The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

The terrain on both sides was filled with large, dangerous boulders.
    Without any warning, the heavens opened and a pelting rain fell in sheets. Craig kept up his speed. On the right side, the road dropped off sharply. Rock-covered terrain fell down toward the sea.
    “Hairpin turn to the right at the crest,” Luigi barked, “coming up in seconds.”
    Blasting into the turn, Craig clutched the wheel with white knuckles. His body was soaked with perspiration. Luigi grabbed the support on the front dash. The windshield wipers were operating at full tilt, fighting a losing battle with the falling water. Visibility was poor. The road was treacherous.
    He felt the rear wheels spin on the slippery pavement. The Jag was dangerously close to the vertical drop. “Always turn into the spin,” Paolo constantly shouted. The command had been etched into Craig’s brain.
    I hear you, Paolo, he thought, as he eased up for an instant on the accelerator. The car bucked, then responded. It straightened out.
    “Damn good driving,” Luigi said. “You’ve got the reflexes of a twenty year old.”
    “What’s next?”
    “We head down. Sharp turn on the left coming up. Prepare to cut speed.”
    “Roger that.”
    Craig leaned forward, straining his eyes to see through the foggy windshield. There it was, almost an L in the road. On the left was the cliff and the sea below.
    Luigi was right. He needed a little brake to take this turn. Just a gentle tap. But after three long days of driving, his body was weary. His control not as sharp. He was going into the curve too fast. He hit the brake too hard, cutting the corner too sharply.
    Immediately, he knew he was losing traction on the wet asphalt. The car spun out of control and headed toward the precipice. He smashed his foot down on the brake, but this time he had pushed too far and was beyond the limit. On the slick tarmac, the Jaguar couldn’t respond. It spun off the road at the edge of the drop, down toward the sea.
    The car rolled over once. Craig was sure they would keep rolling over and over until they either reached the sea or the car hit a sharp rock and exploded. Either way, he had lost the race. He and Luigi were dead.
    The car was on its roof on the first rollover. It began turning upright. Then it crashed into the trunk of an olive tree.
    Craig’s head snapped forward against the dash. “I’m sorry, Luigi,” he mumbled. Then he blacked out.

    Gradually Craig’s vision cleared and his senses returned. In front of him he saw a beautiful, nubile young woman sitting on a chair. She was dressed in a pure white uniform, which accentuated her attractive, voluptuous figure. Her chestnut brown hair was tied up in a bun.
    My God, I died and went to heaven .
    She removed a gray instrument from the bag resting on his bed, cuffing one side around his arm and hooking up a stethoscope to her ears. Intent on her work, she didn’t notice that he was watching her. He felt the pressure in his arm as the cuff inflated. As if he weren’t there, she stared silently at the meter, then recorded some numbers on a clipboard chart and removed the device.
    “So how am I?” he asked.
    She was startled. “Oh, you’re awake.” She stared at him. “We didn’t know when you’d come around.”
    “How long was I unconscious?”
    “It’s Sunday morning. Eight thirty. What’s your name?”
    He smiled. “That’s a hard one.”
    “Well?”
    “Enrico Marino.”
    “You were in an auto race yesterday, Mr. Marino. Do you remember that?”
    His vision was cloudy. He blinked his eyes repeatedly until the room came into focus. “All too well. I lost.”
    That comment evoked a stern look. “You’re fortunate to be alive.”
    “What happened to Luigi, my navigator?”
    “Lucky. Alive, but with a broken arm. And some cuts and bruises. We kept him overnight for observation. Later this morning, he’ll fly back to Rome.”
    Craig glanced at the name tag on her white uniform. “Adriana,” he said.