'I'll take it,' she said. She put it carefully in her pocket. Harry passed her the rucksack. She smiled wryly. 'Funny, it does give you a sense of security.' She took a deep breath. 'Come on, Sofia.'

The two women walked to the door. It creaked open and closed again behind them. Harry felt the separation from Sofia like a physical pain. He looked at the old man. He could feel his hostile eyes.

Chapter Forty-Seven.

OUTSIDE IT WAS ALMOST dark. Barbara shifted the rucksack with the clothes and food inside to the centre of her back. It was heavy. The beggars had gone from the steps. Clouds hid the moon but the weak streetlights had come on. Sofia led the way into a narrow alley running along the side of the cathedral. It led to a broad street with the back of the cathedral on one side. On the other, beyond a stone parapet, the street fell away into a broad, deep canyon. Barbara looked across the chasm. She could just make out the outlines of hills against the sky, a white line of road running along the bottom. A little way ahead a footbridge supported on iron struts spanned the gorge.

'So that's it,' Barbara said.

'Yes. The bridge of San Pablo. There is nobody guarding it,' Sofia said eagerly. 'The authorities cannot know he has escaped yet.'

'If he has.'

Sofia pointed at the hills. 'See, that is the Tierra Muerta. He will come down from there.'

To her right Barbara saw lights shining from houses built right on the cliff edge, balconied windows hanging out over the yawning drop.

'The hanging houses,' Sofia said.

'Extraordinary.' Barbara tensed suddenly at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from a side road. A man in a long black cloak appeared, a slash of white at the throat. A priest. He was young, about thirty, with glasses and a round gentle face under red hair almost the same shade as hers. His expression was preoccupied but he smiled when he saw them.

'Buenas tardes, senoras. It is late for a walk abroad.' Hell, Barbara thought. She knew priests could question women out in the streets, order them home. Sofia dropped her eyes demurely.

'We were just returning, senor.'

The priest looked at Barbara curiously. 'Forgive me, senora, but are you from abroad?'

Barbara put on a cheerful tone. 'I'm English, sir. My husband works in Madrid.' She was conscious of the heavy weight of the gun against her side.

'Inglesa?' He looked at her intently.

'Yes, senor. Have you been to England?'

'No.' He seemed about to say something more, then checked himself. 'It is getting dark,' he said gently, as though to a child. 'I think perhaps you should both be getting home.'

'We were about to go back.'

He turned to Sofia. 'Are you from Cuenca?'

'No.' She took a deep breath. 'I came to see the memorial in the cathedral. My friend brought me from Madrid. I had an uncle here, a priest.'

'Ah. He was martyred in 1936?'

'Yes.'

The priest nodded sadly. 'So many dead. My daughter, I can see from your face you feel bitter, but I think we must begin to forgive if Spain is to be renewed. There has been too much cruelty.'

'That is not a sentiment one hears much,' Sofia said.

The priest smiled sadly. 'No,' he agreed. There was a short silence, then he asked, conversationally, 'Where are you staying?'

Sofia hesitated. 'The convent of San Miguel.'

'Ah. So am I. Just for tonight. Perhaps I shall see you at dinner later. I am Father Eduardo Alierta.' He nodded to them and turned into the street leading to the cathedral. His footsteps died slowly away. The women looked at each other.

'We were lucky,' Sofia said. 'Some priests would have insisted on walking us back to the convent.'

'If he's going back there, he'll find they've never heard of us.'

Sofia shrugged. 'We will be gone by dinner-time.'

'He seemed sad. Most priests look stern to me, but he looked sad.'

'The whole of Spain is sad,' Sofia said. 'Come on.'

As they walked up to the bridge Barbara's heart began pounding. Her mouth was dry. Images of Bernie filled her mind, Bernie as he had been. What would he be like now? She took hold of the metal strut at the end of the bridge and looked down at the walkway; wooden boards laid across iron meshwork. The far end of the bridge was a vague outline in the darkness.

'You get back to Harry,' she said to Sofia. 'I'll be back inside an hour, I hope.'

'All right.' Sofia hugged her quickly. 'It will go well, you'll see. Tell the brigadista a friendly Spaniard is waiting to meet him.'

'I will.'

Sofia kissed her quickly on the cheek, then turned and walked back along the path. She glanced back once, then disappeared down the alleyway the priest had taken.

Barbara stood alone in the silent empty street. A pulse of excitement juddered at her throat. She stepped forward and took the handrail. The metal was cold. With her other hand she gripped the gun in her pocket. Be careful, she told herself. Don't press the bloody trigger and shoot yourself in the leg. Not now. She stepped on to the bridge, moving slowly in case there was ice on the planks. Still she could not see the other side, only the bulk of the hill, a shade darker than the sky. She started walking. A light breeze, bitterly cold, ran down the river valley. Everything was silent, there was no sound from the river far below; looking down she could see only blackness, blackness underneath and all around the narrow iron bridge. For a moment her head spun with vertigo.

Pull yourself together! She took a couple of deep breaths and pressed on. She felt something cold on her cheek and realized it had started to snow lightly.

Then she heard footsteps, crossing the bridge from the other direction. She caught her breath. Could it be Bernie? Could he have seen her and Sofia from the other side and decided to cross and meet her? No, surely he would stay hidden till he could get rid of his prison clothes; it must be someone from the town.

The footsteps came closer; she could feel little reverberations through the wooden planks now. She walked on, gripping the rail hard, trying to force her face into a relaxed expression.

A tall male figure appeared, dressed in a heavy coat. He was walking down the centre of the bridge, not touching the handrail. Gradually she made out his face, saw the eyes staring fixedly at her. Her heart stopped for a second before thumping back into life.

Sandy stopped ten feet from her, in the middle of the walkway, one hand in his coat pocket and the other clenched in a fist at his side. He had shaved off his moustache and his face looked different, puffy and yellowish. He smiled, his old broad smile.

'Hello, lovey,' he said. 'Surprised to see me? Expecting someone else?'

INSIDE THE CATHEDRAL the old man stood up and shuffled over to a switch on the wall. A loud click made Harry jump as an electric light came on above the altar, the white sodium glow bleaching the screen of its gold colour. He watched the old man trail back to his seat. He wished he had the gun, he had got used to its comforting feel. Like in the war. A picture of the beach at Dunkirk appeared in his mind, a vivid flash.

He stood and paced up and down to warm himself a little. If only Sofia would hurry, surely she should be back by now. It had been hard for her, finding her uncle's name on the memorial.

He spun round at a creak from the door. It wasn't Sofia, it was a tall red-haired priest who stood there. Harry dropped to the nearest bench, clasping his hands together and lowering his head as though praying. Between his fingers he watched as the priest walked over to the altar and knelt before it. He crossed himself then walked over to Francisco. The old man rose from his bench, looking flustered. Harry clenched his hands together. What if the old man panicked, betrayed them?

'Buenas tardes, senor,' the priest said quietly. 'I am visiting the town, staying at the convent for two nights. I would like to pray here for a little while.'

'Of course, senor.'

'It is quiet tonight.'

'There are few visitors in this weather.'

'Ay, it is cold. But not too cold to pray.'

The priest walked over to the seats and took one a few rows ahead of Harry. He seemed preoccupied and appeared not to have noticed the other penitent in the gloom. Francisco sat down again.

His eyes darted between Harry and the priest, who had got down on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The door opened again. Harry shot a glance at the priest but he went on praying as Sofia came in. Harry leaned round and pointed at the priest. To his surprise Sofia slipped quickly over to the ugly confessional box under the window and flattened herself against its side, concealing herself. Harry stood up, puzzled. His knee banged against the bench and he set his teeth at the noise and the sharp pain. He crossed to the confessional, trying to keep his echoing footsteps to a slow measured pace: the priest would surely look up if he heard anyone running in here. But still the priest knelt, praying.

'What is it?' he whispered anxiously. 'Is Barbara safe?'

'Yes. I left her at the bridge. But that red-haired priest, we met him. I told him we were staying at the convent, going straight back there. He mustn't see me here with you. And when Barbara comes with Bernie-'

'I'll have to get the old man to get rid of him.'

Sofia shook her head rapidly, a frightened gesture. 'He won't tell a priest to leave the cathedral.'

'He must.' Harry squeezed her arm and walked steadily down the nave to where Francisco stood.

BARBARA STOOD stock still, clutching the cold rail.

'Cat got your tongue?' Sandy jeered. He smiled again, enjoying her astonishment. 'Remember that call you had from the prison guard? I was listening in; I picked up the phone at the same time.' His tone was mild, conversational. 'Afterwards I opened that bureau of yours, saw all the details you had in there. The map with the bushes by the bridge marked.'

'But how did you open it?'

'I kept a key to the bureau when I bought it.' He smiled. 'I always keep a duplicate key for everything I buy with a lock. Especially if it's for someone else. Old habit.'

Barbara said nothing, just stood looking at him, her breath coming in sharp stabs.

'How long have you known Piper was alive?' he asked. 'How long have you been planning this?'

'A couple of months,' she replied quietly. She studied his face. What was he going to do? His eyes were furious. Despite the cold there was sweat on his brow.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. 'Was Brett in this too?'

'No.' Bernie didn't know Harry was here. She looked at the hand Sandy kept in his pocket. There was a bulge there. Did he have a gun too?

'They've been to the house for you,' she said. Her heart was pounding; it was hard to keep her voice steady, but she must. 'The police. They took everything from your office.'

'Yes, I thought they would have by now. I've got a passport that'll see me onto a ship at Valencia. Belonged to one of the French Jews but it's got my face on it now. I thought I'd just stop off here on the way.'

She gripped the gun, working her fingers so they held the trigger. 'Where's Pilar?' she asked. Her voice was steadier now.

'Gone. I paid her off. She was just a little diversion. Nothing important, like the way you betrayed me.' He hissed the word with sudden fury, then took a deep breath and continued in his bantering tone. 'Well, the worm turned into a dragon all right. And to think I made you. I should have left you to rot in Burgos.'

She didn't reply, just stood looking at him. He glanced back along the bridge.

'He's over there,' he said, 'waiting in some trees up the road. I saw him. I've been behind a tree up there, waiting. I was going to kill him. I wanted you to find him dead. But he heard me lighting a ciggy behind a tree and that put him on the alert, so I came here instead. After all, nothing's more dangerous than a cornered man. I shouldn't think he can see us at this end of the bridge.' Sandy inclined his head towards his pocket. 'I've got a gun, by the way.'

Barbara could just make out the clump of trees a few hundred yards up the road. Was Bernie really there? 'Why, Sandy?' she asked. 'I mean, what's what's the point now? It's all over.'

Sandy's voice was still low but it had turned cold. 'He used to treat me like a piece of dirt at school, like my bloody father. He tried to keep Harry from me. And now he's got you to betray me and get him out of prison. Well, I'll have my revenge.' He smiled again; a strange smile, almost childish. 'I like revenge; it's real.'

She stepped back involuntarily. There was something wild now, deranged, in his voice.

'Don't bloody look like that,' he said. 'Have I done anything worse than what Piper and all the other ideologues did to Spain? Eh? Have I?'

'Bernie didn't get me to do this, Sandy, it was my idea. He didn't even know until a little while ago.'

'I've still been betrayed,' he said. 'But I won't let it happen again. I won't be just cast out, discarded. If that's my fate, I'll fight it to the end. I will.' His dark eyes were wild, bulging. She didn't reply. They stood facing each other for a moment, the occasional snowflake drifting down. Sandy took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and when he spoke his tone was conversational again.

'How did you get here? Train?'

'Yes.' He didn't know Harry and Sofia were here, he thought she was alone. But they couldn't help her in the cathedral.

'I suppose you've got a change of clothes for him in that rucksack.'

'Yes.'

'Well, I'll tell you what you can do. You can turn round and go back the way you came. Go back to England. Then I'll deal with him.' He nodded at his pocket. 'I'd like to kill you too but a shot from here might be heard.' He leaned forward then, his face working. 'Just don't ever forget, for the rest of the life I'm letting you have, don't forget I won.' He almost hissed the words; he sounded silly, like a child. He gestured with the thing in his pocket. 'Now, turn round and start walking.'

She released her hold on the rail, took a deep breath.

'Go on.' His voice rose. 'Now. Or I will shoot you, damn it. Three years I spent building you up from nothing so you could betray me. Bitch. Turn round, start walking.'

Barbara put her hand in her pocket and drew out the Mauser. She took it in both hands and thrust out her arms, slipping the safety catch as she levelled it at his chest.

'Throw your gun over the bridge, Sandy.' She was surprised how clear her voice was. She spread her legs, concentrating on her balance. 'Do it. Do it now or I'll kill you.' As she spoke she knew she could if she had to.

Sandy stepped back a pace. He looked astonished. 'You you've a gun?'

'Take yours out of your pocket, Sandy. Slowly.'

He clenched his fists. 'Bitch.'

'Throw your gun off the bridge!'

Sandy looked into her eyes, then pulled his hand slowly from his pocket. She thought, what if he whips it out and shoots me. But she would get her shot in first. He wouldn't get Bernie, he wouldn't.

Sandy pulled out a large stone. He looked at it, then smiled at her and shrugged. 'There wasn't time to get a gun. I was going to brain Piper with this.' He dropped the stone on to the bridge. It bounced and went over the side, disappearing into the void. There was no sound of it hitting the water, it was too far.