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 signaled her.
Sister Lucia bowed her head meekly and signaled, "Yes, Holy 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 fruitcakes may be into S and M, but not yours truly.
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 eleven A.M., and consisted of a thin soup, a few vegetables, and occasionally a piece of fruit.
The Reverend Mother had instructed Lucia, "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 fat farm.
When breakfast was over, two nuns brought dishpans 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 dishpan. 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. This sure as hell beats 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 Grupa de Operaciones Especiales, were preparing to attack the convent.
CHAPTER FOUR
Colonel Ramon 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 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 honored 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. Until then, all of his women had been whores or camp followers, and Acoca had treated them with savage contempt. Some of them had genuinely fallen in love with him, attracted by his strength, and he had reserved the worst treatment for them.
But Susana Cerredilla had belonged to a different world. Her father was a professor at Madrid University, and her mother was a lawyer. When Susana was seventeen years old, she had the body of a woman and the angelic face of a Madonna. Ramon Acoca had never met anyone like this woman-child. Her gentle vulnerability inspired in him a tenderness of which he had not known he was capable. He fell madly in love with her, and, for reasons which neither her parents nor Acoca understood, she fell in love with him.
On their honeymoon, it was as though Acoca had never known another woman. He had known lust, but the combination of love and passion was something he had never previously experienced.
Three months after they were married, Susana informed him that she was pregnant. Acoca was wildly excited. To add to their joy, he was assigned to the beautiful little village of Castilblanco, in Basque country. It was in the fall of 1936, when the fighting between the Republicans and Nationalists was at its fiercest.
On a peaceful Sunday morning, Ramon Acoca and his bride were having coffee in the village plaza when the square suddenly filled with Basque demonstrators.
"I want you to go home," Acoca said. "There's going to be trouble."