ecker's newly purchased Vespa motorcycle struggled up theentry road to Aeropuerto de Sevilla. His knuckles had been whitethe whole way. His watch read just after 2:00 a.m. local time.

As he approached the main terminal, he rode up on the sidewalkand jumped off the bike while it was still moving. It clattered tothe pavement and sputtered to a stop. Becker dashed on rubbery legsthrough the revolving door. Never again, he swore tohimself.

The terminal was sterile and starkly lit. Except for a janitorbuffing the floor, the place was deserted. Across the concourse, aticket agent was closing down the Iberia Airlines counter. Beckertook it as a bad sign.

He ran over. "El vuelo a los Estados Unidos?"

The attractive Andalusian woman behind the counter looked up andsmiled apologetically. "Acaba de salir. You just missedit." Her words hung in the air for a long moment.

I missed it. Becker's shoulders slumped. "Wasthere standby room on the flight?"

"Plenty," the woman smiled. "Almost empty. Buttomorrow's eight a.m. also has—"

"I need to know if a friend of mine made that flight. Shewas flying standby."

The woman frowned. "I'm sorry, sir. There were severalstandby passengers tonight, but our privacy clausestates—"

"It's very important," Becker urged. "I justneed to know if she made the flight. That's all."

The woman gave a sympathetic nod. "Lovers'quarrel?"

Becker thought a moment. Then he gave her a sheepish grin."It's that obvious?"

She gave him a wink. "What's her name?"

"Megan," he replied sadly.

The agent smiled. "Does your lady friend have a lastname?"

Becker exhaled slowly. Yes, but I don't know it!"Actually, it's kind of a complicated situation. You saidthe plane was almost empty. Maybe you could—"

"Without a last name I really can't…"

"Actually," Becker interrupted, having another idea."Have you been on all night?"

The woman nodded. "Seven to seven."

"Then maybe you saw her. She's a young girl. Maybefifteen or sixteen? Her hair was—" Before the words lefthis mouth, Becker realized his mistake.

The agent's eyes narrowed. "Your lover is fifteenyears old?"

"No!" Becker gasped. "I mean…" Shit. "If you could just help me, it's veryimportant."

"I'm sorry," the woman said coldly.

"It's not the way it sounds. If you couldjust—"

"Good night, sir." The woman yanked the metal gratedown over the counter and disappeared into a back room.

Becker groaned and stared skyward. Smooth, David. Verysmooth. He scanned the open concourse. Nothing. She must havesold the ring and made the flight. He headed for the custodian."Has visto a una niña?" he called over the sound ofthe tile buffer. "Have you seen a girl?"

The old man reached down and killed the machine."Eh?"

"Una niña?" Becker repeated. "Pelo rojo,azul, y blanco. Red white and blue hair."

The custodian laughed. "Qué fea. Sounds ugly." Heshook his head and went back to work.

David Becker stood in the middle of the deserted airportconcourse and wondered what to do next. The evening had been acomedy of errors. Strathmore's words pounded in his head:Don't call until you have the ring. A profound exhaustionsettled over him. If Megan sold the ring and made the flight, therewas no telling who had the ring now.

Becker closed his eyes and tried to focus. What's mynext move? He decided to consider it in a moment. First, heneeded to make a long-overdue trip to a rest room.