"The newspapers are making a hero of this terrorist,"

Acoña said, stone-faced. "We must not let them pressure us."

"He's causing the government a great deal of embarrassment, Colonel. And those four nuns—if they talk—"

"Don't worry. They can't get far. I'll catch them and I'll find Miró."

The prime minister had already decided that he could not afford to take any more chances. "Colonel, I want you to be sure the thirty-six nuns you have are well treated, and I'm ordering the army to join the search for Miró and the others.

You'll work with Colonel Sostelo."

There was a long, dangerous pause. "Which one of us will be in charge of the operation?" Acoña's eyes were icy.

The prime minister swallowed. "You will be, of course."

Lucia and the three sisters traveled through the early dawn, moving northeast into the mountains, heading away from

Ávila and the convent. The nuns, used to moving in silence, made little noise. The only sounds were the rustle of their robes, the clicking of their rosaries, an occasional snapping twig, and their gasps for breath as they climbed higher and higher.

They reached a plateau of the Guadarrama mountains and walked along a rutted road bordered by stone walls. They passed fields with sheep and goats. By sunrise they had covered several miles and found themselves in a wooded area outside the small village of Villacastin.

I'll leave them here, Lucia decided. Their God can take care of them now. He sure took great care of me, she thought bitterly. Switzerland is farther away than ever. I have no money and no passport, and I'm dressed like an undertaker. By now those men know we've escaped. They'll keep looking until they find us. The sooner I get away by myself, the better.

But at that instant, something happened that made her change her plans.

Sister Teresa was moving through the trees when she stumbled and the package she had been so carefully guarding fell to the ground. It spilled out of its canvas wrapping and Lucia found herself staring at a large, exquisitely carved gold cross glowing in the rays of the rising sun.

That's real gold, Lucia thought. Someone up there is looking after me. That cross is manna. Sheer manna. It's my ticket to Switzerland.

Lucia watched as Sister Teresa picked up the cross and carefully put it back in its wrapping. She smiled to herself.

It was going to be easy to take it. These nuns would do anything she told them.

The town of Ávila was in an uproar. News of the attack on the convent had spread quickly, and Father Berrendo was elected to confront Colonel Acoña. The priest was in his seventies, with an outward frailty that belied his inner strength. He was a warm and understanding shepherd to his parishioners. But at the moment he was filled with a cold fury.

Colonel Acoña kept him waiting for an hour, then allowed the priest to be shown into his office.

Father Berrendo said without preamble, "You and your men attacked a convent without provocation. It was an act of madness."

"We were simply doing our duty," the colonel said curtly.

"The convent was sheltering Jaime Miró and his band of murderers, so the sisters brought this on themselves. We're holding them for questioning."

"Did you find Jaime Miró in the convent?" the priest demanded angrily.

Colonel Acoña said smoothly, "No. He and his men escaped before we got there. But we'll find them, and justice will be done."

My justice, Colonel Acoña thought savagely.

The nuns traveled slowly. Their garb was ill equipped for the rugged terrain. Their sandals were too thin to protect their feet against the stony ground, and their habits caught on everything. Sister Teresa found she could not even say her rosary. She needed both hands to keep the branches from snapping in her face. In the light of day, freedom seemed even more terrifying than before, God had cast the sisters out of Eden into a strange, frightening world, and His guidance which they had leaned on for so long was gone. They found themselves in an uncharted country with no map and no compass. The walls that had protected them from harm for so long had vanished and they felt naked and exposed. Danger was everywhere, and they no longer had a place of refuge. They were aliens. The unaccustomed sights and sounds of the country were dazzling. There were insects and bird songs and hot, blue skies assaulting their senses. And there was something else that was disturbing.

When they had first fled the convent, Teresa, Graciela, and Megan had carefully avoided looking at one another, instinctively keeping to the rules. But now, each found herself avidly studying the faces of the others. Also, after all the years of silence, they found it difficult to speak, and when they did speak, their words were halting, as though they were learning a strange new skill. Their voices sounded strange in their ears. Only Lucia seemed uninhibited and sure of herself, and the others automatically turned to her for leadership.

"We might as well introduce ourselves," Lucia said. "I'm Sister Lucia."

There was an awkward pause, and Graciela said shyly, "I'm Sister Graciela."

The dark-haired, arrestingly beautiful one.

"I'm Sister Megan."

The young blonde with the striking blue eyes.

"I'm Sister Teresa."

The eldest of the group. Fifty? Sixty?

As they lay in the woods resting outside the village, Lucia thought: They're like newborn birds fallen out of their nests. They won't last five minutes on their own. Well, too bad for them. I'll be on my way to Switzerland with the cross.

Lucia walked to the edge of the clearing they were in and peered through the trees toward the little village below. A few people were walking along the street, but there was no sign of the men who had raided the convent. Now, Lucia thought. Here's my chance.

She turned to the others. "I'm going down to the village to try to get us some food. You wait here." She nodded toward.

Sister Teresa. "You come with me."

Sister Teresa was confused. For thirty years she had obeyed only the orders of the Reverend Mother Betina, and now suddenly this sister had taken charge. But what is happening is God's will, Sister Teresa thought. He has appointed her to help us, so she speaks with His voice. "I must get this cross to the convent at Mendavia as soon as possible."

"Right. When we get down there, we'll ask for directions."

The two of them started down the hill toward the town, Lucia keeping a careful lookout for trouble. There was none.

This is going to be easy, Lucia thought.

They reached the outskirts of the little town. A sign said VILLACASTНN. Ahead of them was the main street. To the left was a small, deserted street.

Good, Lucia thought. There would be no one to witness what was about to happen.

Lucia turned into the side street. "Let's go this way.

There's less chance of being seen."

Sister Teresa nodded and obediently followed. The question now was how to get the cross away from her.

I could grab it and run, Lucia thought, but she'd probably scream and attract a lot of attention. No, I'll have to make sure she stays quiet.

A small limb of a tree had fallen to the ground in front of her, and Lucia paused, then stooped to pick it up. It was heavy. Perfect. She waited for Sister Teresa to catch up to her.

"Sister Teresa…"

The nun turned to look at her, and as Lucia started to raise the club, a male voice from out of nowhere said, "God be with you, Sisters."

Lucia spun around, ready to run. A man was standing there, dressed in the long brown robe and cowl of a friar. He was tall and thin, with an aquiline face and the saintliest expression Lucia had ever seen. His eyes seemed to glow with a warm inner light, and his voice was soft and gentle.