De la Fuente looked at Jaime and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. God will understand what he is saying.”
The giant holding the garrote moved behind Jaime. 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 garrote in his hand and reached forward.
The guards outside 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. Anunción said, “Bring in the body bag.”
Following instructions, Jaime Miró’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 onto 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 Arrango, appeared at the office of Prime Minister Martinez.
“I want to congratulate you,” the prime minister said. “The execution went 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—?”
“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. It 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 parlor, 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 toward the body bag. She hastily unzipped it.
Jaime Miró was lying there smiling up at them. “Do you know something? That garrote could be a real pain in the neck.”
“White wine or red?” Megan asked.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
At Barajas Airport in Madrid, former Warden Gomez de la Fuente, his former assistants, Molinas and Arrango, Dr. Anunción, and the giant who had worn the mask were in the departure lounge.
“I still think you’re making a mistake not coming with me to Costa Rica,” de la Fuente said. “With your five million dollars, you can buy the whole fucking island.”
Molinas shook his head. “Arrango and I are going to Switzerland. I’m tired of the sun. We’re going to buy ourselves a few dozen snow bunnies.”
“Me too,” the giant said.
They turned to Miguel Anunción.
“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 Miró.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
It had been a good season in the French countryside, showering farmers with an abundance of crops. I wish that every year could be as wonderful as this, Rubio Arzano thought. It has been a good year in more ways than one.