One of the men showed his badge. “We’re here to pick up Lucia Carmine.”
The sergeant looked at the two detectives in front of him and said, “No one told me anything about this.”
One of the detectives sighed. “Goddamned bureaucracy. The left hand never tells the right hand what it’s doing.”
“Let me see that release order.”
The detectives handed it to him.
“Colonel Acoca signed it, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“Madrid. The colonel is going to question her himself.”
“Is he? Well, I think I’d better check it out with him.”
“There’s no need to do that,” the detective protested.
“Mister, we’ve got orders to keep a tight grip on this lady. The Italian government is having an orgasm over getting her back. If Colonel Acoca wants her, he’s going to have to tell me himself.”
“You’re wasting time, and—”
“I have a lot of time, amigo. What I don’t have is another ass if I lose mine over this.” He picked up the phone and said, “Get me Colonel Acoca in Madrid.”
“Jesus Christ!” the detective said. “My wife is going to kill me if I’m late for dinner again. Besides, the colonel’s probably not even in, and—”
The phone on the desk rang. The sergeant reached for it.
A voice said, “I have the colonel’s office on the line.”
The sergeant gave the detectives a triumphant look. “Hello. This is the desk sergeant at the police station in Aranda de Duero. It is important that I speak to Colonel Acoca.”
One of the detectives looked at his watch impatiently. “¡Mierda! I have better things to do than stand around and—”
“Hello. Colonel Acoca?”
The voice boomed out over the phone. “Yes. What is it?”
“I have two detectives here, Colonel, who want me to release a prisoner into your custody.”
“Lucia Carmine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did they show you an order signed by me?”
“Yes, sir. They—”
“Then what the fuck are you bothering me for? Release her.”
“I just thought—”
“Don’t think. Follow orders.”
The line went dead.
The sergeant swallowed. “He—er—”
“He has a short fuse, hasn’t he?” the detective grinned.
The sergeant rose, trying to retain his dignity. “I’ll have her brought out.”
In the alley in back of the police station, a small boy was watching a man on the telephone pole disconnect a clamp from a wire and climb down.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
The man ruffled his hand through the boy’s hair. “Helping out a friend, muchacho. Helping out a friend.”
Three hours later, at an isolated farmhouse to the north, Lucia Carmine and Rubio Arzano were reunited.
Acoca was awakened by the telephone at three A.M. The familiar voice said, “The Committee would like to meet with you.”
“Yes, sir. When?”
“Now, Colonel. A limousine will pick you up in one hour. Be ready, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
He replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed, then lit a cigarette and let the smoke bite deep into his lungs.
A limousine will pick you up in one hour. Be ready, please.
He would be ready.
He went into the bathroom and examined his image in the mirror. He was looking into the eyes of a defeated man.
I was so close, he thought bitterly. So close.
Colonel Acoca began to shave, very carefully, and when he was finished, he took a long, hot shower, then selected the clothes he was going to wear.
Exactly one hour later, he walked to the front door and took a last look at the home he knew he would never see again. There would be no meeting, of course. They would have nothing further to discuss with him.
There was a long, black limousine waiting in front of the house. A door opened as he approached the car. There were two men in front and two in back.
“Get in, Colonel.”
He took a deep breath and entered the car. A moment later, it sped away into the black night.
It’s like a dream, Lucia thought. I’m looking out the window at the Swiss Alps. I’m actually here.
Jaime Miró had arranged for a guide to see that she reached Zurich safely. She had arrived late at night.