“Achtung!” their guide was calling out. “Schnell.”
Lucia glanced toward the hut. The guard who had taken her passport was yelling into the telephone.
“All aboard, bitte.”
Without a second thought, Lucia moved toward the laughing, chattering tour group and stepped onto the bus, averting her face from the guide. She took a seat in the rear of the bus, 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 bus door closed and the engine sprang to life. A moment later the bus was rolling out of San Sebastian toward 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 was hiding somewhere. By then dozens of cars and buses would have passed through. The police would have no idea where she had gone, or in which direction she was traveling.
The tour group on the bus was obviously having a happy holiday. Why not? Lucia thought bitterly. They don’t have the police snapping at their heels. Was it worth risking the rest of my life for? She thought about 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. It was worth it
Someone on the bus started a German song, and the others joined in:
“In München ist ein Hofbrau Haus, ein, zwei, sufa…”
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 Ávila, the tour bus made a scheduled stop for refreshments and what the guide delicately referred to as a comfort station.
“Alle raus vom bus,” he called.
Lucia stayed in her seat, watching the passengers rise and scramble for the front door of the bus. I’ll be safer if I stay here. But the guide noticed her.
“Out, fräulein,” he said. “We have only fifteen minutes.”
Lucia hesitated, then reluctantly rose and moved toward the door.
As she passed the guide, he said, “Warten sie 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’t. I’m in a terrible hurry and—”
“Nein, 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 bus pull away and roar down the highway toward 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 bus had stopped in front of a circular building with a sign in front that read ESTACIÓN DE AUTOBÚSES.
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…MUÑOGALINDO…VALLADOLID…SALAMANCA…MADRID. Stairs and an escalator led to the downstairs level, where the buses departed from. There was a pastelería, where they sold doughnuts and candy and sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and Lucia suddenly realized that she was starved.