heading for the getaway
car, Jaime called out, 'Remember, amigos, the money is for
a good cause.'
FR1;It was out in the street that it began to fall apart. There
were police everywhere. The driver of the getaway car
on his knees on the pavement, a police pistol at his head. H
As Jaime and Felix came into view, a detective called out5W 'Drop your weapons.'
Jaime hesitated for one split second. Then he raised his
gun- S

Chapter 41
The converted 727 was flying at 35,000 feet, over the Grand
Canyon. It had been a long, hard day. And it's not over yet, Megan thought.
She was on her way to California to sign the papers that
would give Scott Industries one million acres of timberland
north of San Francisco. She had struck a hard bargain.
It's their fault, Megan thought. They shouldn't have tried
to cheat me. I'll bet I'm the first bookkeeper they've ever come
up against from a Cistercian convent. She laughed aloud.
The steward approached her. 'Can I get you anything,
Miss Scott?'
'No, thank you.'
She saw a stack of newspapers and magazines in the rack.
She had been so busy with the deal that she had had no time
to read anything. 'Let me see the New York Times, please.'
The story was on the front page and it leaped out at
her. There was a photograph of Jaime Miro. Below it the
communique read: 'Jaime Miro, leader of ETA, the radical
Basque separatist movement in Spain, was wounded and
captured by police during a bank hold-up yesterday afternoon
in Seville. Killed in the attack was Felix Carpio, another
of the alleged terrorists. The authorities had been conducting
a search for Miro since . . .'
Megan read the rest of the article and sat there for a long
time, frozen, remembering the past. It was like a distant
dream, photographed through a gauze curtain, hazy and
unreal.
This fight will be over soon. We'll get what we want because
the people are behind us ... I would like you to wait fort me ... ;
Long ago she had read of a civilization that believed if you
saved a person's life, that you were responsible for him.
Well, she had saved Jaime twice - once at the castle, and
again at the park. I'll be damned if I'm going to let them kill
him now.
She reached for the telephone next to her seat and said to
the pilot, 'Turn the plane around. We're going back to New York.'
A limousine was there for her at La Guardia, and by the
time she arrived in her office it was 2.00 a.m. Lawrence Gray
Jr. was waiting for her. His father had been the company's
attorney for years and had retired. The son was bright and
ambitious.
Without preamble, Megan said, 'Jaime Miro. What do
you know about him?'
The reply was immediate. 'He's a Basque terrorist, head
of ETA. I think I just read that he was captured a day or so
ago.'
'Right. The government is going to have to put him on
trial. I want to have someone there. Who's the best trial
lawyer in the country?'
'I'd say Curtis Hayman.'
'No. Too much of a gentleman. We need a killer.' She
thought for a moment. 'Get Mike Rosen.'
'He's booked for the next hundred years, Megan.'
'Unbook him. I want him in Madrid for the trial.'
He frowned. 'We can't get involved in a public trial i
Spain.'
'Sure we can. Amicus curae. We're friends of the defendant.'

He studied her a moment. 'Do you mind if I ask you
personal question?'
'Yes. Get on this.'
Til do my best.'

Larry . . .'
'Yes?'
'And then some.' There was steel in her voice.
Twenty minutes later, Lawrence Gray walked into Megan's
office. 'Mike Rosen is on the phone. I think I woke him up.
He wants to talk to you.'
Megan picked up the telephone. 'Mr Rosen? What a
pleasure this is. We've never met, but I have a feeling you
and I are going to become very good friends. A lot of people
sue Scott Industries just for the target practice, and I've
been looking around for someone to take charge of all our
litigation. Yours is the one name that keeps coming up.
Naturally, I'm prepared to pay you a large retainer for '
'Miss Scott ?'
'Yes.'
'I don't mind a little snow job, but you're giving me
frostbite.'
'I don't understand.'
'Then let me put it in legal parlance for you. Cut-out the
bullshit. It's two o'clock in the morning. You don't hire
people at two o'clock in the morning.'
'Mr Rosen '
'Mike. We're going to be good friends, remember? But
friends have to trust one another. Larry tells me you want
me to go to Spain to try to save some Basque terrorist who's
in the hands of the police.'
She started to say, 'He's not a terrorist -' but stopped
herself. 'Yes.'
'What's your problem? Is he suing Scott Industries because
his gun jammed?'
'He '
'I'm sorry, friend. I can't help you. My schedule is so tight
that I gave up going to the bathroom six months ago. I can
recommend a few lawyers . . .'
No, Megan thought. Jaime Miro needs you. And she
was suddenly seized by a sense of hopelessness. Spain was
-r----' -' ""ice suunuea weary. 'Never mind,' she said. 'It's a personal
matter. I'm sorry for coming on so strongly.'
'Hey! That's what CEOs are supposed to do. Personal is
different, Megan. To tell you the truth, I'm dying to hear
what interest the head of Scott Industries has in saving a
Spanish terrorist. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?'
She was going to let nothing stand in her way. 'Yes.'
'Le Cirque at one o'clock?'
Megan felt her spirits lifting. 'Fine.'
'You make the reservation. But I have to warn you about
something.'
'Yes?'
'I have a very nosy wife.'
They met at Le Cirque, and when Sirio had seated them,
Mike Rosen said, 'You're better looking than your picture.
I'll bet everybody tells you that.'
He was very short, and he dressed carelessly. But there
was nothing careless about his mind. His eyes radiated a
blazing intelligence.
'You've aroused my curiosity,' Mike Rosen said. 'What's
your interest in Jaime Miro?'
There was so much to tell. Too much to tell. All Megan
said was, 'He's a friend. I don't want him to die.'
Rosen leaned forward in his seat, his legs swinging in the
air. 'I went through the newspaper files on him this morning.
If Don Juan Carlos' government executes Miro only once,
he'll be way ahead of the game. They're going to get hoarse
just reading the charges against your friend.' He saw the
expression on Megan's face. 'I'm sorry, but I have to be
honest. Miro has been a very busy man. He holds up banks,
blows up cars, murders people -'
'He's not a murderer. He's a patriot. He's fighting for his
rights.'
'Okay, okay. He's my hero too. What do you want me to
do?'
350

aave mm.
'Megan, we're such good friends that I'm going to tell you
the absolute truth. Jesus Christ himself couldn't save him.
You're looking for a miracle that '
'I believe in miracles. Will you help me?'
He studied her a moment. 'What the hell. What are
friends for? Have you tried the pate? I hear they make it
kosher.'
The Fax from Madrid read: 'Have spoken to half a dozen
top European lawyers. They refuse to represent Mir6. Tried
to have myself admitted to trial as amicus curae. Court ruled
against me. Wish I could pull off that miracle for you, friend,
but Jesus hasn't risen yet. Am on my way home. You owe
me a lunch. Mike.'
The trial was set to begin on 17 September.
'Cancel my appointments,' Megan told her assistant. 'I
have some business to take care of in Madrid.'
'How long will you be gone?'
'I don't know.'
She planned her strategy on the plane flying over the Atlan-
tic. There has to be a way, Megan thought.  have money
and I have power. The Prime Minister is the key. I have to
get to him before the trial starts. After that, it will be too late.
Megan had an appointment with Prime Minister Leopoldo
Martinez twenty-four hours after she arrived in Madrid. He
invited her to Moncloa Palace for lunch.
'Thank you for seeing me so promptly,' Megan said. 'I
know what a busy man you are.'
He raised a hand in deprecation. 'My dear Miss Scott,
when the head of an organization as important as Scott
351
Industries flies to my country to see me, 1 can only be
honoured. Please tell me how I can assist you.'
'I really came here to assist you,' Megan said. 'It occurred to
me that while we have a few factories in Spain, we're not using
nearly enough of the potential that your country has to offer.'
He was listening closely now, his eyes shining. 'Yes?'
'Scott Industries is about to open a huge electronics plant.
It should employ somewhere between a thousand and fifteen
hundred people. If it is as successful as we think it will be,
we'll open satellite factories.'
'And you have not decided in which country you wish to
open this plant?'
'That's right. I'm personally in favour of Spain, but quite
frankly. Your Excellency, some of my executives are not too
happy with your civil rights record.'
'Really?'
'Yes. They felt that those who object to some of the
policies of the state are treated too harshly.'
'Do you have anyone in particular in mind?'
'As a matter of fact, I do. Jaime Miro.'
He sat there staring at her. 'I see. And if we were to be
lenient with Jaime Miro, we would get the electronics factory
and '
'And a lot more,' Megan assured him. 'Our factories will
raise the standard of living in every community they're in.'
The Prime Minister frowned. 'I'm afraid there is one small
problem.'
'What? We can negotiate further.'
'This is something that cannot be negotiated. Miss Scott.
Spain's honour is not for sale. You cannot bribe us or buy
us or threaten us.'
'Believe me, I'm not '
'You came here with your handouts and expect us to run
our courts to please you? Think again, Miss Scott. We don't
need your factories.'
I've made it worse, Megan thought, despairingly.
352

i ne inai iasiea six weeKs in a neavny guarded courtroom
that was closed to the public.
Megan remained in Madrid, following the news reports of
the trial each day. From time to time, Mike Rosen telephoned
her.
'I know what you're going through, friend. I think you
should come home.'
'I can't, Mike.'
She tried to see Jaime.
'Absolutely no visitors.'
On the last day of the trial, Megan stood outside the courtroom,
lost in a crowd of people. Reporters came streaming
out of the building, and Megan stopped one of them.
'What happened?'
'They found him guilty on all counts. He's going to get the
garrotte.'
353
Chapter 42
At five a.m. on the morning scheduled for the execution of
Jaime Miro, crowds began to gather outside the central
prison in Madrid. Barricades set up by the guardia civil kept
the swelling mob of onlookers across the wide street, away
from the front entrance to the prison. Armed troops and
tanks blocked the iron prison gates.
Inside the prison, in the office of Warden Gomez de la
Fuente, an extraordinary meeting was taking place. In the
room were Prime Minister Leopoldo Martinez, Alonzo
Sebastian, the new head of GOE, and the warden's executive
deputies, Juanito Molinas and Pedros Arrange.
Warden de la Fuente was a heavyset, middle-aged, grim-
faced man who had passionately devoted his life to disciplining
the miscreants that the government had placed in his
charge. Molinas and Arrange, his hard-bitten assistants, had
served with de la Fuente for the past twenty years.
Prime Minister Martinez was speaking. 'I would like to
know what arrangements you have made to ensure that there
will be no trouble in carrying out Mir6's execution.'
Warden de la Fuente replied, 'We have prepared for every
possible contingency. Your Excellency. As Your Excellency
observed when you arrived, a full company of armed soldiers
is stationed around the prison. It would take an army to
break in.'
'And inside the prison itself?'
"The precautions are even more stringent. Jaime Miro
is locked in a double security cell on the second floor.
The other prisoners on that floor have been temporarily
354

transferred. Two guards are stationed at each end of the
cell block. I have ordered a general lock-down, so that all
prisoners will remain in their cells until after the execution.'
What time will that take place?'
'At noon. Your Excellency. I have postponed mess hall
until one o'clock. That will give us enough time to get Miro's
body out of here.'
'What plans have you made for disposing of it?'
'I am following your suggestion. Excellency. His burial in
Spain would cause the government embarrassment if the Basques should turn his grave into some kind of shrine. We
have been in touch with his aunt in France. She lives in a
small village outside Bayonne. She has agreed to bury him
there.'
The Prime Minister rose. 'Excellent.' He sighed. 'I still
think a hanging in the public square would have been more
appropriate.'
'Yes, Your Excellency. But in that case, I could no longer
have been responsible for controlling the mob outside.'
'I suppose you're right. There's no point in stirring up any
more excitement than is necessary. The garrotte is more
painful and slower. And if any man deserves the garrotte, it
is Jaime Miro.'
Warden de la Fuente said, 'Excuse me. Your Excellency,
but I understand that a commission of judges is meeting to
consider a last minute appeal from Mir6's attorneys. If it
should come through, what should I ?'
The Prime Minister interrupted. 'It won't. The execution
will proceed as scheduled.'
The meeting was over.
At 7.30 a.m., a bread truck arrived in front of the prison
gate.
'Delivery.'
One of the prison guards stationed at the entrance looked
in at the driver. 'You're new, aren't you?'
'Yeah.'
355
'Where's Julio?'
'He's sick in bed today.'
'Why don't you go join him, amigoT
What?'
'No deliveries this morning. Come back this afternoon.'
'But every morning '
'Nothing goes in, and only one thing is going out. Now
back up, turn around and get your ass out of here before my
pals get nervous.'
The driver looked around at the armed soldiers staring at
him. 'Sure. Okay.'
They watched as he turned the truck around and disappeared
down the street. The commander of the post reported
the incident to the warden. When the story was checked out,
it was learned that the regular employee was in the hospital,
a victim of a hit and run driver.
At eight a.m., a car bomb exploded across the street from the
prison, wounding half a dozen bystanders. Under ordinary
circumstances, the guards would have left their posts
to investigate and assist the wounded. But they had strict
orders. They remained at their stations and the guardia civil was summoned to take charge.
The incident was promptly reported to Warden de la
Fuente.
'They're getting desperate,' he said. 'Be prepared for
anything.'
At 9.15 a.m., a helicopter appeared over the prison grounds.
Painted on its sides were the words: LA PRENSA, Spain's
prominent daily newspaper.
Two anti-aircraft guns had been set up on the prison roof.
The lieutenant in charge waved a flag to warn off the plane.
It continued to hover. The officer picked up a field telephone.
'Warden, we have a copter overhead.'
'Any identification?'
356

'It says La Prensa, but the sign looks freshly painted.'
'Give it one warning shot. If it doesn't move, blow it out
of the sky.'
'Yes, sir.' He nodded to his gunner. 'Put a close one in.'
The shot landed five yards to the side of the helicopter.
They could see the pilot's startled face. The gunner loaded
again. The helicopter swooped up and disappeared across
the skies of Madrid. What the hell is next? the lieutenant wondered.
At 11.00 a.m. Megan Scott appeared at the reception office
of the prison. She looked drawn and pale. 'I want to see
Warden de la Fuente.'
'Do you have an appointment?'
'No, but '
'I'm sorry. The Warden isn't seeing anyone this morning.
If you telephone this afternoon '
'Tell him it's Megan Scott.'
He took a closer look at her. So this is the rich American
who's trying to get Jaime Miro released. I wouldn't mind
having her work on me for a few nights. 'I'll tell the Warden
you're here.'
Five minutes later Megan was seated in Warden de la
Fuente's office. With him were half a dozen members of the
prison board.
'What can I do for you. Miss Scott?'
'I would like to see Jaime Miro.'
The warden sighed. 'I'm afraid that is not possible.'
'But I'm '
'Miss Scott - we are all aware of who you are. If we could
accommodate you, I assure you that we would be more than
happy to do so,' he smiled. 'We Spaniards are really an
understanding people. We are also sentimental, and from
time to time we are not averse to turning a blind eye to
certain rules and regulations.' His smile disappeared. 'But
not today. Miss Scott. No. Today is a very special day. It
has taken us years to catch the man you wish to see. So this
357
is a uay ui mica aiiu icguianuns. i ne next one to see Jaime
Miro will be his God - if he has one.'
Megan stared at him, miserable. 'Could -could I just look
at him for a moment?'
One of the members of the prison board, touched by the
anguish in Megan's face, was tempted to intervene. He
stopped himself.
'I'm sorry,' Warden de la Fuente said. 'No.'
'Could I send him a message?' Her voice was choked.
'You would be sending a message to a dead man.' He
looked at his watch. 'He has less than an hour to live.'
'But he's appealing his sentence. Isn't a panel of judges
meeting to decide if -?'
'They've voted against it. I received word from them
fifteen minutes ago. Miro's appeal has been denied. The
execution will take place. Now, if you'll excuse me '
He rose, and the others followed suit. Megan looked
around the room at their cold faces and shuddered.
'May God have mercy on all of you,' she said.
They watched, silent, as she fled from the room.

'.m
At ten minutes before the noon hour, the door to Jaime
Miro's cell was opened. Warden Gomez de la Fuente was
accompanied by his two assistants, Molinas and Arrange,
and Dr Miguel Anuncion. Four armed guards stood watch
in the corridor.
The warden entered the cell. 'It's time.'
Jaime rose from his cot. He was handcuffed and shackled.
'I was hoping you'd be late.' There was an air of dignity
about him that Warden de la Fuente could not help but
admire.
At another time, under other circumstances, we might have
been friends.
Jaime stepped out into the deserted corridor, his movements
clumsy because of the shackles. He was flanked by
the guards and Molinas and Arrange. 'The garrotte?' Jaime
asked.

The warden nodded. 'The garrotte.' Excruciatingly painful,
inhuman. It was a good thing, the warden thought, that
the execution would take place in a private room, away from
the eyes of the public and the press.
The procession made its way down the corridor. From
outside, in the street, they could hear the chant of the crowd:
'Jaime . . . Jaime . . . Jaime . . .'It was a swelling, bursting
from a thousand throats growing louder and louder.
'They're calling for you,' Pedros Arrange said.
'No. They're calling for themselves. They're calling for
freedom. Tomorrow they'll have another name. I may die but
there will always be another name.'
They passed through two security gates to a small chamber
at the end of the corridor, with an iron green door. From
around the corner a black-robed priest appeared.
'Thank heavens I'm in time. I've come to give the condemned
man the last rites.'
As he moved towards Miro, two guards blocked his way.
'Sorry, Father,' Warden de la Fuente said. 'Nobody goes
near him.'
'But I'm '
'If you want to give him his last rites, you'll have to do it
through closed doors. Out of the way, please.'
A guard opened the green door. Standing inside, next to
a chair bolted to the floor, with heavy armstraps, was a huge
man wearing a half mask. In his hands he held the garrotte.
The warden nodded towards Molinas and Arrange and
the doctor, and they entered the room after Jaime. The
guards remained outside. The green door was locked and
bolted.
Inside the room, assistants Molinas and Arrange led Jaime
to the chair. They unlocked his handcuffs, then strapped
him in, pulling the heavy straps against his arms, while Dr
Anuncion and Warden de la Fuente watched. Through the
thick closed door, they could barely hear the chanting, of the
priest.
De la Fuente looked at Jaime and shrugged. 'It doesn't
matter. God will understand what he is saying.'
The giant holding the garrotte moved to the back ofJaime.
Warden Gomez de la Fuente asked, 'Do you want a cloth
over your face?'
'No.'
The warden looked at the giant and nodded. The giant
lifted the garrotte in his hand and reached forward.
Outside the guards at the door could hear the chanting of
the mob in the street.
'You know something?' one of the guards grumbled. 'I
wish I was out there with them.'
Five minutes later, the green door opened.
Dr Anuncion said, 'Bring in the body bag.'
Following instructions, Jaime Miro's body was smuggled out
through a back door of the prison. The body bag was thrown
into the back of an unmarked van. But the moment the vehicle
pulled out of the prison grounds, the crowd in the street
pressed forward, as though drawn to it by some mystic magnet.
'Jaime . . . Jaime . . .'
But the cries were softer now. Men and women wept, and
their children looked on in wonder, not understanding what
was happening. The van made its way through the crowd
and finally turned on to a highway.
'Jesus,' the driver said. 'That was spooky. The guy must
have had something.'
'Yeah. And thousands of people knew it too!'
At two o'clock that afternoon. Warden Gomez de la Fuente
and his two assistants, Juanito Molinas and Pedros Arrange appeared at the office of Prime Minister Martinez.
'I want to congratulate you,' the Prime Minister said. 'It
was executed perfectly.'
The warden spoke. 'Mr Prime Minister, we're not here to
receive your congratulations. We're here to resign.'
Martinez stared at them, baffled. 'I - I don't understand.
What ?'
360

'It's a matter of humanity. Your Excellency. We just
watched a man die. Perhaps he deserved to die. But not like
that. It - it was barbaric. I want no more part of this or
anything like it, and my colleagues feel the same way.'
'Perhaps you should give this more thought. Your
pensions '
'We have to live with our consciences.' Warden de la
Fuente handed the Prime Minister three pieces of paper.
'Here are our resignations.'
Late that night, the van crossed the French border and
headed for the village of Bidache, near Bayonne. They
pulled up before a neat farmhouse.
'This is the place. Let's get rid of the body before it starts
to smell.'
The door to the farmhouse was opened by a woman in her
middle fifties. 'You brought him?'
'Yes, ma'am. Where would you like it - er - him?'
'In the parlour, please.'
'Yes, ma'am. I - I wouldn't wait too long to bury him.
You know what I mean?'
She watched the two men carry in the body bag and set it
on the floor.
'Thank you.'
'De nada.'
She stood there watching as they drove away.
Another woman walked in from the other room and ran
towards the body bag. She hastily unzipped it.
Jaime Miro was lying there smiling up at them. 'Do you
know something? That garrotte could be a real pain in the
neck.'
'White wine or red?' Megan asked.
361
FR1;Chapter 43
At Barajas Airport in Madrid, former Warden Gomez de la
Fuente and his former assistants, Molinas and Arrange, and
Dr Anuncion and the giant in the mask were in the departure
lounge.
'I still think you're making a mistake not coming with me
to Puerto Rico,' de la Fuente said. 'With your five million
dollars, you can buy the whole fucking island.'
Molinas shook his head. 'Arrange and I are going to
Switzerland. I'm tired of the sun. We're going to buy ourselves
a few dozen snow bunnies.'
The, too,' the giant said.
They turned to Miguel Anuncion.
'What about you, doctor?'
'I'm going to Bangladesh.'
"What?'
'That's right. I'm going to use the money to open a hospital
there. You know, I thought about it a long time before I
accepted Megan Scott's offer. But I figured that if I can save
a lot of innocent lives by letting one terrorist live, it's a good
trade-off. Besides, I must tell you, I liked Jaime Miro.'

Chapter 44
It had been a good season in the French countryside, with
fine weather, showering farmers with an abundance of crops.
 wish that every year could be as wonderful as this, Rubio
Arzano thought.  has been a good year in more ways than
one.
First his marriage and then, a year ago, the birth of the
twins. Whoever dreamed a man could be this happy?
It was starting to rain. Rubio turned the tractor around
and headed for the barn. He thought about the twins. The
boy was going to be big and strapping. But his sister! She
was going to be a handful. She's going to give her man a lot
of trouble, Rubio grinned to himself. She takes after her
mother.
He drove the tractor into the barn and headed for the
house, feeling the cool rain against his face. He opened the
door and stepped inside.
'You're just in time,' Lucia smiled. 'Dinner's ready.'
The Reverend Mother Prioress Betina awakened with a
premonition that something wonderful was about to happen.
Of course, she thought, enough good things have already
happened.
The Cistercian convent had long since been reopened,
under the protection of King Don Juan Carios. Sister
Graciela and the nuns who had been taken to Madrid were
safely returned to the convent, where they were allowed to
retreat once again into the blessed solitude and silence.
Shortly after breakfast, the Mother Prioress walked into
her office and stopped, staring. On her desk, shining with a
dazzling brightness, lay the gold cross.
It was accepted as a miracle.
364

AFTERWORD
Madrid has tried to buy peace by offering the Basques
limited autonomy, allowing them to have their own flag,
their own language, and a Basque police department. ETA
replied by assassinating Constantin Ortin Gil, Madrid's military
governor, and later Luis Carrero Blanco, the man
chosen by Franco to be his successor.
The violence keeps escalating.
In a three-year period, ETA terrorists have killed more
than 600 victims. The slaughter continues and the retaliation
by the police has been equally ruthless.
Not so many years ago, ETA had the sympathy of the two
and a half million Basque people, but continued terrorism
has eroded their support. In Bilbao, the very heart of the
Basque homeland, 100,000 people took to the streets to
demonstrate against ETA. The Spanish people feel it is time
for peace, time to heal the wounds.
The OPUS MUNDO is more powerful than ever, but few
people are willing to discuss it.
As for the Cistercian convents of the Strict Observance,
there are in existence today fifty-four convents, worldwide,
seven of them in Spain.
Their timeless ritual of eternal silence and seclusion remains
unchanged.
365
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