The Sands of Time Read Online Free PDF

story? Why would she bury herself in a joint like this?
    The third nun that captured Lucia’s interest was Sister Megan. Blue eyes, blond 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 have to 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 stop looking for me. 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 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 Ramón Acoca and two dozen carefully selected men from the GOE, the Grupa de Operaciones Especiales, were preparing to attack the convent.

C HAPTER F OUR
    C olonel 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 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