"Patrícia, I need to tell you something. I have to go to Antarctica anyway."

     "Why?"

     "It's a matter I have to resolve there. I can't tell you now, but without Ema with me, how am I going to get on board? Geez I thought of something crazy... You could go with me and continue impersonating her... But that's crazy, isn't it?"

     "I confess that I also thought about going, but for another reason: to guarantee you a perfect alibi. But how am I going to support this farce if I'm not a biologist? I would soon be unmasked. I'll think of something, but if I don't tell you why you need to go there, nothing will happen."

     "Okay, I'll tell you. It has to do with a Chilean collecter and a package."

     Continuing with the change of identity has therefore become more than necessary. And, according to her, the third cliché she would apply comes from police soap operas. They went to Patrícia's hotel, where she dyed her hair blonde. However, so that the staff wouldn't notice the change of color, she used the same expedient, a scarf and hat, but not the same ones she had used to escape from the other inn — those she would leave for the occasion when she would definitely be in Ema's shoes.

     Once the bill was settled, they went to the car rental company, where Carlos returned the car. Everything was justified, the return of the car, the closing of the bill at the hostel — Ema and Carlos were going to travel the next day, so supposedly they had decided to spend the night at the most luxurious hotel in town, the Magallanes. And it was in this other hotel that Patrícia would begin to secure Carlos' alibi.

     There was a question that had occurred to her, but she hadn't even told her lover about it yet. It was about the photo on her ID card, which Ema carried in her handbag — her official identity card. Patrícia would now have to use it as her own. She hoped that she wouldn't have to need it in such an explicit way, that is, so that they could carefully compare her face with the one in the photo, but when Patrícia saw the portrait on the document, she was reassured: it was of a very young Ema. At the time of the expedition, Ema was only 20 years old. Even so, she made an uncolored copy of the ID, which darkened the photo. Suddenly, if they asked, she might try to shove the photocopy down their throats, saying that she had lost the original.

     Suddenly, if they asked, she might try to shove the photocopy down their throats, saying that she had lost the original. Ema hadn't brought a passport because it wasn't required by Mercosur.

     As for the suitcases, Ema wasn't a vain woman and neither was Patrícia, so they both only had one suitcase, which, even though it was large, because of the cold clothes, didn't make it too difficult to move around the city.

     Taking a cab, they finally arrived at the Magallanes, where they stayed as husband and wife. Patrícia didn't have to go far to present the document: the hotel reception asked for it! Bravely, she handed over not the copy, but the original one. She was wearing glasses and a hat, and she understood that no one would be suspicious, as indeed they weren't.

     Once they were settled, they went down to the hotel bar. It was already 9:30. pm When they entered the piano bar, Patrícia hugged him and kissed him deliciously, all to make it look like a loving and peaceful relationship, like a couple on a vacation or wedding trip. Carlos took a shot of whiskey, shamelessly pulling his canteen out of his pocket, but then put it back. Patrícia, on the other hand, caught the eye straight away, but for her beauty. Her blonde hair had suited her very well.

     They sat down by the fire. Her gaze quickly met that of a man with a large moustache, sitting in one of the armchairs. A second man, a navy officer wearing a smart, impeccable uniform, arrived, unintentionally interrupting the exchange of glances. He stood between Patrícia and the mustachioed man, with his back to her. He must have been about fifty-four, tall, with a broad back and a slight curve. He greeted the man with the moustache and sat down opposite him.

     Sometimes the warm kisses made the two gentlemen turn their eyes to the pair. Patrícia glanced at the mustachioed man from time to time. He observed her plump lips and round face. Sharp eyes. He had a habit of scratching his moustache countless times. It was like a ritual.

     After a short time there — listening in on their conversation, they learned that the man with the moustache was a superintendent and his name was Basílio. And the official, Admiral H. Nunes.