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After a long, sleepless night, and when he had finished the last beer in the pack, Miguel got up off the bed and stretched. It was a little after nine in the morning, and he did not have to be at Lavacolla airport until three o’clock that afternoon. That was when he would be flying to La Habana but, for the moment, he was in no hurry.
He looked down at the floor by the bed, which was now decorated with twenty-four cans of Heineken. The contents of two twelve-packs: one from the previous afternoon and night, and the other from early that morning. He took his gun from on top of the bedside table, turned the safety off, and left the bedroom, kicking one of the cans. At the other end of the flat, the front door was still bolted and the key was still where he always left it. Nothing had been moved.
He advanced slowly through the hallway, and successively checked the bathroom, the spare room, and the living room. He carried out the same routine in each room: first, he would open the door, then he would reach out his arm whilst still standing outside to turn on the light, and then finally he would enter into the room. Everything was in order in each of the rooms, which were empty, and with the blinds down.
He repeated the same actions in the kitchen, which was situated in front of the living room, and to the side of the front door. Once inside, he carefully left his handgun on the counter, and set to making some breakfast. He placed two slices of bread in the toaster and took the butter and marmalade out of the fridge. Then, put on a pot of coffee and squeezed the juice from three oranges. Once the juice was prepared, he picked up the glass and sat down at one of the stools at the small kitchen table as he waited for his toast to brown and the coffee to be ready.
He had hardly tasted the juice when he heard his phone ringing on his bedside table. He hurriedly left the glass on the table and made his way quickly to the bedroom to get it. He didn’t recognise the number. He hesitated for a second, although in the end he decided to answer it.
“Hello.”
“Mr Miguel Sarmiento? I’m calling from the agency. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but I need to inform you that there have been some flight cancellations, and I’m afraid that they will directly affect your travel plans.”
“How?” he asked, without disguising his unease.
“I hope I haven’t woken you, but I’m sure you will understand that I wanted to let you know as soon as possible,” answered the woman, certain that he had understood the first explanation. “You have booked a holiday to Cuba with us, leaving today, is that right?”
“Yes, for three days. But I haven’t heard that there would be any strikes arranged for this weekend.”
“The problem isn’t from Spain. There’s been a computer failure at La Habana airport, and they don’t think they can have it sorted out until Saturday. We’re sorry we’re only telling you today, but they only just told us an hour ago.”
Miguel sat down on the bed and was silent for a moment, trying to absorb this news. Finally, he answered:
“So, can’t they make stopovers in other countries, or divert the flights to other airports?”
“They can divert to the United States, but I’m sure you’ll realise that, given the current rush with all the other diverted flight plans, we don’t offer it because it’s just one big fuss.”
“Shit!” he exclaimed under his breath.
The woman continued to explain, trying to excuse herself for an incident for which she did not seem to be responsible:
“I’m really sorry for the inconvenience,” she said. “On our part, the only thing we can do is offer you a full refund. Or instead, we could change the trip to another date of your choice, at no extra cost.”
“No,” Miguel cut her short, without concealing his nervousness. “I need, I mean I wish to go away this Easter weekend,” he then said, his voice faltering. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes... you need... this Easter weekend,” repeated the woman, trying to absorb what he had just said.
“As soon as possible,” Miguel corrected her in a calmer tone, although no less firm.
The woman took a moment.
“In that case,” she now said, “I suppose that we could look for another solution.”
“Yes, look for another solution for me. I don’t care where, it doesn’t have to be Cuba, it can be another country, but I would like to leave today.”
“Any other country will do?” she asked, taken aback.
“Yes. Far away, if possible.”
“Well, I would have to do a bit of research.” The woman was trying to follow him. “But I’m sure that we’ll be able to sort it all out.”
“Have a look. And I’ll say again, I’d like to leave today, like I previously booked.”
“Alright, alright. But I need a little time, I’m sure you understand.”
“How much time?”
“Well, bearing in mind that there are always customers who cancel their trips at the last minute, I think that I could include you on one of them without too much trouble,” reasoned the women quietly from the other end of the phone, “and I also have to check that it isn’t somewhere where you need prior vaccinations. Anyway,” she said, more loudly, “I give you the word of both myself and the company that you will be leaving on your journey today.”
“Will you be calling me back?”
“No, no. I need to give you the new tickets. I’ll also need for you to sign a new contract, for sure.”
“Do I need to go to your office?” A clear tone of discomfort crept back into his voice.
“No, it’s a holiday today, and we’re all closed to the public. This is just an additional office for urgent matters, and if you want to change the destination but not the dates,” said the woman firmly. “If you like, again as an additional measure, I could call in at your residence myself,” she took a moment to think. “In an hour, at the most, I believe that we will have it all sorted out. Can I visit you at the address you have given us?”
“Yes, it’s Vasco Díaz Tanco. So you’re coming here?”
“That’s the one I have too,” she confirmed. “Yes, I can be there in an hour, more or less. That’s if it is alright with you, of course.”
“Wait, hold on a minute. What do you look like?”
“What do I look like?” exclaimed the woman, not understanding her customer’s question. “Does my appearance have any importance regarding you allowing me in your home?”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Miguel apologised. “It’s just a question. But tell me what you look like, so that I can recognise you when you get here.” he finished by adding.
“Well... I’m blonde, average height, long hair, and I don’t have any special characteristics. But I don’t understand why this description is necessary.”
“You’re blonde?” he inquired again, trying to reassure himself that he had not misheard.
“Yes, blonde. Do you have something against blondes? I’m sure you will have been attended by a dark-haired girl the day you came in, but I’m the boss and, given the seriousness of the situation, I’m dealing with you personally regarding...”
“Don’t worry,” he interrupted, “I don’t have anything against blondes; that’s not why I ask.”
The woman maintained a silence on the other end of the line. Miguel continued after a moment of pause:
“One last thing: if you wouldn’t mind doing something for me, when you arrive, press the intercom three times. If not, I don’t think I’ll open it, because I don’t usually receive anybody at my residence.”
“Alright. I’ll do that. It was evident now that the woman no longer felt like discussing this new eccentricity from her client.
Miguel hung up the phone with a certain level of nervousness coursing through his body. Although if, in any case, that kind blonde woman did her job well, his plans should not be completely changed by that setback.
Still sitting on the bed, he thought about giving the flat a bit of a tidy up, such as picking up the cans that were strewn across the floor, amongst other things. Although he also thought that, at the end of the day, she was a saleswoman and he would be receiving her in the living room. And the living room was perfectly presentable. At least, to his eyes it was.
He went back into the kitchen, where his breakfast awaited him. When he got there, however, the juice was warm, the toast was cold, and the coffee was burnt. And when it came to eating, Miguel was quite the foodie. He chucked it all away and set to preparing his breakfast all over again. He waited once more for his toast and coffee whilst he sat at the table, with his juice in hand, just like the first attempt.
This time he managed to take two swigs of orange juice before his phone started ringing again. He wondered if he should answer. In the end, it was the possibility of it being a call informing him of his new trip that swung it for him. Wrong deduction.
“Miguel? This is Inspector Santiago.”
“Hello.”
“Are you well?”
“Absolutely fine. You’re calling me on my day off at nine in the morning to ask me how I am?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Eva apologised, wanting to be friendly. “I’m calling you most of all because I think that I was out of line doubting you yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I just thought that I should apologise before you leave, because it’s today you’re leaving, isn’t it?
“Yes.” He didn’t want to give any further details.
“Soon?” Eva did want more details.
“At midday,” or before, if all went well, thought Miguel to himself.
“Well then, again, I offer you my apologies, and I wish you a safe trip.”
“Thank you, inspector.”
Miguel went into the kitchen once more. This time, the coffee was not yet ready and the toast was still browning. He took a third swig of juice, thoughtful, trusting the manager from the agency to do a good and speedy job.
She would be arriving in an hour, and would inform him of his new destination. Then he would be able to pack his suitcase, as he would know what sort of clothes he would have to take.