"Don't worry, he'll probably talk your arm off. He likes Air Force men. He was a flyer in the First World War."

"Don't tell me," Pitt said sarcastically. "I bet he claims to have flown with Richthofen."

"Oh no, he was never in France. He fought right here in Greece."

Pitt's sarcasm vanished and a cold, eerie feeling came over him. He gripped the door frame until his knuckles turned white. "Has your uncle ever mentioned…Kurt Heibert?"

"Many times. They used to fly patrols together." She shoved the gearshift into first. Then she smiled and waved. "See you tonight. Now don't be late, cheery bye."

Before Pitt could say another word, the midget car leapt up the road. He watched it snarl off into the distance toward the north. The dusty green blur passed over a crest of pavement and the last thing he saw was Teri's black hair whipping in the wind.

Already it was beginning to get uncomfortably hot. Idly, he turned and began walking back to the airfield. He stepped on a sharp object with his bare foot and cursed under his breath while he hopped about on one leg trying to remove a small burr. Jerking it from his heel angrily, he flipped it in a roadside bush. He was carefully watching the ground to avoid another sting when he noticed a set of footprints. Whoever made them had been wearing hobnailed soles.

Pitt knelt and studied the indentations. He could easily distinguish his and Teri's prints since they had both been barefoot. His mouth twisted grimly. In several places, the shoe prints covered the bare ones. Someone had followed Teri toward the beach, he reasoned. He raised one hand, and shielded his eyes, looking at the sun. It was still quite early so he decided to pursue the trail.

The tracks led halfway down the path and then veered off in the direction of the rocks. Here the trail ended so he scrambled over the hard craggy surface and picked up the scent again on the other side. The tracks angled back to the road, only further away from the path this time. A branch scraped a thorny limb across Pitt's arm, drawing thin lines of blood, but he was not aware of it. He was beginning to sweat when he stepped back on the road. At last the hobnailed prints ended and heavy tire tracks began. The tire's tread left a peculiar set of diamond-shaped patterns in the dirt beside the pavement.

There was no traffic visible in either direction so Pitt calmly laid the towel down in the center of the road, sat on it and began to reenact the scene in his mind.