Jet by Russell Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

time the door reopened, he’d decided what he was going to say, and was surprised when a different man approached him and unlocked his ankles from where they were chained to an eyelet in the floor.
    “Come with me,” the man said.
    “I want my lawyer,” Alonso replied stubbornly.
    “I’m all the lawyer you need, kid,” the man answered, and led him to the door. He knocked on it twice and it opened. The fat cop and his partner were glowering down the hall, watching as the man sent Alonso in the opposite direction, to where two more figures in suits waited.
    When the hall was empty except for the cop and his sidekick, the big man turned to the younger one and shook his head with closed eyes. “What the hell was that all about? Since when does headquarters send down a blanket release for a maggot like that?”
    “A better question is why the Americans want him so badly.”
    “The form said he’s part of an ongoing investigation. DEA.”
    “Since when does the DEA have jurisdiction here?”
    “You got me. But unfortunately, you know how this works. We’ll be lucky if we’re allowed to sign the dope into evidence. Want to bet they confiscate that too, as part of their investigation?”
    The younger man sighed. “There’s nothing we can do?”
    “Oh, we’ll fill out reports and file a formal complaint, which the commissioner will wipe his ass with.” The big cop checked the time. “I’d say it’s time for a long lunch. I’ve got a date with a bottle. You’re invited.”
    “Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on it this time.”
    The pair walked dejectedly to the security desk and retrieved their weapons, their faces glum at having their smuggler released to the Americans. Both suspected that nothing would ever come of the DEA investigation, and that Alonso would be winging his way back to whatever mud hole he’d crawled out of before nightfall. They’d heard of similar situations, and those had never ended well, remaining unresolved, the Americans mute when asked for status reports. It was one of the dirty secrets of being a cop on the dope beat – that certain perps were untouchable and, if arrested, walked within hours. It was unfair and clearly illegal, but they didn’t have the clout to fight it, and if the way the system worked was to allow high-volume traffickers to skate when students caught with a few ounces of opiated hash would do years of the hardest kind of time, well, it was an imperfect world, and beyond their abilities to change it.
    “We going back to the office?” the younger man asked on the way to the parking structure.
    “I don’t think so. You want to?”
    “Not really. But what are we going to tell the captain?”
    “Car problem.”
    The younger man smiled sadly. “Sounds good to me.”
     

Chapter 9
    Pristina, Kosovo
     
    Matt putted along the four-lane street toward the quaint downtown area of Pristina, dodging cars that changed lanes without signaling, as though by indicating their intentions they were showing weakness. He was used to the schizophrenic driving habits of the locals, and after Argentina, the natives’ high-speed near-suicide runs were almost relaxed in contrast. Rows of brightly painted two-story houses fronted the byway, harkening back to a time when knights astride horses paraded down the route.
    He downshifted as he slowed for a light, never taking for granted that any of the other drivers were going to obey the signal. At that hour of the morning, it was unlikely that many of those on the road were drunk, but he’d learned to take no chances – not a day went by that the papers weren’t filled with accounts of horrific accidents caused by inebriants colliding with the unsuspecting, and it wasn’t impossible that at least a few of those behind the wheel were making their morning way home from all-night parties rather than heading to work.
    He’d acquired the scooter from a young man who’d purchased his first new car, who’d been more than happy