"Dibdin, Michael - Aurelio Zen 02 - Vendetta UC - part 11" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dibdin Michael)

Fiat would outstrip the engineless Mercedes in a matter of
minutes, while every kilometre Zen travelled away from
the station was a kilometre he would have to retrace pain-
fully on foot. The car was not now the asset it had seemed,
but a liability. He had to get rid of it, but how? If he left it
by the roadside, Spadola would know he was close by. He
pad to ditch it somewhere out of sight, thus buying time to
get back to the station on foot while Spadola continued to
scour the roads for the elusive white Mercedes. Unfor-
tenately the barren scrub-covered hills offered scant possi-
bilities for concealing a bicycle, let alone a car.
Up ahead he saw the junction with the side-road leading
down to the Villa Burolo, but he did not take it, remem-
bering that it bottomed out in a valley where he would be
stranded. What he needed was a smaller, less conspicuous
turn-off, something Spadola might overlook. But time was
gptting desperately short! He kept glancing compulsively
in the rear-view mirror, dreading the moment when he
saw the yellow Fiat on his tail. Once that happened, his
fate would be sealed.
Almost too late, he caught sight of a faint dirt track
opening off the other side of the road. There was no time
for mature reflection or second thoughts. With a flick of his
wrists, he swung the Mercedes squealing across the
asphait on to the twin ruts of bare red earth. Within
moments a low hummnck had almost brought the car to a
halt, but in the end its forward momentum prevailed, and
after that it was all Zen could do to keep it on the track,
which curved back on itself, becoming progressively
rougher and steeper. The steering-wheel writhed and
twisted in Zen's hands until the track straightened out and
ran down more gently into a holIow sunk between steep,
rocky slopes where a small windowless stone hut stood in
a grove of mangy trees.
Zen stopped the Mercedes at the very end of the track,
out of sight of the main road. He got out and stood
listening intently. The land curved up all around, con-
taining the silence like liquid in a pot, its surface faintly
troubled by a distant sound that might have been a fiying
insect. Zen turned his head, tracking the car as it drove
past along the road above, the engine noise fading away
without any change in pitch or intensity. His shoulders
slumped in relief. Spadola had not seen him turn off and
had not noticed the tyre marks in the earth.
He walked over to the hut, a crude affair of stones piled
one on top of the other, with a corrugated iron roof. He
stooped down and peered in through the low, narrow
open doorway. A faint draught carrying a strong smell of
sheep blew towards him from the darkness within. It must
once have been a shepherd's hut, used for storing cheese