AT THAT VERY MOMENT, in Madrid, a post office employee entered the building where Gregory Evans's apartment was located. He searched for his mail without much effort, burying his head in the enormous beige leather bag that hung from his shoulder. He took out a packet of envelopes, held together by an elastic band, which he removed and then wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. He dropped each letter into the appropriate mailbox, after reading the recipients' names.
Upon reaching Greg's compartment, however, he looked curiously at the sender of the letter in his hand. He was surprised to find one that had come from abroad, and even more so, that it had come from a country as mysterious and dangerous as Egypt.
He recognized it by the postage stamp. He wondered, as he left the building, why he shouldn't take his wife to one of those exotic countries, the ones advertised so sparingly by travel agencies, so they could have a wonderful vacation together.
After twenty-three years of marriage, he thought, they well deserved it...