The Miró family headed for the church, fighting their way through the panicky crowds, trying to flee.

The young boy held his father's hand in a fierce grip and tried not to hear the terrible noises around him. He remembered a time when his father was not frightened, was not running away.

"Are we going to have a war, Papa?" he had once asked his father.

"No, Jaime. That's just newspaper talk. All we're asking is that the government give us a reasonable amount of independence. The Basques and the Catalans are entitled to have their own language and flag and holidays. We're still one nation. And Spaniards will never fight against

Spaniards."

Jaime was too young then to understand it, but of course there was more at stake than the issue of the Catalans and

Basques. It was a deep ideological conflict between the

Republican government and the right-wing Nationalists, and what had started out as a spark of dissension quickly became an uncontrollable conflagration that drew in a dozen foreign powers.

When Franco's superior forces had defeated the Republicans and the Nationalists were firmly in control of Spain, Franco turned his attention to the intransigent Basques: "Punish them."

And the blood continued to flow.

A hard core of Basque leaders had formed ETA, a movement for a Basque Free State, and Jaime's father was asked to join.

"No. It is wrong. We must gain what is rightfully ours by peaceful means. War accomplishes nothing."

But the hawks proved stronger than the doves, and ETA quickly became a powerful force.

Jaime had friends whose fathers were members of ETA, and he listened to the stories of their heroic exploits.

"My father and a group of his friends bombed the headquarters of the Guardia Civil," a friend would tell him.

Or: "Did you hear about the bank robbery in Barcelona? My father did that. Now they can buy weapons to fight the

Fascists."

And Jaime's father was saying, "Violence is wrong. We must negotiate."

"We blew up one of their factories in Madrid. Why isn't your father on our side? Is he a coward?"

"Don't listen to your friends, Jaime," his father told him. "What they are doing is criminal."

"Franco ordered a dozen Basques executed without even a trial. We're staging a nationwide strike. Is your father going to join us?"

"Papa—?"

"We are all Spaniards, Jaime. We must not let anyone divide us."

And the boy was torn. Are my friends right? Is my father a coward? Jaime believed his father.

And now—Armageddon. The world was collapsing around him.

The streets of Guernica were crowded with a screaming mob trying to escape from the falling bombs. All around them buildings and statues and sidewalks were exploding in showers of concrete and blood.

Jaime and his mother and father and sisters had reached the large church, the only building in the square still standing. A dozen people were pounding on the door.

"Let us in! In the name of Jesus, open up!"

"What's going on?" cried Jaime's father.

"The priests have locked the church. They won't let us in."

"Let's break the door in!"

"No!"

Jaime looked at his father in surprise.

"We don't break into God's house," his father said. "He will protect us wherever we are."

Too late, they saw the squad of Falangists appear from around the corner and open machine-gun fire on them, mowing down the unarmed crowd of men, women, and children in the square. Even as Jaime's father felt the bullets tear into him, he grabbed his son and pushed him down to safety, his own body shielding Jaime from the deadly hail of bullets.

An eerie silence seemed to blanket the world after the attack. The sounds of guns and running feet and screams vanished, a trick of magic. Jaime opened his eyes and lay there for a long time, feeling the weight of his father's body on him like a loving blanket. His father and mother and sisters were dead, along with hundreds of others. And in front of their bodies were the locked doors of the church.

Late that night, Jaime made his way out of the city, and two days later when he reached Bilbao, he joined ETA.

The recruiting officer had looked at him and said, "You're too young to join, son. You should be in school."

"You're going to be my school," Jaime Miró said quietly.

"You're going to teach me how to fight to avenge the murder of my family."

He never looked back. He was battling for himself and for his family, and his exploits became legendary. Jaime planned and executed daring raids against factories and banks, and carried out the executions of the oppressors. When any of his men were captured, he conducted daredevil missions to rescue them.

When Jaime heard about the GOE being formed to pursue

Basques, he smiled and said, "Good. They've noticed."

He never asked himself if the risks he took had anything to do with the cries of "Your father is a coward," or if he was trying to prove anything to himself and to others. It was enough that he proved his bravery again and again, that he was not afraid to risk his life for what he believed in.

Now, because one of his men had talked too freely, Jaime found himself saddled with a nun.

It's ironic that her Church is on our side now. But it's much too late, unless they can arrange a Second Coming and include my mother and father and sisters, he thought bitterly.

They walked through the woods at night, the white moonlight dappling the forest around them. They avoided the towns and main roads, alert for any sign of danger. Jaime ignored Megan. He walked with Felix, talking about past adventures, and Megan found herself intrigued. She had never known anyone like Jaime Miró. He was filled with such self-assurance.

If anyone can get me to Mendavia, Megan thought, this man can.

There had been moments when Jaime had felt pity for the sister, and even a reluctant admiration for the way she handled herself on the arduous journey. He wondered how the other men were getting along with their charges from God.

At least he had Amparo Jirón. At night Jaime found her a great comfort.

She's as dedicated as I am, Jaime thought. She has even more reason than I do to hate the government.

Amparo's entire family had been wiped out by the

Nationalist Army. She was fiercely independent, and filled with a deep passion.

At dawn they were nearing Salamanca, on the banks of the

Tormes River.

"Students come here from all over Spain," Felix explained to Megan, "to attend the university. It's probably the best in all of Spain."

Jaime was not listening. He was concentrating on his next move. If I were the hunter, where would I set my trap?

He turned to Felix. "We'll skip Salamanca. There's a parador just outside town. We will stop there."

The parador was a small inn set away from the mainstream of tourist traffic. Stone steps led to the lobby, which was guarded by an ancient knight in armor.

As the group approached the entrance, Jaime said to the two women, "Wait here." He nodded to Felix Carpio and the two men disappeared.

"Where are they going?" Megan asked.

Amparo Jirón gave her a contemptuous look. "Maybe they went looking for your God."

"I hope they find Him," Megan said evenly.

Ten minutes later the men were back.

"All clear," Jaime told Amparo. "You and the sister will share a room. Felix will stay with me." He handed her a key.

Amparo said petulantly, "Querido, I want to stay with you,

not—"

"Do as I say. Keep an eye on her."

Amparo turned to Megan. "Bueno. Come along, Sister."

Megan followed Amparo into the parador and up the stairs.

The room was one of a dozen set in a row along the gray,

bare upstairs corridor. Amparo unlocked the door and the two women entered. The room was small and drab and sparsely furnished, with wooden floors, stucco walls, a bed, a small cot, a battered dressing table, and two chairs.