David Becker had been to funerals and seen dead bodies before,but there was something particularly unnerving about this one. Itwas not an immaculately groomed corpse resting in a silk-linedcoffin. This body had been stripped naked and dumpedunceremoniously on an aluminum table. The eyes had not yet foundtheir vacant, lifeless gaze. Instead they were twisted upwardtoward the ceiling in an eerie freeze-frame of terror andregret.

"¿Dónde están sus efectos?" Beckerasked in fluent Castillian Spanish. "Where are hisbelongings?"

"Allí," replied the yellow-toothed lieutenant. Hepointed to a counter of clothing and other personal items.

"¿Es todo? Is that all?"

"Sí."

Becker asked for a cardboard box. The lieutenant hurried off tofind one.

It was Saturday evening, and the Seville morgue was technicallyclosed. The young lieutenant had let Becker in under direct ordersfrom the head of the Seville Guardia—it seemed the visitingAmerican had powerful friends.

Becker eyed the pile of clothes. There was a passport, wallet,and glasses stuffed in one of the shoes. There was also a smallduffel the Guardia had taken from the man's hotel.Becker's directions were clear: Touch nothing. Read nothing.Just bring it all back. Everything. Don't miss anything.

Becker surveyed the pile and frowned. What could the NSApossible want with this junk?

The lieutenant returned with a small box, and Becker beganputting the clothes inside.

The officer poked at the cadaver's leg. "¿Quienes? Who is he?"

"No idea."

"Looks Chinese."

Japanese, Becker thought.

"Poor bastard. Heart attack, huh?"

Becker nodded absently. "That's what they toldme."

The lieutenant sighed and shook his head sympathetically."The Seville sun can be cruel. Be careful out theretomorrow."

"Thanks," Becker said. "But I'm headedhome."

The officer looked shocked. "You just got here!"

"I know, but the guy paying my airfare is waiting for theseitems."

The lieutenant looked offended in the way only a Spaniard can beoffended. "You mean you're not going to experienceSeville?"

"I was here years ago. Beautiful city. I'd love tostay."

"So you've seen La Giralda?"

Becker nodded. He'd never actually climbed the ancientMoorish tower, but he'd seen it.

"How about the Alcazar?"

Becker nodded again, remembering the night he'd heard Pacode Lucia play guitar in the courtyard—Flamenco under the starsin a fifteenth-century fortress. He wished he'd known Susanback then.

"And of course there's Christopher Columbus." Theofficer beamed. "He's buried in our cathedral."

Becker looked up. "Really? I thought Columbus was buried inthe Dominican Republic."

"Hell no! Who starts these rumors? Columbus's body ishere in Spain! I thought you said you went to college."

Becker shrugged. "I must have missed that day."

"The Spanish church is very proud to own hisrelics."

The Spanish church. Becker knew here was only one churchin Spain—the Roman Catholic church. Catholicism was biggerhere than in Vatican City.

"We don't, of course, have his entire body," thelieutenant added. "Solo el escroto."

Becker stopped packing and stared at the lieutenant. Solo elescroto? He fought off a grin. "Just hisscrotum?"

The officer nodded proudly. "Yes. When the church obtainsthe remains of a great man, they saint him and spread the relics todifferent cathedrals so everyone can enjoy theirsplendor."

"And you got the…" Becker stifled a laugh.

"Oye! It's a pretty important part!" the officerdefended. "It's not like we got a rib or a knuckle likethose churches in Galicia! You should really stay and seeit."

Becker nodded politely. "Maybe I'll drop in on my wayout of town."

"Mala suerte." The officer sighed. "Bad luck. Thecathedral's closed till sunrise mass."

"Another time then." Becker smiled, hoisting the box."I should probably get going. My flight's waiting."He made a final glance around the room.

"You want a ride to the airport?" the officer asked."I've got a MotoGuzzi out front."

"No thanks. I'll catch a cab." Becker had drivena motorcycle once in college and nearly killed himself on it. Hehad no intention of getting on one again, regardless of who wasdriving.

"Whatever you say," the officer said, heading for thedoor. "I'll get the lights."

Becker tucked the box under his arm. Have I goteverything? He took a last look at the body on the table. Thefigure was stark naked, faceup under fluorescent lights, clearlyhiding nothing. Becker found his eyes drawn again to the strangelydeformed hands. He gazed a minute, focusing more intently.

The officer killed the lights, and the room went dark.

"Hold on," Becker said. "Turn those backon."

The lights flickered back on.

Becker set his box on the floor walked over to the corpse. Heleaned down and squinted at the man's left hand.

The officer followed Becker's gaze. "Pretty ugly,huh?"

But the deformity was not what had caught Becker's eye.He'd seen something else. He turned to the officer."You're sure everything's in this box?"

The officer nodded. "Yeah. That's it."

Becker stood for moment with his hands on his hips. Then hepicked up the box, carried it back over to the counter, and dumpedit out. Carefully, piece by piece, he shook out the clothing. Thenhe emptied the shoes and tapped them as if trying to remove apebble. After going over everything a second time, he stepped backand frowned.

"Problem?" asked the lieutenant.

"Yeah," Becker said. "We're missingsomething."