The Miracle (36 page)

"On my way," said Esther.

"I'll meet you in the anteroom in a few minutes. Let's take a look at the town, and I'll treat you to lunch. Then we'll come back and finish with Mrs. Moore and head for Paris. How's that?"

"That's great," said Esther with a rare smile.

Mikel Hurtado awakened with a start. Something had brushed his cheek, touched his lips, and startled him out of a deep sleep. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Natale kneeling over him, kissing him a third time.

Reaching for her, to bring her closer, he saw that she instinctively knew that he would do so, and had pulled away. She retreated to her side of the bed, feeling her way to the far edge, groping for her dark glasses on the bedside table. When she found the glasses, and had slipped them on, she swung off the bed and stood up.

"Are you up, Mikel?" she called.

"You bet I'm up."

"I just wanted to be sure, because I wanted to tellyou—I love you."

He was sitting now, staring at her. She presented an incongruous sight. She was totdly nude from her head to her knees -- the rest hidden by the bed—her firm, unblemished being seemed to glow. And she was wearing sun-glasses.

"I love you, too," he said softly.

She was groping and finding a fresh brassiere and panty briefs on the chair. "You are the most marvelous lover on earth," she said.

"How would you know?" he asked chidingly.

"I just know," she replied. "I know how I enjoyed you. I know when I'm happy."

The sight of her jiggling breasts and brown nipples, the navel in her flat belly, the triangle of pubic hair between the generous thighs, was beginning to arouse him. "Natale, come back to bed."

"Oh, I want to darling, but I can't, not yet. Later, but not now. First things first—"

"What comes before us?"

"Mikel, I've got to bathe and dress and go to the grotto to pray. What time is it?"

He picked up his watch. "Just past ten-thirty, morning."

"I'll have to hurry. Rosa takes me to the grotto at eleven-fifteen every day."

"Rosa?"

"She's that friend of my family in Rome who comes to Lourdes every summer as a handmaid. She's been taking care of me."

That instant, Hurtado remembered what had last been on his mind before falling asleep.

First things first. He, too, had a priority and an idea of how to pull it off.

"I'll take you to the grotto," he said. "Let's go together."

"I'd like to but—Mikel, what about the pohce? Maybe you should stay away from them or go out of town."

"The pohce," he said. "They're mistaken. I should tell you what's going on." He couldn't tell her the truth, that he was here to destroy what meant so much to her. Yet, he rationalized, she didn't need the grotto to achieve her hopes. She had faith. That was enough. Nor need she ever know his role in what was soon to happen. He was prepared to make up some fanciful story for her, a mistake in identity, a false lead from an enemy, something. "Let me explain—"

"You don't have to explain anything to me," she said firmly. "I told you that before. I don't need it. I trust you. You still want to take me to the grotto? You think it's safe?"

"Of course it is. Yesterday I didn't want to be questioned in my room. But it's safe now." And he believed it was. He was positive that whatever Lopez had done, he had not given the Lourdes pohce a description of the terrorist. Obviously, Lopez wanted to frighten him off, not get him caught.

"Then we'll go. We can leave Rosa a note on the door—"

"I can write it for you."

"Yes. Write, 'Dear Rosa, a friend has taken me to the grotto. You can find me there. Natale.' Now I'd better have my bath and dress."

He watched her making her way to the bathroom.

First things first, he reminded himself.

"Natale, is there anything else I can do for you? I see your flight bag, your carry-on, sitting on the table. There are some plastic bottles and a candle in front of it. Are they going to the grotto?"

She was at the bathroom door. "Yes, I meant to pack them in the

flight bag. I want to light my candle. And fill the bottles with water to take back to my relatives."

His heart skipped. "Fd be glad to pack them."

"Would you?"

"Right away. Write a note to Rosa, and pack your flight bag. Have I got it all?"

"And love me," she said lightly, and she closed herself in the bathroom.

Tempted as he was to go after her, carry her back to the bed, love her as he had never loved anyone before, he restrained himself

After he heard the tub water running, he crawled out of bed. He scribbled the note to leave behind for the woman named Rosa. He knelt, pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, and unlocked it. Tenderly, he lifted the packages containing the sticks of dynamite, detonator, timepiece, wiring and carried them to the table. As he had planned— rather hoped was possible—he laid his wrapped explosives inside Natale's flight bag. Then, he stuffed in a folded shopping bag, and he covered his packages with her large candle and plastic bottles. He drew the zipper on the flight bag.

He was waiting, smoking, when she emerged, clad in her brassiere and panties. He intercepted her on the way to the closet, to embrace and kiss her fervently.

"Oh, Mikel, I want you so," she breathed, but drew away. "Later. After. I'd better get dressed."

"Later," he agreed. "I'd better get ready, too."

He sought his travel kit in the suitcase and brought it into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he shaved, then quickly bathed, dried himself, combed his hair, and dressed.

"Ready, Mikel?" he heard her call.

"Be right with you."

In seconds he emerged, and saw her ftmibling at the table.

He snatched up the packed bag before she reached it. "I have your bag," he said. "And I have the note for Rosa."

With his free hand, he took her arm. "Now, to the grotto," he said.

Ten minutes later, as they neared the ramp leading to the domain, Hurtado had his plan formulated.

The police had their cordon across the top of the ramp, again, and they were stopping only the pilgrims and tourists carrying anything, and were searching through each package or bag before passing the visitors through.

Crossing the street, Hurtado said to Natale, "We'll have to get in line here and go through a police inspection."

"Will it be all right?" Natale whispered.

"No problem," he said.

He hoped.

They were inching ahead, and getting close to two of the policemen. This was the moment to make his move as he had planned it.

He took Natale's arm once more. "Querida, do you mind if I leave you for a few seconds? I forgot my cigarettes -- and even if they don't like smoking down there—I'd feel better to have a pack handy. Here, you take your bag for the moment. I'll run across the street to the cafe. Catch up with you along the ramp." He handed her the bag. "You've got just ten steps to take before you reach the police."

"All right, Mikel," she said, grasping the handle of the flight bag.

Quickly, he stepped away from her, and retreated to the back of the line of visitors, making sure to fall in where he had a fiill view of the police inspection. If something went wrong, he wasn't certain what he'd be able to do for her. But he felt nothing would go wrong. Police, like most authorities, had a weakness for a number of human afflictions.

He craned his neck to keep Natale in view, and then he saw her standing with the bag before two uniformed pohcemen. He saw her hand groping in front of her, trying to find out if she had arrived at the police guards. He saw the two policemen observing her, looking down at her bag, then up at her face. He saw one pohceman make a gesture toward his eyes, plainly indicating that she was blind. He saw the other policeman nod understandingly, and put his hand on Natale's shoulder, sending her on her way down the ramp uninspected.

Hurtado exhaled, and breathed easily once more.

In a few minutes, he was before the officers, empty-handed. They glanced at him, and one waved him through. Despite the pebble in his shoe, and the limp that resulted, Hurtado went swiftly down the ramp, and near the bottom he caught up with Natale.

"Here I am," he said. He took the flight bag from her. "Everything all right?"

"Thanks for taking the bag," she said. "I didn't know it would be so heavy."

"My fault," he said cheerfully. "I stuffed a camera and a pair of large binoculars under your things. Wanted to get a picture and closeup view of the domain area from a distance. Natale, one day you'll be able to look through both of them yourself."

"If the Blessed Virgin takes notice of my prayer," she said uncertainly. "Anyway, you must tell me what you see."

"I will," he promised.

Now that they had managed to get his explosives through, he felt

elated. He was closer to his goal and success. Guiding Natale toward the grotto, he saw that it was swarming with worshippers. There were even police spotted about. He would be able to ascend the hill next to the grotto and secrete the explosives, of that he was sure, but setting the explosives in place behind the statue of the Virgin Mary, and wiring it to the detonator, would be impossible in the daylight. He would have to return when it was dark, around midnight, and the worshippers were asleep and the police guards had gone off duty.

Ahead, at the rear of the many benches facing the grotto, he saw an elderly woman rise from her seat and move away. Hurriedly, he led Natale to the bench and settled her into the empty place.

He told Natale exactly where he had seated her, and her position in relation to the grotto. "You just sit here and pray," he said. "I'll take the bag with me, and see that your candle is lighted. And I'll fill the bottles with water."

"You're so sweet, Mikel."

"I do this for all my loves," he said lightly, and bent down and kissed the smile off her lips. "Be back soon."

Slowly, easily, he picked his way through the crowd on the far side of the grotto. No one was paying any attention to anything except the cave in the hillside. It was almost too easy to drift away, and be interested in the foliage of the hillside, and move up it unhurriedly inspecting the plants and gradually disappear behind a group of trees.

He continued climbing a short distance, until the grotto itself was hidden from view. He sought the depression behind the large oak tree he had spotted earlier, and he found it filled with fallen leaves, broken branches, bits of other vegetation. Setting down Natale's flight bag, he knelt and began using both hands to scoop the debris out of the hole. When he had finished his excavation, he was pleased. The depression would be deep enough to hold and hide his equipment.

Emptying Natale's bag of the bottles and candle, he gingerly took out his own packages containing the sticks of dynamite, the detonator, the clock, the wiring, the tape, and the shopping bag. Casting about to see if he had by chance been followed, or, indeed, if there were any other climbers in the vicinity, he was satisfied that he was quite alone. He resumed work, lowering his packages into the hole, covering them with the folded shopping bag. Quickly, he scooped up the debris beside the hole, the dead leaves, branches, brush, and covered the shopping bag with them until the explosives and other materials were completely buried out of sight.

Rising, he examined his handiwork. The leafy surface of the ground looked untouched, as if it had been arranged by nature. Care-

fully, he restored Natale's bottles and candle to her flight bag. Then, with one hand, he dusted all signs of the foliage from his jacket and trousers. Taking up the bag, careful of his footing, he began his descent, noting every obvious landmark that would guide him on his return late that night.

When he came off the hill, he was sure that almost no one had seen him, or if they had, they would have small curiosity about this nature lover and exercise freak. Ready to melt into the crowd surrounding the grotto, he became aware of the flight bag in his hand. He had told Natale that he would take care of her candle and her plastic bottles. He searched off toward the baths, saw the rows of flickering candles nearby, and went to them and piously lighted Natale's candle and placed it alongside the others. Next, dutifully, he approached a water gutter with a spigot at either end where pilgrims were lined up taking their turns filling a variety of containers. Finally, his turn came. He uncapped each of Natale's empty plastic bottles, several shaped like the Virgin Mary, and filled all of them, one by one, with the supposedly curative water, and then capped each bottle and set it in the flight bag.

All there was left to do was to return to Natale, and guide her back to the hotel for lunch.

Weaving through the people milling about the grotto, he thought of Natale, of how attracted he was to her. He thought of her vivacity and her magnificent body and her passion, and suddenly he was impatient to take her to the hotel, get lunch over with if she was hungry, and return to her room for another memorable coupling. Anticipating this, he wondered about something else. He wondered how serious he was about her, and how much he wanted to deal with her in the future. Was she the woman he had always fantasied about and hoped to live with for the rest of his life? Was it possible to devote one's years to an afflicted person, one who would forever be afflicted? He did not know, or even know if she was interested in giving her own life over to an unseen Basque revolutionary—and a struggling author. Well, he told himself, it would all work itself out some way.

He had expected to find her on the bench as he had left her, occupied with silent prayer or meditating behind those dark glasses. Instead, when she came into sight, he saw that she was engaged in an animated conversation with a vaguely familiar older woman, a rather tall woman with black hair drawn back severely into a bun, who was seated beside her.

Puzzled, he advanced upon the pair. The older woman was speaking now, and Natale listening, as Hurtado came upon them. He waited

for the other woman to finish, and then he stepped closer, and touched Natale on the shoulder.