"We have information that Sister Teresa was working with

Jaime Miró. Under the pretext of helping us find Miró, she went into an army camp and shot five soldiers before she could be stopped. I can assure you that the army and the GOE are bending every effort to bring the criminals to justice."

"And the nuns who were arrested and taken to Madrid?"

"They are being interrogated," Acoña said.

The prime minister was anxious to end the meeting. It was difficult for him to keep his temper in check. The failure to locate the nuns or capture the terrorists made his government—and himself—look inept and foolish, and the press was taking full advantage of the situation.

"Can you tell us anything about the backgrounds of the four nuns who escaped, Prime Minister?" asked a reporter from

Oggi.

"I'm sorry. I can give you no further information. I repeat, ladies and gentlemen, the government is doing everything in its power to find the nuns."

"Prime Minister, there have been reports about the brutality of the attack on the convent at Ávila. Would you respond to that?"

It was a sore point with Martinez because it was true.

Colonel Acoña had grossly exceeded his authority. But he would deal with the colonel later. This was the time for a show of unity.

He turned to the colonel and said smoothly, "Colonel Acoña can respond to that."

Acoña said, "I too have heard those unfounded reports. The facts are simple. We received reliable information that the terrorist Jaime Miró and a dozen of his men were hiding in the Cistercian convent and that they were heavily armed. By the time we raided the convent, they had fled."

"Colonel, we heard that some of your men molested—"

"That is an outrageous accusation."

Prime Minister Martinez said, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That will be all. You will be informed of any further developments."

When the reporters had left, the prime minister turned to

Colonels Acoña and Sostelo. "They're making us look like savages in the eyes of the world."

Acoña had not the slightest interest in the prime minister's opinion. What concerned him was a telephone call he had received in the middle of the night.

"Colonel Acoña?"

It was a voice he was all too familiar with. He was instantly wide awake.

"Yes, sir."

"We're disappointed in you. We had hoped to see some results before this."

"Sir, I'm closing in on them." He found that he was perspiring heavily. "I ask that you be a little more patient.

I won't disappoint you." He held his breath, waiting for a response.

"You're running out of time."

The line went dead.

Colonel Acoña replaced the receiver and sat there,

frustrated. Where is that bastard Miró?

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

I'm going to kill her, Ricardo Mellado thought. I could strangle her with my bare hands, throw her off the mountain,

or simply shoot her. No, I think strangling her would give me the greatest pleasure.

Sister Graciela was the most exasperating human being he had ever encountered. She was impossible. In the beginning,

when Jaime Miró had assigned him to escort her, Ricardo

Mellado had been pleased. True, she was a nun, but she was also the most ravishing beauty he had ever laid eyes on. He was determined to get to know her, to find out why she had decided to lock up all that exquisite beauty behind convent walls for the rest of her life. Under the skirt and blouse she was wearing, he could discern the rich, nubile curves of a woman. It's going to be a very interesting trip, Ricardo had decided.

But things had taken a totally unexpected turn. The problem was that Sister Gracieia refused to speak to him. She had not said one word since their journey began, and what completely baffled Ricardo was that she did not appear to be angry, frightened, or upset. Not at all. She simply retreated into some remote part of herself and appeared totally uninterested in him and in what was going on around her. They had traveled at a good pace, walking along hot, dusty side roads, past fields of wheat, rippling golden in the sunlight,

and fields of barley, oats, and grapevines. They skirted the little villages along the way and went by fields of sunflowers with their wide yellow faces following the sun.

When they crossed the Moros River, Ricardo asked, "Would you like to rest awhile, Sister?"

Silence.

They were approaching Segovia before heading northeast to the snow-capped Guadarrama mountains. Ricardo kept trying to make polite conversation, but it was completely hopeless.

"We will be at Segovia soon, Sister."

No reaction.

What could I have done to offend her? "Are you hungry,

Sister?"

Nothing.

It was as though he were not there. He had never felt so frustrated in his life. Perhaps the woman is retarded, he thought. That must be the answer. God gave her an unearthly beauty and then cursed her with a feeble mind. But he did not believe it.

When they reached the outskirts of Segovia, Ricardo noted that the town was crowded, which meant that the Guardia Civil would be even more alert than usual.

As they approached the Plaza del Conde de Cheste, he saw soldiers strolling in their direction. He whispered, "Hold my hand, Sister. We must look like two lovers out for a stroll."

She ignored him.

Jesus, Ricardo thought. Maybe she's deaf and dumb,

He reached over and took her hand in his, and her sudden fierce resistance surprised him. She pulled away as if she had been stung.

The guards were getting closer.

Ricardo leaned toward Graciela. "You mustn't be angry," he said loudly. "My sister feels the same way. After dinner last night when she put the children to bed she was saying that it would be much better if we men didn't sit around together smoking smelly cigars and telling stories while you women went off by yourselves. I'll bet—"

The guards had passed. Ricardo turned to look at Graciela.

Her face was expressionless. Mentally, Ricardo began to curse

Jaime, wishing he had given him one of the other nuns. This one was made of stone, and there was no chisel hard enough to penetrate that cold exterior.

In all modesty, Ricardo Mellado knew that he was attractive to women. Enough of them had told him so. He was light-complexioned, tall, and well built, with a patrician nose, an intelligent face, and perfect white teeth. He came from one of the most prominent Basque families. His father was a banker in the Basque country in the north and had seen to it that Ricardo was well educated. He had gone to the

University of Salamanca, and his father had looked forward to his son joining him in the family business.

When Ricardo returned home from college, he dutifully went to work at the bank, but within a short period of time he became involved with the problems of his people. He attended meetings and rallies and protests against the government and soon became one of the leaders of ETA. His father, after learning about his son's activities, called him into his huge, paneled office and lectured him.

"I am a Basque too, Ricardo, but I am also a businessman.

We cannot foul our own nest by encouraging a revolution in the country where we make our living."

"None of us is trying to overthrow the government, Father.

All we're demanding is freedom. The government's oppression of the Basques and the Catalans is intolerable."

The senior Mellado leaned back in his chair and studied his son. "My good friend the mayor had a quiet word with me yesterday. He suggested it would be to your benefit not to attend any more rallies. It would be better if you expended your energy on bank business."

"Father—"