"Good morning, señor. May I help you? You have come to adopt one of our lovely children? We have so many delightful ones to choose from."

"No, señora. I have come to inquire about a child who was left here many years ago."

Mercedes Angeles frowned. "I do not understand."

"A baby girl was brought in here,"—he pretended to consult a piece of paper—"in October of 1948."

"That is so long ago. She would not be here now. You see,

we have a rule, señor, that at the age of fifteen—"

"No, señora. I know she's not here. What I wish to know is the exact date she was brought here."

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, señor."

His heart sank.

"You see, so many children are brought in here. Unless you know her name—"

Patricia Scott, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Megan. Her name is Megan."

Mercedes Angeles's face lit up. "No one could forget that child. She was a devil, and everyone adored her. Do you know that one day she—"

Alan Tucker had no time for anecdotes. His instincts told him how close he was to getting hold of a piece of the Scott fortune. And this gabby old woman was the key to it. I must be patient with her. "señora Angeles—I don't have much time.

Would you have that date in your files?"

"Of course, señor. We are commanded by the state to keep very accurate records."

Tucker's heart lifted. I should have brought a camera to take a picture of the file. Never mind. I'll have it photocopied. "Could I see that file, señora?"

She frowned. "I don't know. Our records are confidential and—"

"Of course," Tucker said smoothly, "and I certainly respect that. You said you were fond of little Megan, and I know you'd want to do anything you could to help her. Well,

that's why I'm here. I have some good news for her."

"And for this you need the date she was brought in here?"

He said glibly, "That's just so I'll have the proof that she's the person I think she is. Her father died and left her a small inheritance, and I want to make sure she gets it."

The woman nodded wisely. "I see."

Tucker pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. "And to show my appreciation for the trouble I've put you to, I'd like to contribute a hundred dollars to your orphanage."

She was looking at the roll of bills, an uncertain expression on her face.

He peeled off another bill. "Two hundred."

She frowned.

"All right. Five hundred."

Mercedes Angeles beamed. "That is very generous of you, señor. I will go get the file."

I've done it, he thought jubilantly. Jesus Christ, I've done it! She stole Scott Industries for herself. If it hadn't been for me, she would have gotten away with it.

When he confronted Ellen Scott with his evidence, there was no way she could deny it. The plane crash happened on

October 1. Megan was in the hospital for ten days. So she would have been brought into the orphanage around October 11.

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,

1948."

"Sн, 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.

As a matter of fact, Jaime Miró found himself intrigued with Sister Megan. Her behavior was not at all what he would have expected of a nun. She was miles away from her convent,

traveling through strange territory, being hunted, and she seemed to be actually enjoying it. What kind of nun is she?

Jaime Miró wondered.

Amparo Jirón was less impressed. I'll be glad to be rid of her, she thought. She stayed close to Jaime, letting the nun walk with Felix Carpio.

The countryside was wild and beautiful, caressed by the soft fragrance of the summer wind. They passed old villages,