Rimanoa

Running without looking back

4:55 p.m. Aug. 17.

Saying, "Well, I'm off…", I rushed to the secret door. The "balalaikas" started blaring as if I were not a "common criminal" but the first terrorist in the world. I reached the steel door and found it closed.

Edgar had the key, and he wasn't the same Edgar he'd been — he had five extra holes in him. "If we can't get in the door, we'll get in the window," I thought of a movie.

"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?"