Chapter 65

CHAPTER 65

I'D ALREADY SHOT through both ammo clips. So I just kept my hands on the wheel and jerked the jeep from side to side as I accelerated. The runway had so many potholes that the shooter behind me kept missing. But not by much. Bullets were pinging off the fenders and roll bar. Clearly, these guys weren't here to arrest me for murder. They didn't even want to question me about it.

They wanted me dead.

I bounced off the edge of the tarmac and made a hard turn onto a service road. To the right and left were rows of corrugated metal storage buildings, some with wide-open fronts. Abandoned and empty. I turned left along another row. I looked back. The road was clear.

I cranked the wheel hard and spun into one of the open buildings. I pulled into a corner shadowed by a wooden loft. I cut the engine. Five seconds later, the jeep blew past in a blur.

I waited a few minutes until I heard the sound of the jeep's engine fading. Then it changed direction—back toward the airport. Maybe they were going back to reload. Or maybe the drug-packed snakes were worth more than I was.

I climbed out of the jeep. The storage building had a back exit, a metal fire door that was almost completely rusted shut. I gave it one solid bang with my shoulder and the hinges gave way. I looked back. The rifle was worthless without ammo. And I couldn't imagine I'd find a source for AR-15 clips anywhere close. So I just grabbed my cloth sack and moved out.

The sun was getting low, casting long shadows. I slipped from one slice of shade to the next as I moved down a slope toward the lake. There was a line of shacks and rickety piers by the shore, with nets and buoys piled up alongside. Out in the water in front of me, I could see wooden fishing boats. Dozens of them. Empty. Just sitting there.

I tied my sack around my belt and waded in. There was a quick drop-off from the shoreline. I ducked down and started swimming underwater.

I swam past the keels overhead until I got close to the last one—the furthest boat out. I surfaced slowly, took a deep breath, and started breaststroking the rest of the way.

The boat was about twelve feet long, with a Yamaha outboard mounted on the stern. The hull was in good shape, but riding a little low in the water. I reached up and put both hands over the gunwale, then pulled myself up until my head and shoulders were over the side.

Somebody screamed.

A teenage girl was looking straight at me. She was on her back, legs up, a thick blanket underneath her. A teenage boy was on top of her, his back to me, his hips draped with a towel. The girl grabbed the towel and covered her breasts. The boy whipped around, bare-ass naked. The kids both had light brown skin and beaded dreadlocks. They were very thin and very young.

I motioned for them both to be quiet. They both stared at me with wide eyes. I untied my sack from my belt and pulled out a wad of soggy bills. I tapped the side of the boat. I waved the money. Primitive charades.

The boy blinked once, then looked down at his girlfriend. "Alice," he said with a smooth French accent. "I believe this man wants to buy your father's boat."