Rimanoa

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)."