Found Money - James Grippando [69]
He took a deep breath and jumped from the ledge, flying, amazed at how long it took to fall just three stories. His feet skidded on the pavement. Momentum sent him rolling across the alley between the trash piles. He kept his bag close to protect the breakables inside. From the ground, he looked up toward his room.
The police were at the window, shouting something in Spanish.
Ryan sprang to his feet and ran up the alley, weaving between trash bins and a few makeshift bungalows for the homeless. His knee was throbbing from the fall, but it didn’t slow him down. At a dead run it was difficult to see in the shadows. He kept his eye on the daylight just ahead, where the alley fed into a busy thoroughfare. He heard shouting behind him. The police. A burst of adrenaline quickened his pace. Finally he reached the street, clutching his bag like a football.
The sidewalk was a two-way stream of pedestrians, nearly shoulder to shoulder. It was impossible to run. Better not to run, thought Ryan. Just blend with the crowd.
A shrill whistle cut through the usual city noises. Ryan glanced over his shoulder. It was a police whistle. They were coming from the alley.
His eyes darted, searching for an escape. He was itching to turn and see if they were closing in. He couldn’t run without giving himself away. But maybe they had a bead on him. His only chance might be an all-out run for it.
Ryan spotted a cab pulling up at the corner. He nearly broke into a run. The moment the previous passenger stepped out, Ryan jumped in the backseat and slammed the door behind him.
“El embassy de los Estados Unidos,” he said in bad Spanish. He dug all of his money from his bag and showed it to the driver. “Pronto, por favor.”
The cabby hit the gas so hard it threw Ryan against the backseat. Ryan looked out the rear window. The police were in the street, shouting at each other. One of them pointed at the taxi as it sped away.
Ryan glanced ahead through the windshield. The American embassy was just a few blocks away. That was his best bet. The local police had no jurisdiction there. If he’d done something wrong, he’d face the music in his own country. He just didn’t want to spend the night—or longer—in a Panamanian jail.
Sirens blared behind them. The police were in pursuit.
“Hurry, please!” said Ryan.
The cab screeched to a halt. The driver was shouting in rapid-fire Spanish. Ryan couldn’t understand the words, but the point was clear. He wanted no part of a police chase. Ryan tossed him some money for the ride and jumped out at the curb.
The embassy was just a half-block ahead, between Thirty-eighth and Thirty-ninth streets on busy Avenida Balboa. The main building, which housed the ambassador, faced the blue-green Bay of Panama. Ryan was fairly certain that his new passport was waiting in the administrative offices a few blocks away, but right now he had other priorities. He slung his bag over his shoulder and sprinted up the avenue, toward a large circular intersection. Traffic fed in from five different directions, then wound around a small park in the center. By car, the police would have to go the long way around the perimeter. Ryan was better off on foot. He cut across the diameter, running straight through the park. Just six lanes of traffic separated him from U.S. soil. The police car was nearly on two wheels as it raced around the circle, weaving in and out of cars. Ryan dodged a few cars as he cut across the street. An old Chevy swerved and slammed on its brakes, nearly flattening him. Ryan leaped to the sidewalk and never stopped. The police car screeched to a halt in front of the embassy. Ryan kept going. The police jumped out and ran across the sidewalk, then stopped at the gated entrance to the embassy grounds—the end of their jurisdiction. He glanced back, relieved to see they had given up.
A security guard stopped him at the outside gate. Ryan was so winded he could barely speak. “I’m an American citizen. My passport was stolen. I need help.”
“Come with me,” he said.
The guard escorted him onto the compound, where