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airport.
    ‘Voice’ will expect me to take a flight out
of Tenerife and most surely will have people watching for that, so
I believe my surest bet is to rent a car – I am less likely to be
observed in my new outfit going to an ‘Enterprise’ desk than buying
a plane ticket, but I’ll have to play it by ear.
    I buy a Real Madrid soccer cap from a
passenger who’s part of a group returning from an international
match for twenty bucks and pile my hair in a knot under it. Anyone
familiar with me wouldn’t look twice at this persona and even I
have to look twice at my reflection when passing a mirror. After
landing and disembarkation I make sure to blend in with the soccer
group and do my best to whoop it up with them as they head to the
exit, but peel off and wave good bye like they are good friends
before going to the rental car area. To a careful observer I’m just
getting a car to get home or whatever.
    There are people trying to be invisible who
could be connected with voice, one pretending to read a newspaper
but looking over the top of it, one sitting on a stool at the
coffee shop, another leaning on the railing on the upper level and
maybe a couple of others, but they pay me no heed.
    The rental woman greets me.
    “I need a car – one way to London.” I
declare.
    “Is not possible.” She denies with an accent.
“Our vehicles no leave Spain.”
    “Very well – to another airport then.”
    “Si that is possible. You no like this
airport?” she asks.
    “It’s complicated…”
    “Is okay – I no like some places too.” She
confides. “You have license?”
    I reach into my purse and hand it over.
    “Ooh, so pretty! Such beautiful red hair -
but it no look like you.”
    “It is me.”
    “But you look very different – maybe
if you take the hat off.”
    “I would prefer not to.”
    “Please understand – I need to be sure or I
can no rent car.”
    “I have other identification…”
    “Our rules say physical identification – I am
so sorry…”
    I look around but see no-one paying me
attention and so whip my hat off and back on as soon as she
smiles.
    “Si – it is you!”
    “I told you so – now can I get a car please?”
I urge.
    “Oh, Si senora – of course. Economy model –
small?”
    “Absolutely not! Something fast –
luxurious.”
    “We have a Jaguar… but it is expensive.”
    “I’ll take it – will you have Bilbao airport
programmed in the GPS please.”
    “But of course. I will have our shuttle pick
you up and take you to the rental lot. It should only be about ten
minutes.”
    “As soon as possible please.”
    I check my phone and see that I have a four
hour drive to Bilbao and book a flight on British Airways to London
accordingly.
    The man leaning on the upper level railings
has disappeared and the newspaper guy is trying not to make it
obvious that he has me in view.
    Damn! I’m sure they’ve made me.
    I walk to the coffee shop and stand next to
‘stool’ guy while ordering an expresso - he doesn’t even look at
me, – a sure give away. Okay that confirms it.
    I’ll have to outdrive them.
    The shuttle is waiting for me and drops me at
the rental lot pick up area where a gleaming Seafoam XJS awaits
with engine purring in readiness to growl. There are two vehicles
parked obtrusively outside the security gates facing opposite
directions – they are letting me know I’m expected.
    “Is there another exit?” I ask the
attendant.
    “No – only that one.” He points.
    I slide behind the wheel and immediately feel
at home. The array of gauges are business like and remind me of my
Cessna back home, the seat grabs me firmly and the gear selector
dares me to hit ‘Sport’ mode. The gas tanks are full and will
definitely out-range the cars waiting for me outside and the GPS
merely waits for the command ‘GO’. The seat belt clicks
reassuringly, I select a radio station playing songs that I tango
to and turn the volume loud before touching ‘Go’. I pause