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They took the reins and mounted. Guide gave him one of the viewers they intended to try, reminding him to wait until being far from the lights of the barn to activate it.
They set off with the usual slow pace that let the horses warm up before greater efforts. As soon as they were a few hundred yards away, Mole, just as Guide, donned the night vision gadget. The apparatuses made contact with their skins and the images displayed on them became clear. This invention actually worked, they delivered a colorful view of the environment which did not differ by much of the view that daylight would have allowed them.
After a few minutes of walking they led their horses into a light gallop. The almost perfect view that the night vision devices had given them until then, began to become blurry because the units were coming loose from the their faces with each jump, therefore losing power and forcing them to hold them with their right hands to get to see through them.
Sunrise ended the night vision trial, turning the trial into a simple workout one. At the scheduled time they were back at the stables. This time the damage to the novel rider’s health was less than the day before, however, he knew he had to go back to the healing room to recover from the ride and so he did.
Guide took the viewers and brought them to the lab to report the trial’s results. Their performance had not been satisfactory. It was necessary to make some adjustments to ensure smooth operation in the likely event that they needed to speed up their horses at some stage of their night journey, when the mission was in progress already.
When Mole got back to his room, breakfast was awaiting and was cold.
Eating five times a day was about to become a habit for him and he was hungry, so he emptied the contents of the dishes on the tray even though they were no longer at their best.
When he came out of the shower and put on a clean uniform he noticed that his diet was paying out. His trousers felt tight and his belly looked swollen, so he stood at the mirror to inspect his face. His cheeks had filled a little more every day and he could pinch the fat under his jaw as it had notoriously engrossed. Having seen his face for a moment, he left the room. He was thinking of going straight to Control’s office.
The plump looks he just had discovered on himself and the feeling of being trapped inside his clothes were somehow unpleasant; so on the way he decided to stop at Bladek’s office to take a second look at his replica’s pictures. He knocked at the captain’s door and was instructed to go in. Once inside he explained the reason for his visit and requested to see the pictures.
Bladek agreed with him that the results had begun to show earlier than expected, so he authorized him to suspend the forced diet from the next day. The agent was relieved to know that his unpleasant encounters with the cook would finally come to an end and this had put him in excellent spirits. He would only have to put up with the aggressive behavior of the man in charge of the kitchen two more times, the same that he would have to go alone to the cafeteria this day.
The meeting in Control’s office, which had been running for most of the day, was proving agile unlike the previous day. The good news about Mole’s increased weight had allowed them to finally set a date for the raid on enemy territory.
They would move forward the original plans so that the arrival of the agent to the corporation building would happen on a Monday. It was more likely that his looks, which might not be identical to those of his replica, went unnoticed after the three day weekend break. After all, there were some factors outside their control, such as skin pigmentation after having been exposed to sunlight or even his mere haircut.
They would set off the following Friday, which only left them two days to work out the details.
Voice would be the happiest one when leaving the meeting. His share of the preparations had been scarce until then and this had kept him bored. But now he would be the busiest one in the team, as it was in his hands to coordinate the support personnel within hostile territory.
The time of the last appointment of the agent alone with the cook marked the end of the meeting, so he headed cheerful to fulfill the commitment.
He entered the empty room whistling. The sweaty character was awaiting him with his usual challenging attitude. He stopped before him. The tray with his last obligatory dinner was in the hands of the nasty fellow, who was firmly holding it again. He stared at him, trying to look menacing; then he yanked the tray. The same scene of other days occurred once more. Food jumped from the dishes to end up scattered over the surface, forcing him to eat from there again. However, this time he did not care. He sat down to finish his serving as he always had done; as far from the bar as he could.
When he was through he turned to the unsympathetic character, whose look had not drifted away from him while eating, and standing up repeated the exaggerated salute that had given him so bad results the first time, but now adding a big smile. The man’s shiny face turned deep red, a sign of anger after such a provocation. He paid no attention to this and simply started walking to the door.
He was just crossing the threshold when he heard the buzzing of a tomato flying by his head. It passed near his left ear to crash on the pavement after having missed the mark. Mole could not contain his laughter as he turned toward the angry chef waving his hand in farewell.
“This has just started,” he said to himself in a low voice as he walked away toward his room, ready to take the mandatory break that had to follow his evening meal.
21
The next day commenced as the previous one, with a morning ride in which he could spare to use the pillow and not resent damage. This time the night vision devices tested with satisfactory results, and as they finished he went to the clinic once more. Although he knew he could have missed this visit, he chose to take the treatment anyway. He would not allow the risk of starting the journey to his recent past not being in an optimal shape.
His next scheduled activity of the day was to visit the hairdresser, who was expecting him in a building nearby the clinic. This place housed the facilities where agents had to go for an appearance change.
He had just entered the narrow room where an old man was working as a stylist when what he found there astonished him. Hanging on one of the walls there was a display of images showing him, or rather his replica, from various angles. He felt a need to ask about the method used to obtain these pictures, which had obviously gotten there after those that Bladek had shown him days before. The gray-haired man merely rebuked him with a gentle voice:
“Remember that in this business you make no questions, young man. Either way, though willing to tell you, I do not know myself.”
“He called me young man,” he thought. “This casual mode is missing nowadays, especially since age and youth ceased to be linked. I cannot remember when I was called this way the last time.”
He sat on the worn out armchair to let the affable character masterfully run across his hair, ringing the scissors while strands of hair were falling one after another on the white sheet over him.
The rancid smell coming from the barber’s body was making him uncomfortable. He was feeling an urge to get up and go far from there while breathing through his parted lips, which was making that some of the smallest cuttings of hair falling from his head ended up in his mouth. He was having a hard time to control himself and not fall into despair.
The less than 15 minutes of the old man’s intervention seemed endless to him, but the result was worth the effort. His hairdo looked exactly like that of the character portrayed on the wall, and the three days left before impersonating him would take care of fading the newly-done look of his hair.
When he finally got up he thanked the old man for his services and went to look for his mission mates. They had to continue preparations. As he walked toward the meeting point, with his right he was moving his hair in an attempt to settle it down and reduce the stiff feeling left in his scalp by the cut.
He had just set foot inside Control’s office when she lifted an arm pointing to the door and sai
d:
“You are being expected at the wardrobe area. You have an appointment to try on your clothes for next Monday.”
“And where is that?”
“Right next to where your appearance was beautified a while ago. You will not have trouble finding it.”
He had to go the distance again. They had done him uselessly walk over half a mile under the heat from this morning’s sun.
When he reached the tailors’ room, his face was streaked with sweat lines coming down from his temples that were about to start dripping from his chin.
“Mole?” asked the younger of the two small men who were there.
“Yes,” he replied. “I see you are expecting me.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You must try on this model,” he added, pointing to the clothes hanging from the wire mannequin in front of him.
The suit was perfectly fashionable and looked crafted close to excellence. The jacket without lapels, light gray and five buttons in the front, elegantly combined with the round-collar pale yellow shirt and the trousers made of a lightweight dark-gray fabric.
The black shoes, with a fine texture and no ties, completed the outfit that would make him look like in any other day.
“It seems like you have taken these clothes from my closet. I remember leaving back there garments so alike that I cannot tell them from the ones you are showing me.”
In answer, the man handed him a picture of his replica wearing exactly the same outfit just a few days before and said:
“It is not a coincidence; here we leave nothing to chance. If you look carefully, you will notice that these garments carry the label of the tailor that used to dress you back there. The match must be perfect, that’s why we have chosen clothing worn during by him in the past week. This way we avoid the risk of you repeating his appearance too soon; important people never do.”
“Surprising,” he replied. “I guess now I have to try on these garments.”
“In the fitting room on the back,” the man said, pointing at the screen door as he handed him the clothes just removed the mannequin.
Minutes later he was dressing the stylish set while subject to the zealous inspection of every detail the two men were doing at once.
A tug here, a line drawn there, a pin elsewhere, and ready; there it was. He would have to go back later to pick up the finished work, so after saying goodbye to the diligent tailors, he headed to the office of Control.
“I hope this time they do not make me come back here,” he thought as he was walking the stretch back under the heavy sun.
He found an empty office. On the desk there was a laconic note that read: “Lunch. See you at two.”
“It seems that they won’t let me sit today,” he said to himself. “Anyway, I’ll visit the fat man again.”
The cafeteria was packed, so he intended to pass unnoticed to the cook. He was carefully watching every movement of his sworn enemy, trying to plot some farewell revenge that would be consistent with the way in which he had treated him. The hissing tomato that had missed him by little was still fresh in his memory.
After lunch the session in the office went on until late. When Mole was heading back to his room the esplanade had become empty. Night had fallen. The fatigue he was feeling after this long day was exceeded only by his concern from knowing that it would be the next day when the journey toward the mission would set off. The time for action was closer each time. He was not sure to get to sleep this night.
Once he had the bed in sight he pounced on it, still dressed. He was trying to relax as his head was buzzing with countless thoughts that crisscrossed to stun him. He was having trouble to put his mind at peace.
30 minutes later the doorknob began to turn slowly. The faint squeak of the hinges while opening caught his attention. The shock put him up with a jump.
The fine figure of Control got in sight, wearing a provocative smile. Mole froze. He could not decide how to react. He simply watched her as she kept approaching until standing in front of him.
She held him around his waist. Then, with a sensual tone in her voice she said:
“I’ve always been curious to know how much a man has learned after 83 years of life. I will not let this opportunity pass.”
He stayed undaunted, holding his gaze on her without knowing what to do. He had not been with another woman besides Lucy from the beginning of their courtship. He was not sure how to behave.
Finally he found that he needed not to know what to do. It was enough to be swayed by this hypnotic presence that had attracted him so much from the first time he had laid eyes on her, while struggling to convince himself that what was happening was real.
She took his hand and led him to the shower while unbuttoning his shirt. When the bathroom door was closed, all their clothes were scattered on the floor.
Hours later, as she was closing the door of the room from the outside, he was plunged into a deep sleep.
22
The barn door opened to let the stable boy out, driving 16 and 28. The trailer where they would make the journey to the starting point was ready and waiting. Near the entrance, Guide and Mole were watchful, attentive to every detail. They would be on their way after lunch to meet with their horses at night in the small farming community where the defector had arrived weeks before.
This morning’s activities would be focused on fine-tuning their gear and resting as much as possible, because at night they would start their long trip. Mole could perceive how quickly trust and camaraderie were building up between him and Guide. Now his mere presence made him feel safe.
The memory of the night before had kept him uneasy from the moment he had opened his eyes in the morning, and now he had an urge to seek Control even though he knew that such things would be completely out of place. It had been a simple one-night stand, and if he now was feeling more attracted to her, it was he who should refrain from being carried away by this new feeling.
As the vehicle pulling the trailer set off, driving the horses to destination, the agents left the area to attend the meeting scheduled at Bladek’s office to review one last time the details of the mission.
Inside the office were gathered already Voice, Control and the captain, just awaiting the arrival of the expeditionary force to get to work.
Just entering the room his gaze sought the woman’s eyes with a smile that betrayed his thoughts. She returned his greeting in the same inconspicuous manner. Afterwards, they treated each other as usual for the rest of the day.
The meeting was short. Mole requested permission to make one last visit to Professors Naim and Kilgo. He wanted to say goodbye. He had developed an emotional tie to them during the days he had been under their tutelage. He knew it was unlikely to see them again once he had left the camp. Bladek granted him authorization to visit them later, as his last activity, just before leaving. For now, they had to prepare their gear and give it to the driver responsible for taking them to the starting point.
The rest of the morning passed slowly. Actually, they did not have much left to do, so they took the opportunity to rest.
But the nervousness that often comes when waiting right before starting a long journey was keeping Mole on alert despite his attempts to relax, which led him to engage for the first time since he knew him in a casual conversation with Guide. He told him about the bad times that the cook had put him through every time he had shown alone in the cafeteria, and how so far he had not been able to find a way to get back at him. He was especially upset because he knew that during lunchtime he would get to meet him for the last time. He was feeling frustrated at not having been able to get even in spite of his purpose of doing so.
Along the days he had carefully watched each one of the actions of this unpleasant subject while performing his duties, to the point of now being able to predict his movements with certainty, but he had failed to conceive a plan that promised to end up in a victory.
His companion was amused with the series of anecdo
tes that made the sad tale, so he pledged to help him to take revenge.
By one in the afternoon the cafeteria was overflowing with activity. It was the rush hour and the place was packed. Two agents came in through the main door for their last meal before leaving. As it was the custom, they stood in the long line that stretched at the end of the bar. The fat chef was busy serving dishes from the other side, soaked in the sweat that the mere effort of his daily work always made drip.
The line kept moving until Guide’s turn came. He took a tray to put some food on it, as if it were any other day, until his steps took him before the cook. Then he asked him to reach one of the spices that were in the highest shelf, just behind him.
The obese character grunted as he used to; then he stripped his white hat and left it aside to climb on the stool that would help him reach the requested spice.
Taking care not to be recognized, Mole was closely following his companion, carrying a tray like all others. As his sworn enemy’s hat had been left on the bar and he was giving his back, the agent emptied the contents of the plastic bag strapped to his belt, which fell to the bottom of the hat.
An unpleasant barn smell invaded the place immediately. Some of those who were there, the closest, had begun to laugh already.
Without realizing what was happening, the fat man came chugging down the stool and tried to fit his hat again, but the feeling that something was wrong made him stop in the middle of the movement, just in time for the contents to roll over his head to fall to the ground, leaving at each point of his anatomy that had made contact with them the undoubted traces of their passage. A piece of paper with the words “Greetings from 28” drifted to the floor while the laughter of all who had witnessed the incident filled the place.
The applause of most of the people inside followed the agents while rushing to the door. They had to run dodging the objects thrown by his angry victim.