“No,” she responds curtly, eager to return to her work. “He left for the airport more than four hours ago. In fact, I thought your flight left right about now.” As she sees the concern flood across his face, as the impact of his call slips through to her, all thoughts of her work vanish. She stammers slightly. “Is…is there anything wrong?”

Coach Carrerra rubs apprehensively at his cheek, pushing it around in vigorous circles. When he removes his hand, the side of his face is a bright patch of scarlet. “Looks that way. I’m at the airport now. I put the team on the plane. They’re gone, but I stayed behind. To track down T.K.” Here he holds up a ticket, presumably T.K.’s. “He didn’t show up for the flight. He didn’t call, he didn’t leave any message with anybody. He just didn’t show up.” Again he digs his hand restlessly into his cheek, kneading his skin, once more, to a burning flush. “Any idea where he might be?”

Sarah considers it. One possibility comes immediately to mind. “This is a long shot, but try the Shaws.”

“The who?”

“Frieda and Tanner Shaw. In Dos Palos. They keep T.K.’s…” She halts when it dawns on her that T.K. may not have let his coach in on this aspect of his life. “Give me your number. I’ll call them and buzz you right back.”

She punches in the code for the Shaws, fidgets through a twenty-second commercial for Grass Valley cigarettes, and finally gets Tanner Shaw on the screen. “Mr. Shaw,” she says, “remember me? Sarah Laumer?”

“Sure, Miss Lauffler, you came here a while back with T.K. Ain’t it a small world? I was just asking T.K. how you was.”

Just asking him! “T.K. is there with you now?”

“Nope. Was, but he left. He took his automobile out for a drive. ‘Bout three hours back.”

“How soon do you think he’ll return?”

Tanner scratches the back of his head. “Funny ‘bout that. Only one road down here isolated enough he can drive that machine of his on. ‘Bout five miles long. He gets bored with it after a while, so he tells me. He don’t generally stay out more than half an hour, forty-five minutes, max. This go round, he’s been out, like I said, for better part of three hours and still no sign of him. I hope he ain’t come to no harm.”

“So do I, Mr. Shaw. So do I.”

She breaks the connection, and punches up the airport number given her by Carrerra. She taps her fingers nervously on the vidphone controls while the Grass Valley commercial runs its course. Carrerra answers.

“Coach Carrerra, I have a strong hunch I know where T.K. is. In order to get there, I’ll need a helicopter. Can you arrange it?”