Authors: Sidney Sheldon
Tags: #Espionage, #Fiction, #Nuns, #Spain, #General
The Sands of Time (31 page)
L
ate on a Friday afternoon, a military ambulance drove up to the emergency entrance of the hospital at Aranda de Duero. An ambulance attendant accompanied by two uniformed policemen went through the swinging doors and approached the supervisor behind the desk.
“We have an order here to pick up a Rubio Arzano,” one of the policemen said. He handed over the document.
The supervisor looked at it and frowned. “I don’t think I have the authority to release him. It should be handled by the administrator.”
“Fine. Get him.”
The supervisor hesitated. “There’s a problem. He’s away for the weekend.”
“It’s not our problem. There’s our release order, signed by Colonel Acoca. Do you want to call him and tell him you won’t honor it?”
“No,” he said hastily. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll have them get the prisoner ready.”
Half a mile away, in front of the city jail, two detectives emerged from a police car and entered the building. They approached the desk sergeant.
One of the men showed his badge. “We’re here to pick up Lucia Carmine.”
The sergeant looked at the two detectives in front of him and said, “No one told me anything about this.”
One of the detectives sighed. “Goddamned bureaucracy. The left hand never tells the right hand what it’s doing.”
“Let me see that release order.”
The detectives handed it to him.
“Colonel Acoca signed it, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“Madrid. The colonel is going to question her himself.”
“Is he? Well, I think I’d better check it out with him.”
“There’s no need to do that,” the detective protested.
“Mister, we’ve got orders to keep a tight grip on this lady. The Italian government is having an orgasm over getting her back. If Colonel Acoca wants her, he’s going to have to tell me himself.”
“You’re wasting time, and—”
“I have a lot of time,
amigo.
What I don’t have is another ass if I lose mine over this.” He picked up the phone and said, “Get me Colonel Acoca in Madrid.”
“Jesus Christ!” the detective said. “My wife is going to kill me if I’m late for dinner again. Besides, the colonel’s probably not even in, and—”
The phone on the desk rang. The sergeant reached for it.
A voice said, “I have the colonel’s office on the line.”
The sergeant gave the detectives a triumphant look. “Hello. This is the desk sergeant at the police station in Aranda de Duero. It is important that I speak to Colonel Acoca.”
One of the detectives looked at his watch impatiently. “
¡Mierda!
I have better things to do than stand around and—”
“Hello. Colonel Acoca?”
The voice boomed out over the phone. “Yes. What is it?”
“I have two detectives here, Colonel, who want me to release a prisoner into your custody.”
“Lucia Carmine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did they show you an order signed by me?”
“Yes, sir. They—”
“Then what the fuck are you bothering me for? Release her.”
“I just thought—”
“Don’t think. Follow orders.”
The line went dead.
The sergeant swallowed. “He—er—”
“He has a short fuse, hasn’t he?” the detective grinned.
The sergeant rose, trying to retain his dignity. “I’ll have her brought out.”
In the alley in back of the police station, a small boy was watching a man on the telephone pole disconnect a clamp from a wire and climb down.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
The man ruffled his hand through the boy’s hair. “Helping out a friend,
muchacho.
Helping out a friend.”
Three hours later, at an isolated farmhouse to the north, Lucia Carmine and Rubio Arzano were reunited.
Acoca was awakened by the telephone at three
A.M.
The familiar voice said, “The Committee would like to meet with you.”
“Yes, sir. When?”
“Now, Colonel. A limousine will pick you up in one hour. Be ready, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
He replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed, then lit a cigarette and let the smoke bite deep into his lungs.
A limousine will pick you up in one hour. Be ready, please.
He would be ready.
He went into the bathroom and examined his image in the mirror. He was looking into the eyes of a defeated man.
I was so close,
he thought bitterly.
So close.
Colonel Acoca began to shave, very carefully, and when he was finished, he took a long, hot shower, then selected the clothes he was going to wear.
Exactly one hour later, he walked to the front door and took a last look at the home he knew he would never see again. There would be no meeting, of course. They would have nothing further to discuss with him.
There was a long, black limousine waiting in front of the house. A door opened as he approached the car. There were two men in front and two in back.
“Get in, Colonel.”
He took a deep breath and entered the car. A moment later, it sped away into the black night.
It’s like a dream,
Lucia thought.
I’m looking out the window at the Swiss Alps. I’m actually here.
Jaime Miró had arranged for a guide to see that she reached Zurich safely. She had arrived late at night.
In the morning, I’ll go to the Bank Leu.
The thought made her nervous. What if something had gone wrong? What if the money was no longer there? What if…?
As the first light of dawn inched over the mountains, Lucia was still awake.
A few minutes before nine, she left the Baur au Lac hotel and stood in front of the bank, waiting for it to open.
A kindly-looking middle-aged man unlocked the door. “Come in, please. I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”
Only a few months,
Lucia thought. “No. Not at all.”
He ushered her inside. “What can we do for you?”
Make me rich.
“My father has an account here. He asked me to come in and—and take it over.”
“Is it a numbered account?”
“Yes.”
“May I have the number, please?”
“B2A149207.”
He nodded. “One moment, please.”
She watched him disappear toward a vault in back. The bank was beginning to fill with customers.
It’s got to be there,
Lucia thought.
Nothing must go
—
The man was approaching her. She could read nothing in his face.
“This account—you say it was in your father’s name?”
Her heart sank. “Yes. Angelo Carmine.”
He studied her a moment. “The account carries two names.”
Did that mean she would not be able to touch it? “What—” She could scarcely get the words out. “What’s the other name?”
“Lucia Carmine.”
And in that instant, she owned the world.
The account amounted to a little more than thirteen million dollars.
“How would you like it handled?” the banker asked.
“Could you transfer it to one of your associated banks in Brazil? Rio?”
“Certainly. We’ll send you the documentation by messenger this afternoon.”
It was that simple.
Lucia’s next stop was at a travel agency near the hotel. There was a large poster in the window advertising Brazil.
It’s an omen,
Lucia thought happily. She went inside.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I would like two tickets to Brazil.”
There are no extradition laws there.
She could not wait to tell Rubio how well everything was going. He was in Biarritz waiting for her call. They would be going to Brazil together.
“We can live in peace there for the rest of our lives,” she had told him.
Now everything was finally set. After all the adventure and the dangers…the arrest of her father and brothers and her vengeance against Benito Patas and Judge Buscetta…the police looking for her and her escape to the convent…Acoca’s men and the phony friar…Jaime Miró and Teresa and the gold cross…and Rubio Arzano. Most of all, dear Rubio. How many times had he risked his life for her? He had saved her from the soldiers in the woods…from the raging waters at the waterfall…from the men in the bar at Aranda de Duero. The very thought of Rubio warmed Lucia.
She returned to her hotel room and picked up the telephone, waiting for the operator to answer.
There will be something for him to do in Rio. What? What can he do? He’ll probably want to buy a farm somewhere out in the country. But then what would I do?
An operator’s voice said, “Number, please.”
Lucia sat there staring out the window at the snow-covered Alps.
We have two different lives, Rubio and I. We live in different worlds. I’m the daughter of Angelo Carmine.
“Number, please?”
He’s a farmer. That’s what he loves. How can I take him away from that? I can’t do that to him.
The operator was getting impatient. “Can I help you?”
Lucia said slowly, “No. No, thank you.” She replaced the receiver.
Early the following morning, she boarded a Swissair flight to Rio.
She was alone.
T
he meeting was to take place in the luxurious drawing room of Ellen Scott’s townhouse. She paced back and forth waiting for Alan Tucker to arrive with the girl. No. Not a girl. A woman. A nun. What would she be like? What had life done to her?
What have I done to her?
The butler walked into the room. “Your guests have arrived, Madam.”
She took a deep breath. “Show them in.”
A moment later, Megan and Alan Tucker entered.
She’s beautiful,
Ellen thought.
Tucker smiled. “Mrs. Scott, this is Megan.”
Ellen looked at him and said quietly, “I won’t need you anymore.” And her words had a finality to them.
His smile faded.
“Good-bye, Tucker.”
He stood there a moment, uncertain, then nodded and left. He could not get over his feeling that he had missed something. Something important.
Too late,
he thought.
Too bloody late.
Ellen Scott was studying Megan. “Sit down, please.”
Megan took a chair, and the two women sat there inspecting each other.
She looks like her mother,
Ellen thought.
She’s grown up to be a beautiful woman.
She recalled the terrible night of the accident, the storm and the burning plane.
You said she was dead…There’s something we can do. The pilot said we were near Ávila. There should be plenty of tourists there. There’s no reason for anyone to connect the baby with the plane crash…We’ll drop her off at a nice farmhouse outside of town. Someone will adopt her and she’ll grow up to have a lovely life here… You have to choose, Milo. You can either have me, or you can spend the rest of your life working for your brother’s child
And now here was the past confronting her. Where to begin?
“I’m Ellen Scott, president of Scott Industries. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
Of course she would not have heard of it,
Ellen chided herself.
This was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated. She had concocted a story about an old friend of the family who had died, and a promise to take care of his daughter—but from the moment she had first looked at Megan, Ellen knew that it would not work. She had no choice. She had to trust Patricia—Megan—not to destroy them all. She thought of what she had done to the woman seated before her, and her eyes filled with tears.
But it’s too late for tears. It’s time to make amends. It’s time to tell the truth.
Ellen Scott leaned across to Megan and took her hand. “I have a story to tell you,” she said quietly.
That had been three years earlier. For the first year, until she became too ill to continue, Ellen Scott had taken Megan under her wing. Megan had gone to work for Scott Industries, and her aptitude and intelligence had delighted the older woman, giving her a fresh outlook and reinforcing her will to live.
“You’ll have to work hard,” Ellen had told her. “You’ll learn, as I had to learn. In the beginning, it will be difficult, but in the end, it will become your life.”
And it had.
Megan worked hours that none of her employees could even begin to emulate.
“You get to your office at four o’clock in the morning and work all day. How do you do it?”
Megan smiled and thought:
If I slept until four o’clock in the morning at the convent, Sister Betina would scold me.
Ellen Scott was gone, but Megan had kept learning, and kept watching the company grow.
Her
company. Ellen had adopted her. “So we won’t have to explain why you’re a Scott,” she had said. But there was a note of pride in her voice.
It’s ironic,
Megan thought.
All those years at the orphanage when no one would adopt me. And now I’m being adopted by my own family. God has a wonderful sense of humor.
A
new man was behind the wheel of the getaway car, and it made Jaime Miró nervous.
“I’m not sure of him,” he told Felix Carpio. “What if he drives off and leaves us?”
“Relax. He’s my cousin’s brother-in-law. He’ll be fine. He’s been begging for a chance to go out with us.”
“I have a bad feeling,” Jaime said.
They had arrived in Seville early that afternoon, and had examined half a dozen banks before choosing their target. It was on a side street, small, not too much traffic, close to a factory that would be making deposits there. Everything seemed perfect. Except for the man in the getaway car.
“Is he all that’s worrying you?” Felix asked.
“No.”
“What, then?”
It was a difficult one to answer. “Call it a premonition.” He tried to say it lightly, mocking himself.
Felix took it seriously. “Do you want to call it off?”
“Because I have the nerves of an old washerwoman today? No,
amigo.
It will all go as smooth as silk.”
In the beginning, it did.
There were half a dozen patrons in the bank, and Felix held them at bay with an automatic weapon while Jaime cleared out the cash drawers. Smooth as silk.
As the two men were leaving, heading for the getaway car, Jaime called out, “Remember,
amigos,
the money is for a good cause.”
It was out in the street that it began to fall apart. There were police everywhere. The driver of the getaway car was on his knees on the pavement, a police pistol at his head.
As Jaime and Felix came into view, a detective called out, “Drop your weapons.”
Jaime hesitated for one split second. Then he raised his gun.
