Rafael Martinez Ferrello (17 results)

Condition: New.

Condition: New.

Condition: New.

Paperback. Condition: Brand New. 194 pages. 6.00x0.41x9.00 inches. In Stock.

Paperback. Condition: Brand New. 192 pages. 6.00x0.41x9.00 inches. In Stock.

PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Delivered from our UK warehouse in 4 to 14 business days. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Delivered from our UK warehouse in 4 to 14 business days. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Delivered from our UK warehouse in 4 to 14 business days. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - The container came in on the Maersk Sentinel at 04:40, and by 05:15 Marta Ruiz had already decided it was wrong. She did not decide this with any drama. There was no music, no intuition. There was a number on a manifest and a number on a weighbridge ticket and the two numbers did not agree, and the difference was forty-one kilograms. Forty-one kilograms is nothing. Forty-one kilograms in a shipment of twenty-two tonnes of ceramic tile is the kind of thing a badly calibrated scale produces on a wet Tuesday. She wrote it in her log anyway. That was the job. Write it down, cross-reference it, come back to it when the port was quiet and the coffee was fresh and she could think. The port of Algeciras never got quiet. That was the first thing anyone learned about it. Second-largest container port in Europe by some measures, first by others, depending on which year you chose and which Spanish minister was giving the speech. It sat on the bay like a machine that had forgotten how to switch off, cranes rising and falling through the fog, the long flatboats sliding in from Tanger Med with their bellies full, the trucks queuing at the gates in a line you could see from the hills behind the town. Half the trade between Europe and Africa passed through that water. Most of it legal. Marta had spent nineteen years learning how tofind the part that was not. She was fifty-one years old that autumn. Her knees hurt when the weather turned and she had stopped pretending otherwise. She wore the uniform because the uniform was useful, not because she believed in it. Her hair was grey at the edges and she cut it herself with kitchen scissors, badly, and did not care. When people asked her what she did for a living she said she inspected cargo, and when they asked what that meant she said it meant reading, mostly. That was true.…

Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - The package arrived on a Tuesday, which Ines Barreto would later note was the only ordinary thing about it. No return address. No stamp. It had been left with the concierge of her building on Rua da Boavista, a man named Agostinho who read other people's mail when the envelopes were thin and spent the afternoons arguing with a radio. He handed it to her at the door and said nothing, because he never said anything, and she took it upstairs without looking at it, because she had spent the morning on the phone with a bank and her mind was still there. The bank had been polite in the way that institutions are polite when they are telling you that you are a number and the number is not good. She owed eleven thousand euros. She had owed eleven thousand euros for two years, and the number had not moved because the column paid enough to live and not enough to pay, and every month she told herself she would take the translation work, or the copywriting, or the teaching, and every month she did not, because the column was the only thing left that looked like a career and she was afraid that if she let go of it she would disappear. Her apartment was two rooms and a kitchen that had been a pantry in another century. The walls were the color of old teeth. From the window she could see the river, not the pretty part, the working part, the cranes that moved all night like slow animals. She put the package on the table and made coffee first. This was discipline. You do not open the mail hungry, you do not open it tired, you do not open it the way you open a wound.…

Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - The archive closed at seven. Tomas Rivas knew this the way other men knew their own pulse, and by six forty each evening he had already begun the small rituals of departure. He sealed the register. He checked the humidity gauge beneath the wooden shelf, noted the reading on the yellow pad, and wiped the dust from the brass seal of the Ministry with his cuff. Forty years of dust. He never tired of it. Dust was honest. Dust settled where nobody had looked long enough to disturb.The building on Plaza de la Provincia had been built for another century. Its corridors were long and cold and smelled faintly of wet stone in autumn, and its fluorescent lights hummed at a pitch that Tomas had long ago stopped hearing. He was fifty-eight years old. He had a wife who complained that he came home smelling of paper, and a daughter in Salamanca who called him on Sundays, and a knee that gave a warning before every storm. His life had the shape of a shelf. Ordered, load-bearing, unremarkable. The dossier arrived on a Thursday, which matters only because Thursday was the day the courier from the Palacio de Santa Cruz came with the diplomatic pouch. Usually it was routine. Visas, consular reports, the endless paperwork of a nation pretending to be organized. This Thursday the pouch was different.came in a grey cardboard folder, unsealed, with a strip of masking tape across the flap and a handwritten word on the tape: INTERNO. Internal. Not for the registry. Not to be logged. Tomas had seen the word before, two or three times in his career. It meant the paper had come from somewhere it should not have. It meant someone upstairs had decided the ordinary procedures did not apply. He had learned, over four decades, that the word INTERNO was not a classification. It was an admission. A document stamped in the usual way can be traced, and a document that can be traced can be asked about, and so the men who wished to avoid questions had invented, quietly, over many years.…

Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. HARBOR OF LIES | Rafael Martinez Ferrello | Taschenbuch | Englisch | 2026 | Ottavio Ferrante | EAN 9789783411982 | Verantwortliche Person für die EU: Libri GmbH, Europaallee 1, 36244 Bad Hersfeld, gpsr[at]libri[dot]de | Anbieter: preigu Print on Demand.

Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. The Lisbon Corridor | Rafael Martinez Ferrello | Taschenbuch | Englisch | 2026 | Ottavio Ferrante | EAN 9788140380268 | Verantwortliche Person für die EU: Libri GmbH, Europaallee 1, 36244 Bad Hersfeld, gpsr[at]libri[dot]de | Anbieter: preigu Print on Demand.

Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. THE MIDNIGHT PROTOCOLS | Rafael Martinez Ferrello | Taschenbuch | Englisch | 2026 | Ottavio Ferrante | EAN 9787454624570 | Verantwortliche Person für die EU: Libri GmbH, Europaallee 1, 36244 Bad Hersfeld, gpsr[at]libri[dot]de | Anbieter: preigu Print on Demand.