I'd better not buy anything, she thought, until I find out how much a bus ticket costs.

As she started toward the window marked MADRID, two uniformed policemen hurried into the station. One of them was carrying a photograph. They moved from window to window showing the picture to the clerks.

They're looking for me. That damned bus driver reported me.

A family of newly arrived passengers was coming up the escalator. As they moved toward the door, Lucia stepped up beside them, mingling with them, and went outside.

She walked down the cobblestone streets of Ávila, trying not to rush, afraid of drawing attention to herself. She turned into the Calle de la Madre Soledad, with its granite buildings and black wrought-iron balconies, and when she reached the Plaza de la Santa, she sat down on a park bench to try to figure out her next move. A hundred yards away,

several women and some couples were seated in the park,

enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

As Lucia sat there, a police car appeared. It pulled up at the far end of the square and two policemen got out. They moved over to one of the women seated alone and began questioning her. Lucia's heart began to beat faster.

She forced herself to get to her feet slowly, her heart pounding, and turned away from the policemen and kept walking. The next street was called, unbelievably, "The

Street of Life and Death." I wonder if it's an omen.

There were lifelike stone lions in the plaza, with their tongues out, and in Lucia's fevered imagination they seemed to be snapping at her. Ahead of her was a large cathedral,

and on its fasade was a carved medallion of a young girl and a grinning skull. The very air seemed to be filled with death.

Lucia heard the sound of a church bell and looked up through the open city gate. In the distance, high on a hill,

rose the walls of a convent. She stood there, staring at it.

"Why have you come to us, my daughter?" the Reverend

Mother Betina asked softly.

"I need a place of refuge."

"And you have decided to seek the refuge of God?"

Exactly. "Yes." Lucia began to improvise. "This is what I have always wanted—to devote myself to the life of the

Spirit."

"In our souls it is what we all wish for, is it not,

daughter?"

Jesus, she's really falling for it, Lucia thought happily.

The Reverend Mother went on. "You must understand that the

Cistercian order is the strictest of all the orders, my child. We are completely isolated from the outside world."

Her words were music to Lucia's ears.

"Those who enter these walls have vowed never to leave."

"I never want to leave," Lucia assured her. Not for the next few months, anyway.

The Reverend Mother rose. "It is an important decision. I suggest that you go and think about it carefully before you make up your mind."

Lucia felt the situation slipping away from her, and she began to panic. She had nowhere to go. Her only hope was to stay behind these walls.

"I have thought about it," Lucia said quickly. "Believe me, Reverend Mother, I've thought about nothing else. I want to renounce the world." She looked the Mother Prioress in the eye. "I want to be here more than I want to be anywhere else in the world." Lucia's voice rang with truth.

The Reverend Mother was puzzled. There was something unsettled and frantic about this woman that was disturbing.

And yet what better reason for anyone to come to this place where her spirit would be calmed by meditation and prayer?

"Are you Catholic?"

"Yes."

The Reverend Mother picked up an old-fashioned quill pen.

"Tell me your name, child."

"My name is Lucia Car—Roma."

"Are your parents alive?"

"My father is."

"What does he do?"

"He was a businessman. He's retired." She thought of how pale and wasted he had looked the last time she saw him, and a pang went through her.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Two brothers."

"And what do they do?"

Lucia decided she needed all the help she could get.

"They're priests."

"Lovely."

The catechism went on for three hours. At the end of that time, the Reverend Mother Betina said, "I will find you a bed for the night. In the morning you will begin instructions,

and when they are finished, if you still feel the same, you may join the order. But I warn you, it is a very difficult path you have chosen."

"Believe me," Lucia said earnestly, "I have no choice."

The night wind was soft and warm, whispering its way across the wooded glade, and Lucia slept. She was at a party in a beautiful villa, and her father and brothers were there.

Everyone was having a wonderful time, until a stranger walked into the room and said, "Who the hell are these people?" Then the lights went out and a bright flashlight shone in her face and she came awake and sat up, the light blinding her.

There were half a dozen men surrounding the nuns in the clearing. With the light in her eyes, Lucia could only dimly make out their shapes.

"Who are you?" the man demanded again. His voice was deep and rough.

Lucia was instantly awake, her mind alert. She was trapped. But if these men were the police, they would have known who the nuns were. And what were they doing in the woods at night?

Lucia took a chance. "We are sisters from the convent at

Avila," she said. "Some government men came and—"

"We heard about it," the man interrupted.

The other sisters were all sitting up now, awake and terrified.

"Who—who are you?" Megan asked.

"My name is Jaime Miró."

There were six of them, dressed in rough trousers, leather jackets, turtleneck sweaters, canvas rope-soled shoes, and the traditional Basque berets. They were heavily armed, and in the dim moonlight they had a demonic look about them. Two of the men looked as though they had been badly beaten.

The man who called himself Jaime Miró was tall and lean,

with fierce black eyes. "They could have been followed here."

He turned to one of the members of his band. "Have a look around."

"Si."

Lucia realized that it was a woman who had answered. She watched her move silently into the trees.

"What are we going to do with them?" Ricardo Mellado asked.

Jaime Miró said, "Nada. We leave them and move on."

One of the men protested, "Jaime—these are little sisters of Jesus."

"Then let Jesus take care of them," Jaime Miró said curtly. "We have work to do."

The nuns were all standing now, waiting. The men were gathered around Jaime, arguing with him.

"We can't let them get caught. Acoña and his men are searching for them."

"They're searching for us too, amigo."

"The sisters will never make it without our help."

Jaime Miró said firmly, "No. We're not risking our lives for them. We have problems of our own."

Felix Carpio, one of his lieutenants, said, "We could escort them part of the way, Jaime. Just until they get away from here." He turned to the nuns. "Where are you sisters headed?"

Teresa spoke up, the light of God in her eyes. "I have a holy mission. There is a convent at Mendavia that will shelter us."

Felix Carpio said to Jaime Miró, "We could escort them there. Mendavia's on our way to San Sebastian."

Jaime turned on him, furious. "You damned fool! Why don't you put up a signpost telling everyone where we're going?"

"I only meant—"

"Mierda!" His voice was filled with disgust. "Now we have no choice. We'll have to take them with us. If Acoña finds them, he'll make them talk. They're going to slow us down and make it that much easier for Acoña and his butchers to track us."

Lucia was only half listening. The gold cross lay within tempting reach. But these damned men! You have lousy timing,