The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts Read Online Free PDF Page A

lavatory on board told me I did it right – from the red high
heeled shoes and clinging dress, to the shoulder length ash blond
curls brushing my shoulders, I look pretty darn stunning and I’m
sure my quarry won’t recognize me.
    I purchase a second bag from the Samsonite
store, which I load with heavy souvenirs and secure in locker 117.
Now all I have to do is wait for the KLM flight to arrive.

Chapter 9: Panama And One Purple Bag
     
     
    Forty minutes later its status changes to
‘landed’, so I choose a seat near the baggage collection carousels
and watch. Only one purple bag makes the rounds amidst those with
colored ribbons attached for easy identification and I walk close
enough to read the travel tag. ‘Cesar Montego, 224 Santa Maria
Street, San Abajo, Los Santos.’ According to a map on the wall,
there is a small airport at Howard – about forty kilometers away
from San Abajo, and the next flight scheduled does not leave for
three hours. I place my bag on the carousel next to his and wait
for him to show. The bags take a turn out of reach when he appears
and he stands close to me to wait for it.
    “It’s a beautiful day, no?” He asks.
    “Yes, it is.” I agree.
    “Where you go – from here?” He asks.
    “Rio Halo.”
    “Ah, beautiful place, I went there once – you
live there?”
    “No, I wait for my friend’s chauffer.”
    “I go the other way – to Los Santos. I wait
for another plane.”
    “I have to wait also, the limo was
delayed.”
    We reach for the bags. “We wait together
no?”
    “I don’t think so.” I decline.
    “Why not? We are friends now, no? My I
introduce myself to you, I am Montego.”
    “Pleased to meet you Montego, I am Sophia,” I
lie to him. “Well… I am a little hungry, perhaps a bit to eat.”
    “Si, I buy.” He promises.
    “Okay, but I want to put my bag in a locker -
can’t be too careful you know. I heard there are thieves in the
airport.”
    He looks at his bag with concern. “Good idea
– I do too.”
    I choose locker 119 and he takes 123.
    We order a ‘Cuban’ pressed sandwich and he
suggests a Seco Herrerano to accompany. “This is the national drink
of Panama.” He announces proudly.
    I take a sip – it’s strong and reminiscent of
clear rum. “It’s very good.”
    “Two more…” He orders.
    “You’ll get me dizzy.” I complain with a
giggle.
    “S’okay – we no drive – no?”
    “No – we no drive.”
    I’m surprised the potted plant next to me
didn’t wilt with the alcohol I fed it and I estimate that I
consumed one drink to his three which made it easy to pick the
locker key from his pocket. Now I have to get rid of him.
    “This Seco Herr… whatever makes me sleepy.” I
giggle more.
    “There is a hotel, right here – you want to
rest for a while? I wake you up in time.” He offers.
    “I shouldn’t.” I say, stroking his chin. “I
really shouldn’t.”
    “You’re safe with me – you trust me, no?”
    Now I don’t know about you, but rule number
one I learned as an adult was never trust anyone who says ‘trust
me’. “Sure I trusht you.” I slur. “Okay – why don’t you get a room
while I purchase some ‘items’ from the pharmacy. I’ll be right
there.”
    Not believing his good fortune, he positively
runs to the hotel entrance while I head to the lockers. It’s an
easy job to switch the box from Montego’s purple bag to mine and
put the souvenirs in his. After toting his bag to get the weights
close I have two iron statues left which I leave in the spare bag
and place on the floor. I leave his bag in the locker but take mine
with me. On the way to the hotel I draw the attention of a security
guard to the unattended bag outside the lockers and meet with
Montego in the lobby. I stagger against him to replace the key in
his pocket and explain the presence of my bag “I need my
nightie.”
    His eyes light up with anticipation just as a
loud whistle sounds outside.
    “Whatsh that?” I ask.
    “I