Chapter 11
At the Bucharest airport a colleague of the Romanian Gendarmerie waited for us. She was a splendid thirty-year-old woman, with deep blue eyes, long brown hair gathered under the uniform cap, vaguely Asian facial features, height above the norm for a Romanian woman, all inside an impeccable military green uniform. She came to greet us holding out her hand. Mauro exchanged a few lines in Romanian with his newly met colleague, who burst into laughter.
«If you would like me to understand something, I would be grateful to you,» I said, almost feeling some jealousy.
«Yes, of course. I speak Italian well and it is right that I, as your host, express myself in your language. I am Captain Rebeka Chiriaşilor. I work in the Central Gendarmerie in Bucharest, and I will take you to Alba I
