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

“What about me? How bad was the damage?”
    “I’m just a nurse. You’ll have to talk to the doctor.”
    “Oh, c’mon. At least give me a preview.” He gave her that smile of his that usually worked with women.
    “Cuts and bruises on your face and much of your body. Concussion, but no brain damage. Vital signs are all okay.”
    “Now tell me something important. I feel great. When can I get out of here?”
    Actually he was still woozy, but he hated hospitals. They evoked memories of sitting in the hospital room with his wife, Carolyn, in Dubai, while her body spiraled toward death with bacterial meningitis. He had damn near gone crazy with guilt for moving Carolyn and their daughter Francesca from the comfort of the Washington area to the Middle East—ostensibly to give his CIA cover greater authenticity, but in fact because selfishly he didn’t want to be without them.
    “For that, you’ll have to talk to the doctor. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Just remember we’ve given you heavy doses of medication for pain, which is why you aren’t feeling anything at present.”
    As if on cue, the gray-haired doctor, who looked as ancient as one of the forts along the northern coast of the island, walked in. He examined Craig, instructing him to “Call me Professor.” His medical judgment was that Craig should spend another twenty-four hours in the hospital for further observation. No doubt the professor was accustomed to having everyone follow his edicts. Craig’s flat refusal to obey set off a heated argument.
    In the end, the doctor shook his head in resignation. “We can’t keep you here against your will, Mr. Marino. At least rest for a couple more hours.”
    “Fair enough. I’ll stay until noon.”
    That didn’t ameliorate the professor’s anger. He stormed out and slammed the door.
    An hour later, Luigi, his arm in a cast, barged into the room.
    “We almost won, Ricci,” Luigi said.
    “Sorry I couldn’t hold the road.”
    “Nobody could in those conditions. We’ll team up for Paris in April, okay?”
    “That’s a deal.”
    “We’ll win in Paris, no problem. Ciao, Ricci.” Luigi turned and waved a hand over his head as he left the room.
    Craig thought about Adriana. She was really quite beautiful. Focusing on her made him think about his sexual life during the last year since he and Elizabeth had split. They had no contact. Meanwhile, he had no interest in developing a serious relationship with another woman. On the other hand, he was still alive and had strong desires. He was able to satisfy those to some degree with a widow in Milan whom he saw for a couple of days each month, going out to dinner with her and spending time at her house. She was a contemporary of Craig’s with grown children, and like Craig had no interest in emotional involvement.
    What didn’t appeal to Craig were the racing groupies, as he called them, the young women who hung around the tracks and with the drivers, ready to grab any opportunity with them, any time, any place. My God, they were all at least ten years younger than Francesca would have been.
    Everyone assumed Craig was Italian, as his father was, and he certainly spoke the language well enough. As a result his buddies were the Italian drivers, a hard-drinking crowd. It was amazing some of them were sober enough to get behind the wheel the next day. “Ricci,” the other drivers called him. Nobody knew that he was twenty years older than most of them. Nor would they have cared. All that counted was how you drove.
    He heard a knock on the door. Probably the doctor coming back for another round. Or maybe he had sent the beautiful Adriana to reason with his disobedient patient.
    “Who’s there?” he called through the closed door.
    “May I come in?”
    It was a woman’s voice, one he recognized immediately.
    The door opened slowly, and Betty Richards entered, clutching a thin burgundy briefcase he had given her for her fortieth birthday, ten years ago.