She checked in, signing her fake name with a fluent flourish of the pen. The ease befitted something that had become so familiar to her over the years that she sometimes stumbled when signing her real name. The bellhop showed her to the elevator, pressed the button for the fourth floor and made pleasant small talk as they ascended. The floor onto which she emerged was cool and dark, the clamour of the city replaced by the quiet hush of a water feature that had been installed in the elevator lobby. The man opened the door to her suite, wheeled her suitcase inside and delivered a perfunctory explanation of the features of the connecting lounge, bedroom and bathroom. Beatrix thanked him, tipped him with a five thousand-Bolivar note, and waited until the door had closed behind him before taking off her sweaty clothes and stepping into the shower to sluice away the grime of her journey.

She wrapped herself in a towel and unpacked her case. Ops had provided her with it, together with the outfits that Rebecca Smith would wear for her time in the city and those for the trip to the Isla de Margarita that would not happen. Luggage could be opened and checked; the things that were packed inside needed to match her story. She chose a pair of loose-fitting slacks, an airy white blouse, a wide-brimmed sun hat and a pair of Ray-Bans and checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked just as she wanted to look: a businesswoman with pockets deep enough to afford a stylish wardrobe.

She ran her fingers around the inside of the case. There was a tiny incision in the lining, no more than half a centimetre across and almost impossible to see unless you were specifically looking for it. She took a pair of tweezers from her make-up bag and, working with extravagant care, she slid the tips inside the opening and carefully withdrew the SIM card that had been secreted there. She picked up her phone, removed the case, took out the SIM and replaced it with the one that she had removed from her case. She powered up, waited for a signal, and then sent a simple message to acknowledge that she had arrived in Caracas and was commencing the operation. She switched the SIMs again and replaced the secret one back in its hiding place, closed the case and put it away in the wardrobe.

She put the hat on her head, hooked her glasses to the scoop of her blouse, and left the room.

She had an appointment to keep.

Mr. Smith was waiting for her.

5