avid Becker stepped out onto the scorching tile concourse ofPlaza de España. Before him, El Ayuntamiento—the ancientcity council building—rose from the trees on a three-acre bedof blue and white azulejo tiles. Its Arabic spires and carvedfacade gave the impression it had been intended more as a palacethan a public office. Despite its history of military coups, fires,and public hangings, most tourists visited because the localbrochures plugged it as the English military headquarters in thefilm Lawrence of Arabia. It had been far cheaper forColumbia Pictures to film in Spain than in Egypt, and the Moorishinfluence on Seville's architecture was enough to convincemoviegoers they were looking at Cairo.

Becker reset his Seiko for local time: 9:10 p.m.—stillafternoon by local standards; a proper Spaniard never ate dinnerbefore sunset, and the lazy Andalusian sun seldom surrendered theskies before ten.

Even in the early-evening heat, Becker found himself walkingacross the park at a brisk clip. Strathmore's tone had soundeda lot more urgent this time than it had that morning. His neworders left no room for misinterpretation: Find the Canadian, getthe ring. Do whatever is necessary, just get that ring.

Becker wondered what could possibly be so important about a ringwith lettering all over it. Strathmore hadn't offered, andBecker hadn't asked. NSA, he thought. Never SayAnything.

On the other side of Avenida Isabela Católica, the clinicwas clearly visible—the universal symbol of a red cross in awhite circle painted on the roof. The Guardia officer had droppedthe Canadian off hours ago. Broken wrist, bumped head—no doubtthe patient had been treated and discharged by now. Becker justhoped the clinic had discharge information—a local hotel orphone number where the man could be reached. With a little luck,Becker figured he could find the Canadian, get the ring, and be onhis way home without any more complications.

Strathmore had told Becker, "Use the ten thousand cash tobuy the ring if you have to. I'll reimburse you."

"That's not necessary," Becker had replied.He'd intended to return the money anyway. He hadn't goneto Spain for money, he'd gone for Susan. Commander TrevorStrathmore was Susan's mentor and guardian. Susan owed him alot; a one-day errand was the least Becker could do.

Unfortunately, things this morning hadn't gone quite asBecker had planned. He'd hoped to call Susan from the planeand explain everything. He considered having the pilot radioStrathmore so he could pass along a message but was hesitant toinvolve the deputy director in his romantic problems.

Three times Becker had tried to call Susan himself—firstfrom a defunct cellular on board the jet, next from a pay phone atthe airport, then again from the morgue. Susan was not in. Davidwondered where she could be. He'd gotten her answering machinebut had not left a message; what he wanted to say was not a messagefor an answering machine.

As he approached the road, he spotted a phone booth near thepark entrance. He jogged over, snatched up the receiver, and usedhis phone card to place the call. There was a long pause as thenumber connected. Finally it began to ring.

Come on. Be there.

After five rings the call connected.

"Hi. This is Susan Fletcher. Sorry I'm not in rightnow, but if you leave your name…"

Becker listened to the message. Where is she? By nowSusan would be panicked. He wondered if maybe she'd gone toStone Manor without him. There was a beep.

"Hi. It's David." He paused, unsure what to say.One of the things he hated about answering machines was that if youstopped to think, they cut you off. "Sorry I didn'tcall," he blurted just in time. He wondered if he should tellher what was going on. He thought better of it. "CallCommander Strathmore. He'll explain everything."Becker's heart was pounding. This is absurd, hethought. "I love you," he added quickly and hung up.

Becker waited for some traffic to pass on Avenida Borbolla. Hethought about how Susan undoubtedly would have assumed the worst;it was unlike him not to call when he'd promised to.

Becker stepped out onto the four-lane boulevard. "In andout," he whispered to himself. "In and out." He wastoo preoccupied to see the man in wire-rim glasses watching fromacross the street.