The truck continued on with only its clunking, groaning noises to interrupt the silence between the occupants. Long shadows from tree branches spread over the road, telling Philip they were driving east and north. Beside him Sophie slept. Her head, cocked at an awkward angle, rested against the seat behind her and tilted to the left and the right with the movement of the truck over the road. Philip knew she'd be more comfortable if she rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't ask, and he didn't offer.
For weeks he had prayed to be reunited with her again, but now it seemed like someone was playing a joke on him. More than anything, he wished for space. For time to think and pray. Of course, that wouldn't happen unless he ditched her and Walt to head out across enemy territory on his own. No, he was forced to stay. Forced to follow this thing through, wherever that led.
When he and Sophie parted at Guernica, there was an apology in her gaze. Now he knew why. It hurt and humiliated him at the same time. What a fool he'd been to think she truly loved him. He should have learned from his first girlfriend in Seattle. He'd loved her too, yet she'd married someone else. Such beautiful, talented women would never love someone ordinary like him.
Sophie. He couldn't help that his heart warmed as he glanced at her. Yes, she no doubt appreciated his saving her on the battlefield. She seemed to have grown fond of him over those months he'd protected her. They'd grown close as she amazingly transformed oil on canvas to tell the story of the field hospital's carnage and of the faces of the desperate and dying volunteers who were so dedicated. Yet even though they experienced so much together, Philip realized he could never replace Michael. Even though the man had betrayed them all, Philip still saw the concern in Sophie's eyes as she spoke of him.
It was another cruel joke that their destination now was Barcelona. The city's name was enough to cause Philip's stomach to constrict. He thought back to his first days in Spain—training for the Workers Games, striding down the boulevard in his workout clothes with Attis by his side—as hungry for his friend's victory as he'd been for the authentic food that had saturated the air with its aroma. Stupid smiles had filled their faces, ignorant as they were of the developing political situation. Instead hopes of athletic victory pounded in their hearts with each beat. Had it only been a year ago that he'd dreamed of leaving Spain with a gold medal around Attis's neck?
Philip patted the gold coin in his pocket. Carrying a piece of history was an amazing thing, but he planned to return it at their next stop. Although he didn't buy into Walt's talk of omens and curses, he felt strange holding it. Perhaps that was because hundreds, even thousands, of people had lost their lives trying to possess it. From the people who first crafted it to the Spaniards who stole it, how many men had died fighting over these riches? He'd feel better knowing the coin was back in the box where it belonged. And after that, knowing collectors would take care of it, instead of allowing more little men to fight for the power and wealth the gold objects brought.
Walt cleared his throat, and Philip glanced over at him. Their irritation at each other had subsided as they'd both had time to calm their minds with the fresh air.
Walt nodded toward Sophie, who was snoring softly. "She's sleeping hard."
Philip couldn't help but think it was the most beautiful snore he'd ever heard.”She's been through a lot."
"That she has. And what about you? Are you okay? I swear the color drained from your face when I mentioned Barcelona."
"Next time I'm rescued, I hope it's not by a spy. It seems like I can't keep anything to myself—even my private thoughts."
"Fine. Next time you're rescued, you can make sure of that. But what about now? You still haven't answered my question."
"I'm fine." Philip let out a long sigh. Yet even as he spoke those words his knees trembled slightly. "I just had no idea I'd ever have to go back to Barcelona. It's ironic, don't you think? I went there once in search of gold of a different kind, and now I'm returning in an effort to protect that very thing."
"Don't let your feathers get ruffled just yet. We can't just jump on a turnpike and arrive in a day or two. First we must make it to Granada. There's a castle, a fortress, overlooking the city, with tunnels that lead to different parts of the city. Maybe we can find a place to hide the truck and the gold. At least it's a stopping place."
"Granada? Isn't that in Franco's hands?" Philip's fist balled in his lap as he said that name.
"Yes, the Nationalists have captured the city, but the Republicans still hold the rest of the province."
"How far away is it?"
"We've been traveling northeast, and we're nearly to Málaga. That means we're halfway."
"Really? That close?" Philip straightened in his seat. "Still, will we have time to travel all the way without being found? If . . . those guys who are after the gold are smart, they'll figure out where we're headed."
Philip could not bring himself to speak casually about Michael, even if the others did. He didn't understand how both Sophie and Walt could talk about him as if he were just a lost soul in need of discovering the truth.
"I don't think so. If the plane has landed, they may just now be discovering they were fooled. But also, it helps to remember how things work in Spain." Walt smirked. "Mañana. Whenever possible the business of today is put off until tomorrow. The way I figure it, we have another day to get to Granada and hide the gold."
"Let's hope you're right."
Philip glanced at sleeping Sophie one more time. She looked like an angel, the way her hair fell across her cheek.
"You'd better be right," he added with more conviction.
José knew the mountains well, and though the journey on horseback up the steep hills had sapped the energy from his father and Pepito, and had taken a toll on the horses, they'd all made it. They now rested in a high pasture, off the beaten path, where he hoped they'd be safe for a time.
Petra did a fine job making sure the men were comfortable and fed. She was young, José knew, but she carried a strength that couldn't be denied. He chuckled to himself at the way his father diligently obeyed when told to wash up for dinner or to peel a few potatoes from the sack of supplies they'd brought with them. Juan Guezureya had never been one to follow another, or hold his tongue, yet he didn't seem to mind following Petra's orders. For that matter, Pepito didn't either. Each had his own reasons, José was sure, but they seemed to appreciate the young woman's care.
José set up a small camp and then he set out on foot, returning the way he'd come. Curiosity drew him to Bilbao. But more than that, fear forced him from his precipice of safety. What if something had happened to Ramona? What if she had been injured or . . . ? He didn't want to think of what else happened to women by invading armies. He knew he would never forgive himself if his wife experienced such a thing.
The trees thinned as the forest around him ended at a large cliff overlooking the coastal valley below. Two deep river valleys led to Bilbao. One valley came from the direction of Eibar and Durango, the other from Orduña, some miles to the north of the main Burgos-Vitoria road. High mountains, reaching to 4,500 feet, rose in every direction.
From these peaks José had witnessed the horror unleashed upon the coastal cities. With little opposition, the Fascists had penetrated the valleys winding through the mountain regions. First the air force and the artillery had bombarded the slopes nearest to Bilbao; then the enemy troops advanced. The opposition had staged a spirited fight, but there were not enough weapons or good men to hold their cities. José knew without a doubt that if the people had had more weapons, more manpower, the Nationalist High Command wouldn't have had a chance. Instead he'd seen them easily moving forward, steadily gaining ground. Nationalist troops had white patches sewn on their shoulders so they could identify each other. They also carried flags for the aircraft to recognize the units from above.
José had wanted to join the fight against their approach, but what could one man do? Instead he had grieved as he watched the gold and scarlet Nationalist banner carried to a high point where it fluttered from the top peak of the Urquiola range—the one ridge Franco's men dared to climb.
The Basques had done what they could, digging miles of trenches and spreading out barbed-wire belts, but somehow the enemy invaders had known the easiest penetration points. Once through, nothing—no one—stood in their way. Most of the defenders were forced to retreat. And soon, the town fell.
Days ago, as he watched the Nationalist flag unfurl above Bilbao, José's gut ached as if someone had slugged him. Even now tears ran down his face as he leaned against a tall tree for support. "Ramona, Ramona . . . How could I have abandoned my wife?" he muttered as a thousand possibilities raced through his mind.
He didn't know how much time passed as he wept. It seemed all the tension that had mounted since leaving Guernica refused to be dammed any longer. Perhaps there were other, older heartaches he'd been holding inside, too. The pain of discovering the truth about Michael, his friend since childhood. The pain of traveling to Madrid and leaving those he loved behind. The heartache of helping Michael fake his death in order to rescue Sophie from his grasp, but failing at that as well.
In fact, it seemed in every way he tried to help he simply brought more pain, more heartache, to those he loved. He was ready now for things to be different. For once, he hoped, he would protect his wife as a husband should. And keep safe those in his care, despite the dangers around them.
Minutes passed on the quiet hillside, maybe an hour, as he looked upon the captured city below. All José knew was that when he rose and turned back up the mountain, he had made a promise to get his father and the others settled as best he could, and then return to find Ramona. He refused to allow the enemy to harm that which was most precious.