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.