The Sands of Time (18 page)

“Where did you come from, old woman?” he demanded.

She looked at him with glowing 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.
Adiós, señora.
”

“You don’t understand. I am Sister Teresa from the Cistercian convent. I have been taken prisoner by Jaime Miró and his men.” She watched the stunned expression that came over his face.

“You’re—you’re from the convent?”

“Yes.”

“The one at Ávila?”

“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 to him.”

“Will he be able to help me?”

“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 to scour the entire countryside in search of 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 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. For the last three days, all of his energy had been focused on finding Jaime Miró 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 Èze.”

The colonel was puzzled. “Who’s trying to take you back to Èze?”

“The men of Jaime Miró.”

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.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

A
lan Tucker arrived in Ávila the day after his conversation with Ellen Scott. It had been a long flight, and Tucker should have been exhausted, but instead 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 I 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,
señor.
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
why
? 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 dozen people working behind desks. “
Perdone,
I would like to see the managing editor.”

The man pointed to an office. “In there,
señor.
”

“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
señorita.
”

The editor smiled. “Aren’t we all,
señor
?”

“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,
señor
?”

“Twenty-eight.”

The young man shrugged. “It was before my time.”

Perhaps it’s not going to be so easy.
“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 lap robe over his thin legs, listening to the stranger.

When Alan Tucker was finished explaining why he was there, Father Berrendo said, “Why do you wish to know about this matter,
señor
? 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 the hospital.

“
I think she’s dying, Father. What shall we do?”

Father Berrendo telephoned his friend Don Morago, the chief of police.

“I think the baby was abandoned by tourists visiting Ávila. Could you check the hotels and inns and see if anyone arrived with a baby and left without one?”

The police went 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 had said.

And he had had no idea of how close he had come to solving the mystery.

When Father Berrendo took the infant to the orphanage, Mercedes Angeles had asked, “Does the baby have 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 Cistercian convent.

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,
señor,
” Father Berrendo said. “There is much to tell you.”

And he told him.

When the priest was finished, Alan Tucker sat there quietly, his mind racing. There had to be a very good 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 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 much longer. The police and half the 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,
señor
?”

“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

October 1, 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.
If this is what I think it is, I’m going to be a rich man…a
very
rich man.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

S
he 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.
I 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 just performed a miracle for me,
she thought.

Lucia had no idea how the cross had gotten there, nor did she care. She finally had it in her hands. 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 Tomás 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.

Colonel Fal Sostelo had a command decision to make. He had been given orders by the prime minister himself to work closely with Colonel Ramón Acoca to help capture Jaime Miró 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 Miró’s men. Shouldn’t we—?”

“Let the terrorists hide behind the nuns? No, we’ll take no chances.”

Sostelo selected a dozen men to accompany him on the raid and 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 to spray the clearing.

Tomás 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.

To his amazement, he saw Lucia crouched two feet away from him.

“Where’s Sister Teresa?” he whispered.

“She—she’s gone.”

“Stay low,” Rubio told her.

He grabbed Lucia’s hand and they zigzagged toward 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,” he 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 was dead, but God alone knew how many had escaped. He did not have Jaime Miró and he had only one of the nuns. He knew he would have to inform Colonel Acoca of what had happened, and he was not looking forward to it.

The second call from Alan Tucker to Ellen Scott was even more disturbing than the first.

“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.

He went on. “The 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,” she 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.
I 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 boardroom, Mrs. Scott.”

“I’m coming.”

Lucia and Rubio kept moving through the woods, stumbling and slipping, fighting off tree limbs and bushes and insects, and each step took them farther away from their pursuers.

Finally, Rubio 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. Tomás 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.

She 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 said, “We’ll move on again at dawn.”

Lucia felt a gnawing in her stomach. Even as she was thinking about it, Rubio said, “You must be hungry. I’ll go 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.” He 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.

She heard a noise in the woods and swung around. It was Rubio. He moved toward her, smiling. In his hand he held his beret, which was bulging with tomatoes, grapes, and apples.

He sat down on the ground next to her. “Breakfast. A nice, plump chicken was available, but the fire we would have needed to cook it would have given us away. There is a farm just down the mountainside.”

Lucia stared at the contents of the beret. “It looks great. I’m starving.”

He handed her an apple. “Try this.”

They had finished eating and Rubio was talking, but Lucia, absorbed in her own thoughts, was not paying attention.

“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?”

“Sí.”
Rubio said earnestly, “Franco has died.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes. Last year.”

And named Don Juan Carlos his heir,
she thought.

“You may find this very hard to believe, but a man walked on the moon for the first time. 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.”
I can’t wait to ride the 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 toward her. She took out a cigarette, put it between her lips, and he lit the end of it. Lucia inhaled deeply, and as the smoke filled her lungs she felt wonderful.

Rubio was watching her, puzzled.

She coughed. “So that’s what a cigarette tastes like.”

“Do you like it?”

“Not really, but—”

Lucia 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. So she put out the cigarette she 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, tensionfilled night. “I think I may take a little nap.”

“Don’t worry. I will watch over you, Sister.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. Within moments she was asleep.

Rubio Arzano looked down at her and thought:
I have never seen a woman like this one.
She was spiritual, having 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.