INSIDE THE CAR, patient and relaxed, the predator awaited the arrival of her prey.
Geovanna handed a set of keys to the security guard, along with that day's password. Later, she put a folder with company documentation in her briefcase, documents she would have to take to management as soon as she arrived in the morning. She left the offices after closing the door to her office.
Exhausted from having to balance work with her personal problems, she walked to the lobby with a measured, silent gait, lighting a cigarette. All this in no rush to leave the building and return to the solitude of her apartment. She followed two steps behind, suppressing a tired yawn with the palm of her hand. They were the last to leave. The clock read ten past nine.
The elevator took them directly to the underground parking garage. Once there, the driver came forward to open the rear door of the car, as required by the contract. Geovanna thanked him, settling into the vehicle. She closed it gently. Then she sat behind the wheel and inserted the key in the ignition.
Seconds later, she drove away, pulling away from the parking space slowly and elegantly, a commendable gesture that attested to her impeccable professionalism. When she finally reached Velazquez Street, now full of life, light, and color, she turned south, intending to take Alcalá Street. At no point did she and her employer realize they were being followed.
Sephy let a few vehicles pass in front of her for safety reasons. Her car was very conspicuous, so she wanted to stay out of the rearview mirror of those she was watching and driving ahead. She put a cigarette to her lips. Blindly, she searched for the lighter and found it on the seat next to her, in one of the compartments of her bag. She turned on the radio. He tuned into a regional FM station discussing esoteric topics.
A well-known paranormal investigator, who hosted a similar program on television, was explaining to his listeners the effect that spending a night inside the Great Pyramid had on Napoleon. He listened to his musings about the possibility that the French general had undergone an ancient Egyptian ritual to achieve eternal life, something that seemed absurd to him.
Despite everything, he continued to pay attention to the discussion, keeping an eye on Geovanna's car.
He turned off the radio when he noticed that the vehicle, which was following him with determination, had its blinkers on. He double-parked across the street and turned off the lights. From there, he could see Geovanna getting out of the car and approaching the driver's side window, perhaps to remind him to pick her up at the same place the next morning. She straightened her suit and, heading toward the building's entrance, disappeared behind the thick glass doors. The Jaguar rejoined the traffic, amidst the endless stream of cars circling the city center at that time of night.
Sephy started the car again, determined to find a nearby parking spot. She located one on Silva Street, where there were still a few spaces available.
After leaving the car in a less crowded area, she walked up the street, carrying the briefcase containing her work tools. She walked back to Geovanna's apartment building. She leaned against the door, as if ringing one of the doorbells. In reality, she wanted to check if the floor and letter matched the ones she had been given. Indeed, the third C did indeed belong to Geovanna Monroe. Without thinking twice, she pressed the button for the sixth H, where the names were written: Manuel Tomelloso Soler-Concepción Navarro Ayora. It was a random choice.
After a few seconds, a woman's voice came over the intercom.
— Who is it?
— Night postal service — Sephy replied professionally, trying to hide her accent. — I'm bringing a registered letter for Don Manuel Tomelloso... It's a traffic ticket.
— A ticket?
— I don't know, ma'am, but I need you to sign it.
She didn't want to elaborate. The less she said, the better.
She'd had a lot of luck with that idiot, capable of believing something as absurd as a ticket notice at this hour of the night. Most people, by her standards, are naturally trusting, and it's rare for them to doubt an employee's words when they're called to their home.
Indeed, the door opened seconds later.
Wasting no time, she climbed the stairs from the lobby to the elevator. When she entered, she pressed number 3. She searched her bag for a cell phone-sized decoder, a device that would help her in the difficult task of obtaining the security code and, thus, being able to forge an access card.
She reached the third floor. She found no one in the entrance hallway, which made her task easier. Her footsteps were muffled by the thick grayish carpet that partially covered the floor.
In silence, she approached the door marked C. She acted quickly, as at any moment someone could emerge from her residence and find her in the middle of the hallway, acting suspiciously. She crouched down to take a look at the lock.
At first, she thought it might be a magnetic card access device, like in some hotel rooms, but she was wrong. It was the same as the other doors in the building. Any professional with an electromechanical lock pick could open it in a matter of seconds. In fact, in her work bag she kept a similar tool, a borescope, a key duplicator, and several simple tubular six- and seven-pin lock picks.
She put the decoder away. Then she heard a murmur of voices in the stairwell, a few floors above. It was the woman from the sixth floor and her husband, who were beginning to think they had been the target of some kind of prank and wondered who could have entered the building under the pretense of handing them a traffic ticket.
She looked around, trying to memorize details of the place before leaving, as that scene would serve as a reference point for the day she decided to act. Undeterred, Sephy walked down the three floors, abandoning the idea of taking the elevator.