Read Online The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts by Joshua Elliot James - Free Book Online Page B

at the
gate, lower the windows and cruise slowly past the two vehicles,
waving. The upper level guy is in the driver’s seat of the BMW
facing the same direction that I take and smiles with a two finger
salute to his forehead.
    The Jag expresses gratitude in being let
loose and positively snarls at the lesser vehicle as we burn rubber
in a black cloud around it. The Beemer fights its way out of the
fog and makes a valiant effort to chase but falls back with every
kilometer until I no longer see it in the rear view mirror. My cat
digs in its claws and tears down the road in ever increasing speed,
bends are insignificant for the tuned suspension and the
speedometer shows we are touching a hundred miles an hour.
    This is fun!
    I am forced to slow as I enter a mountainous
region and the GPS is invaluable in alerting me to upcoming curves,
what it didn’t alert me to was the roadblock set up around the next
corner. The Jag’s brakes more than meet expectations as I stamp on
the pedal and the ABS kicks in to bring me to an unwavering
stop.
    There are three guns aimed at me from behind
the barrier formed by two vehicles and a man raises a white flag
and steps forward. The road is too narrow to turn around so I
select reverse gear and hurtle backwards until I can swing around
to face the opposite direction using a ‘scenic overlook’ area. I
will be meeting the Beemer coming at me soon, so I need a place to
hide and luckily see an offshoot track on the right hand side, made
by road repair crews. The XJS responds to my sudden jerk on the
wheel without complaint and slides into the gap scattering gravel
as the wheels grab for purchase.
    I’m sure they will see me as they pass by but
I should have enough time to back out and be heading down before
they can take action. I’m aware of a man’s voice saying
‘recalculating’ repeatedly, from the dash board and telling me to
‘drive eight point nine miles and turn right on Rio Del Sera
road.’
    It is the second chase car that catches me -
the one that was facing the opposite way at the rental lot.
    It is broadside to the road and empty.
    As soon as I come to a halt a man appears at
my window with a Beretta pointed squarely at my head. He beckons me
to get out and I have no choice but to obey.
    One thing I learned from watching old Roy
Rogers’ westerns was that if a person puts a gun in your back with
a quick spin and arm swing you can knock the weapon aside before a
finger can squeeze the trigger. But I have to feel the gun in my
back first.
    He tells me to get the ‘item’.
    “It’s in the boot.” I reply and he gestures
me back there.
    I hesitate and wait for him to push me with
the Beretta, but instead he shoves my shoulder with his free hand.
This man must have seen the same movie for I cannot get him to put
his gun where he should.
    There is no latch to open the compartment and
I shrug my shoulders.
    “I don’t know how to open it.”
    “From inside – get the key remote.” He
instructs.
    I open the driver’s door and lean in; he
stands about four feet behind me still aiming the gun at my head. I
need him closer.
    I fumble with the keys and he steps forward.
“Hurry up.”
    “Okay.” From my kneeling position on the seat
it is easy to give him a mule kick to the groin and drop him.
    “Was that quick enough?” I ask
sarcastically.
    His face is beet red and about twice the size
as normal and his mouth gasps for air like a fish out of water.
    He won’t be able to function for a while so I
throw the gun on the passenger’s seat and leave him beside the
road. It’s a shame to push a Saab over a cliff, but a girl’s gotta
do what a girl’s gotta do. By the time the crashing noises stop, I
am driving the eight point nine miles and he GPS informs me that I
will add thirty eight miles by driving around the mountains - darn
that’s cutting it fine to get to Bilbao in time for the flight.
    I push the car as fast as I dare before
having to refuel and pray that