Mercedes Angeles returned to the office holding a file in her hands. “I found it,” she said proudly.
It was all Alan Tucker could do to keep from grabbing it out of her hands. “May I look at it?” he asked politely.
“Certainly. You have been so generous.” She frowned. “I hope you will not mention this to anyone. I should not be doing this at all.”
“It will be our secret, señora.”
She handed him the file.
He took a deep breath and opened it. At the top it said: “Megan. Baby girl. Parents unknown.” And then the date. But there was some mistake.
“It says here that Megan was brought in here on June 14, 1947.”
“Sí, señor.”
“That’s impossible!” He was almost screaming. The plane crash happened on October 1, four months later.
There was a puzzled expression on her face. “Impossible, señor? I do not understand.”
“Who—who keeps these records?”
“I do. When a child is left here, I put down the date and whatever information is given to me.”
His dream was collapsing. “Couldn’t you have made a mistake? About the date, I mean—couldn’t it have been October tenth or eleventh?”
“Señor,” she said indignantly. “I know the difference between June fourteenth and October eleventh.”
It was over. He had built a dream on too flimsy a foundation. So Patricia Scott had really died in the plane crash. It was a coincidence that Ellen Scott was searching for a girl who had been born around the same time.
Alan Tucker rose heavily and said, “Thank you, señora.”
“De nada, señor.”
She watched him leave. He was such a nice man. And so generous. His five hundred dollars would buy many things for the orphanage. So would the hundred-thousand-dollar check sent by the kind lady who had telephoned from New York. October eleventh was certainly a lucky day for our orphanage. Thank You, Lord.
Alan Tucker was reporting.
“Still no hard news, Mrs. Scott. They’re rumored to be heading north. As far as I know, the girl is safe.”
The tone of his voice has completely changed, Ellen Scott thought. The threat is gone. So he’s visited the orphanage. He’s back to being an employee. Well, after he finds Patricia, that will change too.
“Report in tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mrs. Scott.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Preserve me, O God, for in Thee I take refuge. Thou art my Lord; I have no good apart from Thee. I love Thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer…”
Sister Megan glanced up to see Felix Carpio watching her, a concerned expression on his face.
She’s really frightened, he thought.
Ever since they started their journey, he had seen Sister Megan’s deep anxiety. Of course. It’s only natural She’s been locked up in a convent for God only knew how many years, and now she’s suddenly thrown out into a strange, terrifying world. We’ll have to be very gentle with the poor girl
Sister Megan was indeed frightened. She had been praying hard ever since she left the convent.
Forgive me, Lord, for I love the excitement of what is happening to me, and I know that it is wicked of me.
But no matter how hard Sister Megan prayed, she could not help thinking. I don’t remember when I’ve had such a good time. It was the most amazing adventure she had ever had. In the orphanage she had often planned daring escapes, but that was child’s play. This was the real thing. She was in the hands of terrorists, and they were being pursued by the police and the army. But instead of being terrified, Sister Megan felt strangely exhilarated.
After traveling all night they stopped at dawn. Megan and Amparo Jirón stood by as Jaime Miró and Felix Carpio huddled over a map.
“It’s four miles to Medina del Campo,” Jaime said. “Let’s avoid it. There’s a permanent army garrison stationed there. We’ll keep heading northeast to Valladolid. We should reach it by early afternoon.”
Easily, Sister Megan thought happily.
It had been a long and grueling night, without rest, but Megan felt wonderful. Jaime was deliberately pushing the group, but Megan understood what he was doing. He was testing her, waiting for her to crack. Well, he’s in for a surprise, she thought.