The man stumbled backward, nodding profusely. His eyes wide, he turned and fled down the street.

Pablo stepped back and grabbed Ann by the arm, then glanced over his shoulder. He saw the police officers exit their car, and then he studied the crowd. He quickly spotted two Americans in work clothes looking under the cement mixer’s right rear wheels. He had recognized them when their van had pulled alongside as the men who piloted the Drake’s submersible.

He turned and nudged Ann forward. “Move.”

“What about Juan?” The driver gazed toward the cement mixer with a look of shock.

Pablo said nothing, ignoring the body of his dead partner as he guided Ann into the center of the busy sidewalk.

Arriving at the pickup a minute later, Pitt and Giordino scanned the crowds for Ann. A small girl sat on the curb, selling fresh-cut flowers out of a cardboard box. She caught Pitt’s eye and held out a clump of daisies. Pitt paid for the flowers, then handed them back to the girl with a smile. Blushing, she sniffed the daisies, then raised a hand and pointed down the street.

Pitt winked at the girl and took off in the same direction. “This way, Al.”

The crowd grew thicker as they made their way down the block. Pitt surveyed the moving mass, trying to spot Ann’s blond locks. They moved with the herd to the end of the street, which opened into a large parking lot packed with cars. Finally, Pitt and Giordino saw where all the people were headed.

A newly rebuilt stadium towered over the opposite end of the parking lot. The structure was perfectly round, yet much smaller than a typical American baseball or football stadium. Streams of people headed into the building, following ramps at either end. Pitt looked up to see the top of the stadium capped in electric lights that read PLAZA EL TOREO.

“Soccer?” Giordino asked.

“No. Bullfight.”

“Darn, and I forgot to wear red.” Giordino hadn’t noticed that his bloody hand had stained one pant leg crimson.

They hustled up the nearest ramp, jockeying to gain entrance with the other late arrivers. The aroma of roasting corn from a vendor’s stand filled the night air. Giordino filled his lungs, trying to mask the odor of burning trash from a nearby slum that was mixed with the sweat- and alcohol-laced crowd entering the arena.

Keeping his eyes on the ramp ahead, Pitt spotted a large man enter the stadium, holding a blond woman beside him. “I think I see her.”

Giordino made like a bulldozer, pushing his way through the crowd, with Pitt close behind. As they fought their way to the turnstiles, Pitt asked Giordino, “Do you have any money?”

Giordino fished through his pockets with his good hand, extracting a loose handful of bills. “The late-night poker games aboard the Drake have been kind to me.”