Colonel Sostelo gave specific orders to his men.
“Don’t take any prisoners. You’re dealing with terrorists. Shoot to kill.”
Major Ponte hesitated. “Colonel, there are nuns up there with Miró’s men. Shouldn’t we—?”
“Let the terrorists hide behind the nuns? No, we’ll take no chances.”
Sostelo selected a dozen men to accompany him on the raid and saw to it that they were heavily armed. They moved noiselessly in the dark, up the slope of the mountain. The moon had disappeared behind clouds. There was almost no visibility. Good. They won’t be able to see us coming.
When his men were in position, Colonel Sostelo shouted, for the sake of the record, “Put down your arms. You’re surrounded.” And in the same breath he called out the command, “Fire! Keep firing!”
A dozen automatic weapons began to spray the clearing.
Tomás Sanjuro never had a chance. A hail of machine-gun bullets caught him in the chest and he was dead before he hit the ground. Rubio Arzano was at the far edge of the clearing when the firing started. He saw Sanjuro fall, and he whirled and started to raise his gun to return the fire but stopped. It was pitch black in the clearing and the soldiers were firing blindly. If he returned their fire, he would give his position away.
To his amazement, he saw Lucia crouched two feet away from him.
“Where’s Sister Teresa?” he whispered.
“She—she’s gone.”
“Stay low,” Rubio told her.
He grabbed Lucia’s hand and they zigzagged toward the forest, away from the enemy fire. Shots whizzed dangerously close as they ran, but moments later Lucia and Rubio were among the trees. They continued running.
“Hold on to me, Sister,” he said.
They heard the sound of their attackers behind them, but gradually it died away. It was impossible to pursue anyone through the inky blackness of the woods.
Rubio stopped to let Lucia catch her breath.
“We’ve lost them for now,” he told her. “But we have to keep moving.”
Lucia was breathing hard.
“If you want to rest for a minute—?”
“No,” she said. She was exhausted, but she had no intention of letting them catch her. Not now when she had the cross. “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Colonel Fal Sostelo was facing disaster. One terrorist was dead, but God alone knew how many had escaped. He did not have Jaime Miró and he had only one of the nuns. He knew he would have to inform Colonel Acoca of what had happened, and he was not looking forward to it.
The second call from Alan Tucker to Ellen Scott was even more disturbing than the first.
“I’ve come across some rather interesting information, Mrs. Scott,” he said cautiously.
“Yes?”
“I went through some old newspaper files here, hoping to get more information on the girl.”
“And?” She braced herself for what she knew was coming.
Tucker kept his voice casual. “It seems that the girl was abandoned about the time of your plane crash.”
Silence.
He went on. “The one that killed your brother-in-law and his wife and their daughter, Patricia.”
Blackmail. There was no other explanation. So he had found out.
“That’s right,” she said casually. “I should have mentioned that. I’ll explain everything when you get back. Have you any more news of the girl?”
“No, but she can’t hide out for very long. The whole country’s looking for her.”
“Let me hear from you as soon as she’s found.”
The line went dead.
Alan Tucker sat there, staring at the dead telephone in his hand. She’s a cool lady, he thought admiringly. I wonder how she’s going to feel about having a partner?
I made a mistake in sending him, Ellen Scott thought. Now I’ll have to stop him. And what was she going to do about the girl? A nun! I won’t Judge her until I see her.
Her secretary buzzed her on the intercom.
“They’re ready for you in the boardroom, Mrs. Scott.”
“I’m coming.”
Lucia and Rubio kept moving through the woods, stumbling and slipping, fighting off tree limbs and bushes and insects, and each step took them farther away from their pursuers.