Like in all good espionage films, Terrence’s phone rang in the middle of the night. He sat up in his bed, trying to weed out his dreams from reality. His hand mechanically grabbed the phone on the night table. Its clock said 3:45.
“Allô?” an unknown voice said.
“Allô?” he answered, still confused.
“Mr. Kovacs, sorry to ring so late. It’s urgent. We have to meet now.”
The voice sounded far away and strangely deformed.
“What? Sorry, but who are you?”
“We need to meet now! It’s extremely urgent!”
Even deformed and panicked, the voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“Thomas?”
“Behind the Kino Palace Cinema, in the parking lot.”
“But . . .”
Thomas—if it was indeed him—hung up. Terrence stared at the darkness, the phone still in his hand.