"But there's a catch. — I reassured myself, firing twice at the lock, — There are no windows in the tunnels. The steel door opened… The light dawn (it's five in the morning and already light here) and heavy sand came into my eyes… The BMW was not found….
Someone stole my car (or rather not my car, but the keys though no, the dead
"Sukhar" has the keys too). What to do, we went east, no, we ran, because the flicks will be upset, having missed the "big fish", by the way, the question may arise: "How did they find us?".
I will answer this question a little later, but for now it was pouring rain, to such an extent that my tires were asking to become rain tires. In addition to the downpour, a siren started blaring, prompting me to get off the road and temporarily stop hitchhiking. After my "disengagement", a police freak ran down the road on all his own and other people's pairs (of course, he did not notice me, being in a horizontal position). After a dozen seconds I got up and "wandered" further, but not having made even twenty steps, I heard the "grinding of well-tested brakes". Behind me was a red Peugeot. The driver's bald head came out of it: "Do you want a ride?"
Brakes without brains
4:57 p.m. Aug. 17.
"How's it going?" — the chauffeur asked, after I settled into the back seat, telling me to drive east to the nearest port.
"I'm fine. They just stole a car."
Baranocnik turned on the first speed, sharply pressed the gas pedal, which made the car move its "limbs", sliding on the wet highway: "Ohhhh… I'm sorry. It's not my first car either…"
"You stole it too?" "No, I sold it." "What brand?" "Renault."
"And I have a BMW, white (to confuse you, if anything)." "Nice car."
"Uh-huh."
"And what is your occupation?" "Businessman, came to Spain for a vacation…" "This time of year?"
It's a cop out. You can feel it right away, because he asks too many questions, from which he himself derives new ones and some of which he has to answer several times, like now. Finally, and most importantly, he speaks Italian to me.
"And it seems to always be warm here…" "Warm. А…"
"How far away are we?"
"No, not particularly, about five kilometers."
Flick is taking me to his own, which is not five, but half a kilometer away. I know their rough calculations for criminals — 100 meters ~ 1000 meters.
"Do you hear that? Pull over. I need to relieve myself." "Okay…" — he stopped the car.
I got out with my gear, covered my field of vision with my cloak, put the case behind the curb, opened it, put the Glock, two magazines and the MSP Groza with the mechanism inside and turned on the self-destruct mode with one of those floppy disks for 4 minutes (it is absolutely clear that there is no escape from here, so I have to surrender clean, they have no evidence against me anyway).
On the way to the car I dialed Richard's number, "I'm about to be picked up, I'm not far from Barcelona…"
"I see."
Apparently, the chauffeur hoped to return for the abandoned later, so he didn't say anything about the suitcase disappearing.
We ended up on a hill and saw a whole bunch of local law enforcement officers very nearby. Turning around with revolver in hand, the driver muttered: "That's it, Mr.
Cordarro, here we are. (the name of the fake passport under which I entered this country)."
Strange prison
5:02 a.m. Aug. 17.
"Hey, pops, what are you in for?" — I was asked by a 25-year-old man who had occupied the cell before I arrived.
"I don't know myself. — I took the seat across from him. — What about you?"
"Yeah, I was walking around. So, like, I went into a liquor store. I ordered a beer, yeah. "I'm sitting there drinking, I don't care. Some guy walks in, like, a little gloomy. You can tell by the look on his face that he's a man without a clue, yeah. Not our kid. I'm like, "Who are you?" And he's like, "Nobody." You know, yeah. He's all puffed up. So I hit him in the face with a mug, yeah. And he started waving his arms around. So I hit him with another beer. But he's still standing there, dog. You know, yeah. So, like, I knocked his head off, so the flicks came and got him, and I'm sitting here. "What's wrong with you?"
"Oh, come to think of it. Like, car, stolen, yeah." "Here, assholes…"
"Well, like, I'm walking, yeah. It's also raining. I'm, like, soaked. "I can't get my head up. Some dick stops, says he can give me a ride. So I said yes, yeah. We drove, like, two kilometers, he turns around with a gun in his hand, like a flick, says, "Here we are. Now the dogs are investigating some kind of murder."
"Oh, assholes…"
"Yeah, like, assholes…"
After an hour and a half of such conversations, four cellmates (four exactly, usually such escorts are given only in high-security prisons, like the old Alcatraz) "came to the door": "Come out, Mr. Cordarro."
I was taken to a small room with one table, two chairs and a bunch of witnesses behind a glass on the wall (the favorite thing of all top-ranking police officers is to look at the person they can't put in jail behind a mirror like that).
The investigator sitting at the table, trimmed to "Hedgehog", offered me a seat and, letting only two guards go (now it is clear — it is no longer the police, it is something more important, more likely Interpol, because there is nothing serious in Spain, obviously they know my approximate orientation), began: "What's your name?" "I'll answer, only next to my lawyer."
"By law, you must answer our questions before a lawyer arrives (these investigators are very fond of "noodling around" with newcomers to crime, for me he probably wanted to "mess with my head" or try his luck)."
"I know my rights (in such interrogations one must watch one's every word, for words like remove, remove, end can be interpreted as one wishes); besides, I am an Italian subject, and that has some significance."
"Which is?"
"Get me a lawyer first."
"Once again, I repeat that you are obliged to answer our questions first (his 'must' turned into 'must', meaning he was starting to push, which means he has nothing against me, at most something particularly strong)."
"All answers only with the assistance of an attorney."
"Okay, get him out of here," — he tapped on the table, whereupon those two guards who had left earlier came in.
This time I was taken not to a cell, but to a prison-transport car, which could very well have taken me to another country — these guys did not want to part with me so easily, so they even decided to break the law and not let me make a phone call, so that at least a lawyer could find me, or inform, for example, the embassy (just an example, because probably the Italian security services know about it all) that their subject was so-and-so; it's hard to imagine how long they could have taken me to different places, thus effectively kidnapping me, if I hadn't called my lawyer before they took me, because they wouldn't have started looking for me right away.
"Well, shall we talk?" — The investigator (now his hair was slicked back and glistening in the light) asked me, but in a completely different place, where I already had a solitary room at my disposal.
"How about a lawyer?"
"I already said that you must answer our questions first."
"The way the case is supposed to work is as follows? You call a lawyer, and while he hurries to the place, you break a comedy in front of me, claiming that I am obliged to answer your questions at once, but I did not want to answer them, and the lawyer did not arrive after a whole twenty-four hours, so you did not call him. You violated the law by not giving me the right to a lawyer.