lfonso XIII was a small four-star hotel set back from thePuerta de Jerez and surrounded by a thick wrought-iron fence andlilacs. David made his way up the marble stairs. As he reached forthe door, it magically opened, and a bellhop ushered himinside.

"Baggage, señor? May I help you?"

"No, thanks. I need to see the concierge."

The bellhop looked hurt, as if something in their two-secondencounter had not been satisfactory. "Por aquí,señor." He led Becker into the lobby, pointed to theconcierge, and hurried off.

The lobby was exquisite, small and elegantly appointed.Spain's Golden Age had long since passed, but for a while inthe mid-1600s, this small nation had ruled the world. The room wasa proud reminder of that era—suits of armor, militaryetchings, and a display case of gold ingots from the New World.

Hovering behind the counter marked conserje was a trim,well-groomed man smiling so eagerly that it appeared he'dwaited his entire life to be of assistance. "En qué puedoservirle, señor? How may I serve you?" He spoke with anaffected lisp and ran his eyes up and down Becker's body.

Becker responded in Spanish. "I need to speak toManuel."

The man's well-tanned face smiled even wider."Sí, sí, señor. I am Manuel. What is it youdesire?"

"Señor Roldán at Escortes Belén told me youwould—"

The concierge silenced Becker with a wave and glanced nervouslyaround the lobby. "Why don't you step over here?" Heled Becker to the end of the counter. "Now," hecontinued, practically in a whisper. "How may I helpyou?"

Becker began again, lowering his voice. "I need to speak toone of his escorts whom I believe is dining here. Her name isRocío."

The concierge let out his breath as though overwhelmed."Aaah, Rocío—a beautiful creature."

"I need to see her immediately."

"But, señor, she is with a client."

Becker nodded apologetically. "It's important."A matter of national security.

The concierge shook his head. "Impossible. Perhaps if youleft a—"

"It will only take a moment. Is she in the diningroom?"

The concierge shook his head. "Our dining room closed halfan hour ago. I'm afraid Rocío and her guest have retiredfor the evening. If you'd like to leave me a message, I cangive it to her in the morning." He motioned to the bank ofnumbered message boxes behind him.

"If I could just call her room and—"

"I'm sorry," the concierge said, his politenessevaporating. "The Alfonso XIII has strict policies regardingclient privacy."

Becker had no intention of waiting ten hours for a fat man and aprostitute to wander down for breakfast.

"I understand," Becker said. "Sorry to botheryou." He turned and walked back into the lobby. He strodedirectly to a cherry roll-top desk that had caught his eye on hisway in. It held a generous supply of Alfonso XIII postcards andstationery as well as pens and envelopes. Becker sealed a blankpiece of paper in an envelope and wrote one word on theenvelope.

ROCÍO.

Then he went back to the concierge.

"I'm sorry to trouble you again," Becker saidapproaching sheepishly. "I'm being a bit of a fool, Iknow. I was hoping to tell Rocío personally how much I enjoyedour time together the other day. But I'm leaving town tonight.Perhaps I'll just leave her a note after all." Beckerlaid the envelope on the counter.

The concierge looked down at the envelope and clucked sadly tohimself. Another lovesick heterosexual, he thought. Whata waste. He looked up and smiled. "But of course, Mr…?"

"Buisán," Becker said. "MiguelBuisán."

"Of course. I'll be sure Rocío gets this in themorning."

"Thank you." Becker smiled and turned to go.

The concierge, after discreetly checking out Becker'sbackside, scooped up the envelope off the counter and turned to thebank of numbered slots on the wall behind him. Just as the manslipped the envelope into one of the slots, Becker spun with onefinal inquiry.

"Where might I call a taxi?"

The concierge turned from the wall of cubbyholes and answered.But Becker did not hear his response. The timing had been perfect.The concierge's hand was just emerging from a box marked Suite301.

Becker thanked the concierge and slowly wandered off looking forthe elevator.

In and out, he repeated to himself.