In a linen closet on the third floor of the Alfonso XIII, a maidlay unconscious on the floor. The man with wire-rim glasses wasreplacing a hotel master key in her pocket. He had not sensed herscream when he struck her, but he had no way of knowing forsure—he had been deaf since he was twelve.

He reached to the battery pack on his belt with a certain kindof reverence; a gift from a client, the machine had given him newlife. He could now receive his contracts anywhere in the world. Allcommunications arrived instantaneously and untraceably.

He was eager as he touched the switch. His glasses flickered tolife. Once again his fingers carved into the empty air and beganclicking together. As always, he had recorded the names of hisvictims—a simple matter of searching a wallet or purse. Thecontacts on his fingers connected, and the letters appeared in thelens of his glasses like ghosts in the air.

SUBJECT: ROCIO EVA GRANADA—TERMINATED

SUBJECT: HANS HUBER—TERMINATED

Three stories below David Becker paid his tab and wanderedacross the lobby, his half-finished drink in hand. He headed towardthe hotel's open terrace for some fresh air. In andout, he mused. Things hadn't panned out quite as heexpected. He had a decision to make. Should he just give up and goback to the airport? A matter of national security. He sworeunder his breath. So why the hell had they sent aschoolteacher?

Becker moved out of sight of the bartender and dumped theremaining drink in a potted jasmine. The vodka had made himlight-headed. Cheapest drunk in history, Susan often calledhim. After refilling the heavy crystal glass from a water fountain,Becker took a long swallow.

He stretched a few times trying to shake off the light haze thathad settled over him. Then he set down his glass and walked acrossthe lobby.

As he passed the elevator, the doors slid opened. There was aman inside. All Becker saw were thick wire-rim glasses. The manraised a handkerchief to blow his nose. Becker smiled politely andmoved on… out into the stifling Sevillian night.