Nora
The airport at night is one of those places you hope not to get lost in late at night.
The cargo terminal is made of concrete, flickering neon lights, and the distant rumble of jet engines. There are no crowds of tourists, only forklifts moving like giant insects. Hangar 4 is like a gaping mouth in the darkness: cold and dark, a sort of open wound in the concrete of Malpensa.
There are no hostesses waiting for me, no red carpets, just a graying man in a logoless work suit, holding a powered-on tablet in his hand.
I show him the envelope.
He gestures toward the belly of a huge transport plane, a gray monster with no insignia on its wings, pointing to an iron ladder.
I approach cautiously and find another man waiting to greet me.
Tall, muscular, with Asian features, a double-breasted jacket. Short, almost military-style haircut, dark eyes, and a small scar next to his right eye.
He looks me over like I'm a battered old door, then nods.
"Nora Gaudenzi?" His voice is hoarse, with a foreign accent.
I simply nod and clutch my helmet bag to my side.
"Get on. If you change your mind, do it now. Once on board, there's no turning back."
"That sounds like a tempting promise."
My tone, somewhere between ironic and bored, amuses him.
He gives me the ghost of a smile that fades into the darkness.
"He said you'd be amazing," he says almost to himself.
"Who?" I ask, placing my hand on the railing.
"The Boss."
"I was actually expecting him to greet me... I find it annoying to board with strangers, given the tone of the invitation."
"Were you expecting a private jet, with champagne and liveried stewardesses, and a charming man handing you a bouquet of roses?" he asks sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.
The fabric stretches over his arms, revealing a mountain of muscle beneath his classic suit.
"I've had a V8 or a Wankel engine dangled in front of me. Do you think I'd settle for a bouquet of roses and a man? Please, I'm going home right now!"
"Then you're in the right place," he laughs, inviting me to board. "Let's go right away."
I watch the plane tower over me.
I inhale and glance behind me.
Finally, I walk up the few steps and find myself in a huge space.
There are no rows of seats for passengers, just a mountain of crates and containers, secured to the walls of the plane.
I'm led toward the front of the aircraft, where a space has been carved out for a couple of seats and a baggage compartment.
I slide my suitcase behind a grille, secure it with a belt, and insert my helmet bag. I close the rack, sit next to the window, and put on my seatbelt.
The man approaches the pilot; I curiously study his back and neck.
From under his dark collar, a black mark appears, probably a tattoo. It looks like a scorpion.
They speak in a language I don't understand, and then he comes back to me.
He sits on the opposite side, and I hear the engines start.
A dull thud fills the cabin; I cover my ears and close my eyes.
I hate takeoff; it always upsets my stomach.
Only when the roar becomes a hiss do I open my eyes and take a quick glance out the window. There are only shadows and dark clouds; we're in flight.
I feel someone watching me and turn to my companion.
"If you suffer from the rolling of the plane, how can you tolerate the power of an 800-horsepower engine that breaks your wrists exiting a corner?"
I let out an annoyed sigh and take my phone out of my jacket pocket.
"Have you ever driven a car like that?"
He nods.
"Then you know you don't have time to listen to your head or your stomach in there."
I notice a message icon in the chat.
It's from Gianni.
He'll be furious, and I understand.
"What does it mean you've left? Who will manage the team?"
I quickly type the reply:
"The Academy is yours for now: don't ruin it. I have to finish a race I started a year ago. Don't contact me, I won't answer."
I send the message and turn off the phone.
"When we arrive, you'll have to give me your phone. It will be returned to you if you decide not to sign the contract."
I nod and hand it to him.
"I don't need it. By the way, are we making any stops?"
"No, direct flight."
"Then wake me up when you land."
He looks at me, narrowing his eyes.
"What is it?"
"Any questions? Curious?" he asks.
I shrug.
"Would you answer me?"
"I don't think so," he replies with a grin.
"Then why are you wasting my time?"
I hear him chuckle as he opens a bag and pulls out a laptop.
"I am curious, to be honest…"
"What?"
"Where did you get that tattoo?"
His surprised expression pleases me as I close my eyes and get comfortable for sleep.