LITMIR.BIZ

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Christ’s sake, Lucia thought, it looks like she’s scratching a flea bite.

      They had reached the chapel. The nuns said a silent mass, the sequence from the age-old Sanctus to the Pater Noster, but Sister Lucia’s thoughts were on more important things than God.

       In another month or two, when the police stop looking for me, I’ll be out of this madhouse.

      After morning prayers, Sister Lucia marched with the others to the dining room, surreptitiously breaking the rule, as she did every day, by studying their faces. It was her only entertainment. It was incredible to think that none of them knew what the other sisters looked like.

      She was fascinated by the faces of the nuns. Some were old, some were young, some pretty, some ugly. She could not understand why they all seemed so happy. There were three faces that Lucia found particularly interesting. One was Sister Teresa, a woman who appeared to be in her sixties. She was far from beautiful, and yet there was a spirituality about her that gave her an almost unearthly loveliness. She seemed always to be smiling inwardly, as though she carried some wonderful secret within herself.

      Another nun that Lucia found fascinating was Sister Graciela. She was a stunningly beautiful woman in her early thirties. She had olive skin, exquisite features, and eyes that were luminous black pools.

      She could have been a film star, Lucia thought. What’s her story? Why would she bury herself in a place like this?

      The third nun who captured Lucia’s interest was Sister Megan. Blue-eyed, blonde eyebrows and lashes. She was in her late twenties and had a fresh, open faced look.

      What is she doing here? What are any of these women doing here? They’re locked up behind these walls, given a tiny cell to sleep in, rotten food, eight hours of prayers, hard work and too little sleep. They must be pazzo – all of them.

      She was better off than they were, because they were stuck here for the rest of their lives, while she would be out of here in a month or two. Maybe three, Lucia thought. This is a perfect hiding place. I’d be a fool to rush away. In a few months, the police will decide that I’m dead. When I leave here and get my money out of Switzerland, maybe I’ll write a book about this crazy place.

      A few days earlier Sister Lucia had been sent by the Reverend Mother to the office to retrieve a paper and while there she had taken the opportunity to start looking through the files. Unfortunately she had been caught in the act of snooping.

      ‘You will do penance by using the Discipline,’ the Mother Prioress Betina signalled her.

      Sister Lucia bowed her head meekly and signalled, ‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’

      Lucia returned to her cell, and minutes later the nuns walking through the corridor heard the awful sound of the whip as it whistled through the air and fell again and again. What they could not know was that Sister Lucia was whipping the bed.

       These freaks may be into S & M, but not yours truly.

      Now they were seated in the refectory, forty nuns at two long tables. The Cistercian diet was strictly vegetarian. Because the body craved meat, it was forbidden. Long before dawn, a cup of tea or coffee and a few ounces of dry bread were served. The principal meal was taken at 11.00 a.m., and consisted of a thin soup, a few vegetables and occasionally a piece of fruit.

       We are not here to please our bodies, but to please God.

      I wouldn’t feed this breakfast to my cat, Sister Lucia thought. I’ve been here two months, and I’ll bet I’ve lost ten pounds. It’s God’s version of a health farm.

      When breakfast was ended, two nuns brought washing-up bowls to each end of the table and set them down. The sisters seated about the table sent their plates to the sister who had the bowl. She washed each plate, dried it on a towel and returned it to its owner. The water got darker and greasier.

      And they’re going to live like this for the rest of their lives, Sister Lucia thought disgustedly. Oh, well. I can’t complain. At least it’s better than a life sentence in prison …

      She would have given her immortal soul for a cigarette.

      

      Five hundred yards down the road, Colonel Ramon Acoca and two dozen carefully selected men from the GOE, the Grupo de Operaciones Especiales, were preparing to attack the convent.

       Chapter Four

      Colonel Ramón Acoca had the instincts of a hunter. He loved the chase, but it was the kill that gave him a deep visceral satisfaction. He had once confided to a friend, ‘I have an orgasm when I kill. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a deer or a rabbit or a man – there’s something about taking a life that makes you feel like God.’

      Acoca had been in military intelligence, and he had quickly achieved a reputation for being brilliant. He was fearless, ruthless and intelligent, and the combination brought him to the attention of one of General Franco’s aides.

      Acoca had joined Franco’s staff as a lieutenant, and in less than three years he had risen to the rank of colonel, an almost unheard-of feat. He was put in charge of the Falangists, the special group used to terrorize those who opposed Franco.

      It was during the war that Acoca had been sent for by a member of the OPUS MUNDO.

      ‘I want you to understand that we’re speaking to you with the permission of General Franco.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘We’ve been watching you, Colonel. We are pleased with what we see.’

      ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘From time to time we have certain assignments that are – shall we say – very confidential. And very dangerous.’

      ‘I understand, sir.’

      ‘We have many enemies. People who don’t understand the importance of the work we’re doing.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Sometimes they interfere with us. We can’t permit that to happen.’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘I believe we could use a man like you, Colonel. I think we understand each other.’

      ‘Yes, sir. I’d be honoured to be of service.’

      ‘We would like you to remain in the army. That will be valuable to us. But from time to time, we will have you assigned to these special projects.’

      ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘You are never to speak of this.’

      ‘No, sir.’

      The man behind the desk had made Acoca nervous. There was something overpoweringly frightening about him.

      

      In time, Colonel Acoca was called upon to handle half a dozen assignments for the OPUS MUNDO. As he had been told, they were all dangerous. And very confidential.

      On one of the missions Acoca had met a lovely young girl from a fine family. Up to then, all of his women had been whores or camp followers, and Acoca had treated them with savage contempt. Some of the women had genuinely fallen in love with him, attracted by his strength. He reserved the worst treatment for them.

      But Susana Cerredilla belonged to a different world. Her father was a professor at Madrid University, and Susana’s mother was a lawyer. Susana was seventeen years old, and she had the body of a woman and the angelic face of a Madonna. Ramón Acoca had never met anyone like this woman-child. Her gentle vulnerability brought out in him a tenderness he had not known he was capable of. He fell madly in love with her, and for reasons which neither her parents

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