Sands of Time

They reached the village square, with its shops and markets and bars, and they passed the Taberna Cueva, with its long bar and wooden tables. There was a jukebox 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."

He took her 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, querida?"

"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 POLICiA. 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.

"Buenos dias, senorita."

"Buenos dias, senor. I have something I would like to sell." She was so nervous, she had to press her knees together to keep them from shaking.

"Si?"

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 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 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 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, senorita?"

"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 toward 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 at 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 tabema, 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, but instead she felt strangely depressed.

What’s wrong with me? I’m on my way. Rubio will get over me soon enough. He’ll find someone else.

Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he had said, "I 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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 shooting of five 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 over the world, and Prime Minister Leopoldo Martinez, in an effort to cool things down, had agreed to a press conference. Almost four dozen reporters from all over the world were gathered in his office. Colonels Ramon Acoca and Fal Sostelo were at his 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 Martinez replied, "Colonel Acoca is in charge of the search operation. I will let him answer that."

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."