“Can you get me a taxi to the airport?”

“Of course.”

“A proper taxi. I know what the fare should be—don’t send someone who thinks they can take advantage.”

“No problem.” The man pulled a mobile phone from his pocket, and a moment later was barking into it in rapid-fire Spanish.

* * *

The taxi that arrived a few minutes later was an almost-new Toyota Prius. It rolled to a halt outside the hotel with a quiet electric whir. Milton was waiting outside the hotel, sweating in the sticky heat, and the taxi driver jumped out with a broad smile to greet him.

“Luggage, mister?”

Milton raised his hand to show him the small gym bag before he put it on the rear seat and climbed inside. The interior of the taxi was blissfully cool, and Milton settled into the seat, grateful for the relative comfort. The driver got in and turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“Where to?” he said, grinning and showing off a set of yellowed teeth. The man was older than Milton had first thought. “You want to go have some fun?”

“Airport, please.”

“You sure? I know lots of good places.”

“Airport.” The driver’s smile slipped a little as he turned back around and flipped the small red sign in the corner of his windshield down to show that the cab was occupied. “Okay, okay. Seventy dollars. Very good price.”

Milton stared pointedly at the meter sitting in the centre of the Toyota’s dashboard. “The right price.”

The two of them spent the rest of the journey in silence. It took half an hour to get from the hotel to the airport, not helped by an accident just before the start of the bridge over Rio Juan Diaz. The congestion eased as the driver accelerated onto the Pan-American Highway, and, for the rest of the journey, Milton watched the city whizzing past him in a blur of brand-new buildings and wide-open spaces.

They reached Tocumen International Airport with three hours to spare before Milton’s flight. The driver pulled up into a bay reserved for taxis. The terminal was a sleek, futuristic building with a tall control tower that reached into the azure sky. The sculptured gardens were full of well-trimmed topiary, tended by bored gardeners. Milton checked the meter. It read thirty-eight dollars. He peeled off two twenties from the small roll in his pocket and handed them to the driver. He held up his hand to decline the change, grabbed his bag and stepped out into the humid evening.

3

The interior of the airport terminal was not as cool as the inside of the taxi had been, but it wasn’t as uncomfortably humid as it was outside. Milton made his way through the entrance and past the armed police whose only job seemed to be to keep the street traders out.