The Sands of Time (20 page)

A lazy voice answered, “Police headquarters.”

The clerk whispered into the telephone to his nephew, “Florian, I have Jaime Miró and three of his people here. How would you like the honor of capturing them?”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

N
inety miles to the east, in a wooded area along the way to Peñafiel, Lucia Carmine was asleep.

Rubio Arzano sat watching her, reluctant to awaken her.
She sleeps like an angel
he thought.

But it was almost dawn, time to be moving on.

Rubio leaned over and whispered gently in her ear, “Sister Lucia…”

Lucia opened her eyes.

“It is time for us to go.”

She yawned and stretched lazily. The blouse she was wearing had become unbuttoned and part of her breast was showing. Rubio hastily looked away.

I must guard my thoughts. She is the bride of Jesus.

“Sister…”

“Yes?”

“I—I wonder if I could ask a favor of you.” He was almost blushing.

“Yes?”

“I—it’s been a long time since I prayed. But I was brought up a Catholic. Would you mind saying a prayer?”

That was the last thing Lucia had expected.

How long has it been since I said a prayer?
she wondered. The convent did not count. While the others were praying, her mind had been busy with plans to escape.

“I—I don’t—”

“I’m sure it would make us both feel better.”

How could she explain that she did not remember any prayers? “I—er—”
Yes.
There was one she remembered. She 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 to come back to her.

“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 d’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 preparest 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 for ever.”

Rubio was watching her, moved.

“Thank you, Sister.”

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 bumbling hayseed 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 a part of the miracle.”

Lucia had to smile at the enthusiasm in his voice.

Suddenly the rain stopped.

“We can move on now, Sister.”

“We will be coming to the Duero River soon,” Rubio said. “The Peñafiel Falls is just ahead of us. We will go on to Aranda de Duero and then Logroño, 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 Peñafiel 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.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

W
hen Sergeant Florian Santiago replaced the receiver in the police station in Salamanca, his hands were trembling.

I have Jaime Miró and three of his people here. How would you like the honor of capturing them?

The government had posted a large reward for the head of Jaime Miró, 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 jewelry for his mistress. Of course, he would have to share some of the reward money with his uncle.
I’ll give him twenty percent,
Santiago thought.
Or maybe ten percent.

He was well aware of Jaime Miró’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 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 the 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 Miró.”

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 room clerk. He telephoned me himself. There is another man and two women with Miró.”

“Your uncle is positive it is Miró?”

“Yes, Colonel. He and the others are sleeping in the two back rooms on the second floor of the inn.”

Acoca said, “Listen to me very carefully, Sergeant. I want you to go to the
parador
immediately and stand watch 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 Miró, 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 Ramón Acoca replaced the receiver and sat still, letting his brain go to work. This time there would be no slipup. It was the final move in the chess game between them. He would have to proceed very carefully. Miró 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.”

“Yes, sir.”

There would be no escape for Miró. 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 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 toward 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.”

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 Ramón 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. He wondered if there would be a lot of shooting. And if there was, he wondered if his uncle might be killed in the cross fire. 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 the colonel and his men reached the top of the stairs, Acoca 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 Miró himself.

At the end of the hall were the two rooms where Miró and his group were staying. 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 Miró and the others were nowhere to be found. The colonel stormed downstairs to confront the room clerk. 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. The bound and gagged body of the clerk was slumped against the wall. A sign had been hung around his neck. It read:
PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB
.