Later, lieing in the darkened room with just a sheet for a covering, appreciating the occasional puff of cooler air from across the moonlit Bay of Panama wafting in through broad balcony windows, Jed smiled at the memory of their afternoon. He studied the combination of brains, humor, looks, and love shown on the face asleep against his shoulder, and concluded that Jenny was the ingredient he had needed to make his life complete.

They had no barter system in effect as a basis of their compatibility. There was no, "I will do this for you, if you do that for me." With Jenny there were no superior roles, games, questions. They had become, "partners."

With this thought he drifted off to the tempo of street music, a salsa beat, and the happy sounds of 'oh-haw', along with lover's whispers, carried upwards by the perfumed evening breeze.

Morning brought a different light. Harsh. No shadows. Reality. A prolonged look at the city from the balcony reinforced this impression. Members of the national police force, the Guarda Civil passed through the street below in a Jeep mounted with a heavy machine gun.

Remembering the carefree fun of being a tourist the afternoon before, he had a momentary impulse to visit the canal to witness what books and brochures had declared one of the seven wonders of the modern world. The rising temperature reminded him they had a job to do. First things first.

And top of his list was to buy a Panama shirt. A loose fitting, colorful, long or short sleeve, lightweight shirt-coat, this garment was considered the equivalent of northerners' Harris Tweed sport coat and knitted tie. In most instances, the Panama shirt could double for formal wear. It would be difficult, he had been told, to find one that would fit his long, lean frame, but Jed knew the importance of discarding the tourist look and following the clothing custom of a country.

Because of a double standard in Panama, the Colonel had advised Jed to leave Jenny at a library while searching for Rosenbaum. Maybe the time spent in research might even be worth the effort. For now, the best lead they had was that Rosenbaum was a devotee of gambling casinos which were frequented by streetwalkers. In Latin American countries machismo ruled that while truck drivers could letter "Save it for me little virgin," on a bumper, a girl could not wear shorts out in public anywhere except at the beach. If Jenny ventured into the wrong establishment, no matter what her dress and demeanor, she automatically would be presumed to be a prostitute.

Such contrasts and comparisons made up much of Jed's morning. Without his interpreter, he had decided to forego the dubious services of a taxicab, and he conducted his search on foot. Even with the purchase of a Panama shirt, he still fit the role of an ignorant tourist.