Read Online JET - Escape: (Volume 9) by Russell Blake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Russell Blake
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La Virginia.”
“How far?”
“About twenty kilometers.”
Fernanda eyed the boats first, and then Ramón. “Let’s get back to Viega. We’ll want the cops in La Virginia to help us with questioning the locals. If we’re lucky, our little family will have left a trail. It may be cold by now, but it will be there. We just have to know where to look.”
Ramón looked at his watch. “It’ll be light in just a few more hours.”
Fernanda gave him a hard stare. “Viega’s going to have to wake the La Virginia police. We’ve lost enough time. At this point, every minute counts.”
Chapter 11
Medellín, Colombia
Drago sat up in bed and pulled his shirt on. Alana was breathing softly beside him, the Rohypnol he’d dropped into her drink while she used the bathroom having worked its magic, but not before she delivered a workmanlike performance complete with impressive gymnastics and a faux screaming climax worthy of an Academy Award. She would be out for the duration, which suited him perfectly – he’d been listening for sounds of life next door, and it had been silent since their arrival.
After shutting the lights off so he wouldn’t be visible from the street, Drago slipped on his pants and shoes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and moved to the window. He pushed the curtain aside and looked down at the gloomy backyard, the neighboring houses across the enclosed area completely dark. There was nobody outside, which he’d been sure would be the case at such a late hour – essential if his scheme to get into Renaldo’s room without being detected was to work.
When he tried the latch, it was unlocked, which fit – there was no reason to lock a third-story window, and the cleaning staff would open them every morning to air out the rooms as they went about their business. With any luck, Renaldo’s would also be unlocked. Which left creeping along the narrow molding to the next sill, sliding the window frame up, and pulling himself into the suite without waking either the cartel honcho or his whore.
Who would hopefully be out for the count by now.
If not, plan B was to neutralize them both, take Renaldo’s phone, and hope that some germane information came across it before his corpse was discovered.
Drago studied the molding he’d have to traverse in order to reach the suite next door. It was no more than three inches deep and sculpted from concrete, which could be crumbly given the age of the building. He took three deep breaths, patted the butt of the sound-suppressed pistol in his belt, and eased himself into the night, feeling for the molding with his toes.
Once he was sure it wasn’t going to collapse under his weight, he inched along the exterior, back to the wall, taking his time. For anyone else the experience would have been paralyzing, but for Drago it caused no more anxiety than crossing the street – he’d been in far more precarious circumstances, after all, and handled them with aplomb.
After thirty seconds, he reached the master suite window and was relieved to see a six-inch gap at the bottom, which would make entering child’s play. The frame creaked softly as he lifted it, and once he had sufficient space, he pulled himself inside.
Drago was in the sitting area he remembered well from his stays. His quarry would be in the adjacent bedroom. The connecting door was half open, and Drago heard snoring over the muted jangle of a radio playing pop music at low volume. He crept toward it, eyes sweeping the space to ensure he didn’t miss the man’s cell phone on either of the two tables in the sitting room. He stopped at a dress jacket draped across the back of a chair and felt in it.
Nothing other than a package of cigarettes and a lighter.
Drago smirked in the darkness. It would have been too easy if the phone had been in the jacket. That wasn’t how life worked – at least, not Drago’s.
He cocked his head, listening for movement: the rustle of a sheet, a change in
“How far?”
“About twenty kilometers.”
Fernanda eyed the boats first, and then Ramón. “Let’s get back to Viega. We’ll want the cops in La Virginia to help us with questioning the locals. If we’re lucky, our little family will have left a trail. It may be cold by now, but it will be there. We just have to know where to look.”
Ramón looked at his watch. “It’ll be light in just a few more hours.”
Fernanda gave him a hard stare. “Viega’s going to have to wake the La Virginia police. We’ve lost enough time. At this point, every minute counts.”
Chapter 11
Medellín, Colombia
Drago sat up in bed and pulled his shirt on. Alana was breathing softly beside him, the Rohypnol he’d dropped into her drink while she used the bathroom having worked its magic, but not before she delivered a workmanlike performance complete with impressive gymnastics and a faux screaming climax worthy of an Academy Award. She would be out for the duration, which suited him perfectly – he’d been listening for sounds of life next door, and it had been silent since their arrival.
After shutting the lights off so he wouldn’t be visible from the street, Drago slipped on his pants and shoes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and moved to the window. He pushed the curtain aside and looked down at the gloomy backyard, the neighboring houses across the enclosed area completely dark. There was nobody outside, which he’d been sure would be the case at such a late hour – essential if his scheme to get into Renaldo’s room without being detected was to work.
When he tried the latch, it was unlocked, which fit – there was no reason to lock a third-story window, and the cleaning staff would open them every morning to air out the rooms as they went about their business. With any luck, Renaldo’s would also be unlocked. Which left creeping along the narrow molding to the next sill, sliding the window frame up, and pulling himself into the suite without waking either the cartel honcho or his whore.
Who would hopefully be out for the count by now.
If not, plan B was to neutralize them both, take Renaldo’s phone, and hope that some germane information came across it before his corpse was discovered.
Drago studied the molding he’d have to traverse in order to reach the suite next door. It was no more than three inches deep and sculpted from concrete, which could be crumbly given the age of the building. He took three deep breaths, patted the butt of the sound-suppressed pistol in his belt, and eased himself into the night, feeling for the molding with his toes.
Once he was sure it wasn’t going to collapse under his weight, he inched along the exterior, back to the wall, taking his time. For anyone else the experience would have been paralyzing, but for Drago it caused no more anxiety than crossing the street – he’d been in far more precarious circumstances, after all, and handled them with aplomb.
After thirty seconds, he reached the master suite window and was relieved to see a six-inch gap at the bottom, which would make entering child’s play. The frame creaked softly as he lifted it, and once he had sufficient space, he pulled himself inside.
Drago was in the sitting area he remembered well from his stays. His quarry would be in the adjacent bedroom. The connecting door was half open, and Drago heard snoring over the muted jangle of a radio playing pop music at low volume. He crept toward it, eyes sweeping the space to ensure he didn’t miss the man’s cell phone on either of the two tables in the sitting room. He stopped at a dress jacket draped across the back of a chair and felt in it.
Nothing other than a package of cigarettes and a lighter.
Drago smirked in the darkness. It would have been too easy if the phone had been in the jacket. That wasn’t how life worked – at least, not Drago’s.
He cocked his head, listening for movement: the rustle of a sheet, a change in
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