Outside the Seville airport terminal, a taxi sat idle, the meter running. The passenger in the wire‑rim glasses gazed through the plate‑glass windows of the well‑lit terminal. He knew he’d arrived in time.
He could see a blond girl. She was helping David Becker to a chair. Becker was apparently in pain. He does not yet know pain, the passenger thought. The girl pulled a small object from her pocket and held it out. Becker held it up and studied it in the light. Then he slipped it on his finger. He pulled a stack of bills from his pocket and paid the girl. They talked a few minutes longer, and then the girl hugged him. She waved, shouldered her duffel, and headed off across the concourse.
At last, the man in the taxi thought. At last.