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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

I let him slip to the floor, and stand over him so that he can see my face. The side of my bare foot presses into his windpipe. I let him breathe just enough to keep him conscious. “Look at me,” I shout at him. I point to my face. “Look at me! Do you remember who I am?”

He can’t understand my English, but he looks up, and I see a glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Where is she?” I ask him, miming long hair and a girl’s figure. “La senorita? P.J. The girl I love. Mi amor. Is she down in the candirú room?” I point downward. “Or up in the private dungeon wing?” I point upstairs. “Tell me where she is or you die.”

I increase the pressure on his throat and he gags and raises a shaking finger to point upward.

I’m not sure what to do with him. If I let him live, he’ll probably sound the alert and then find a weapon and come after me again. But I can’t just kill him in cold blood.

I reach down and grab hold of his uniform and drag him to his feet. He’s almost too dizzy to stand, gasping in breaths of air and trying to shake out the cobwebs. I judo-throw him ten feet so that he crashes into the bars and sinks back to the floor.

Twenty arms reach for him. The guard screams as vengeful women grab clumps of his hair, starving children’s fingers latch onto his ears, and the gnarled hands of tough old women secure his legs. He writhes, but there are too many of them and he can’t break free. Other hands reach through the bars for the big key ring on his belt.

I take off down the hallway, confident that the prisoners will free themselves and mete out justice to their jailer.

I’m running through darkness again, but this time I know where to go. I reach a flight of stairs and take them four at a time. Even a jaguar would be impressed by these bounds. At the top, a long corridor unfolds like a black ribbon. I fly down it at full sprint.

Smoke is in the air—someone must have set the prison on fire. Voices echo from far off, triumphant yells and agonized screams. The women and kids must be using the key ring to free other prisoners, and when the swelling mob encounters jailers it sounds like they exact swift revenge.

There are no more flights to climb and no more hallways to traverse. I’m at the top now, the penthouse of the penitentiary. The corridor terminates fifty feet ahead.

At the very end is a blue circular door. It looks like the entry hatch to a rocket.

I reach for it, and recall with a shiver the similarly shaped black door to the candirú chamber.

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