Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

Sydney and the man beside her ducked. Robert aimed, returned fire. The shot deafened her. Tomas drove as fast as the winding coastal road allowed. “About two minutes,” he yelled to Robert.

Robert fired a second round. “We’re going to turn into a dirt lot,” he shouted back to her, over the roar of the wind that rushed in. “Tomas is going to slide the car in, and we’re going to use the dust as a cover. So hold your breath, grab onto Jose’s hand, and trust him like you’ve never trusted anyone in your life. Got it?”

Like she had a choice?

Tomas made a sharp left onto a dirt road, and she caught a glimpse of a cliff and the ocean below. “ Now! ” Tomas said, whipping the car around. Dirt sprayed out behind the wheels; a cloud of dust mushroomed up.

“Go!” Robert yelled.

Jose threw the door open, grabbed Sydney’s hand. She had enough sense to grab her backpack as they slid out. Her throat constricted on the dust. She glanced back, caught a glimpse of the Mercedes through the dust cloud, and Tomas hit the gas, racing straight for it, kicking up more dirt, completely obscuring her vision.

Her eyes stung; she couldn’t breathe. Jose pulled her straight toward the cliffs. “Hurry,” he shouted. And the next thing she knew, he dragged her over the side. She felt nothing for a moment, a freefall, then her feet hit solid dirt, her back end slammed into the cliff’s side. Down, down, she slid. Her heart thumped and she could hear the ocean pounding below them. Her eyes watered from the dust and the wind, and she tried to see through the blur. Wondered if she’d stop before she plunged straight into the jutting rocks below.

“There’s a path down here,” Robert Orozco called out to Sydney as she slid down the side of the steep hill. “My boat is at the bottom in the cove.” And sure enough, two seconds later, her feet found solid purchase. She slung her backpack over one shoulder, gripped her gun tightly in her right hand. The path was carved into the dirt and stone of the cliff, narrow and treacherous. Jose was in front, Sydney behind him, and Robert took up the rear. A sharp crack rang out, echoed on the cliffs. Robert fired back. Another crack. Dirt sprayed up in front of them.

Ten more feet to a large rock outcropping. She turned. Fired two rounds, then raced for the rock. Robert fired off several rounds, then stumbled after them. Blood soaked his pants leg. “They shot my fucking knee.”

Several sharp cracks followed. Jose said, “We can carry you to the boat.”

“We’ll be Swiss cheese before you get me down there.”

“I can’t leave you, Tio.”

Robert looked at Sydney. Dust streaked his face, covered his once blond hair. “You drive a boat?”

“Not in a while.” She’d grown up in boats, first with her father, then with Uncle Leland.

“Hasn’t changed that much. Just a lot faster.” He took the leather bank pouch, handed it to Sydney. “This is what they want. Take it. Go!”

“I can’t leave you here.”

“The hell you can’t.” He stopped, listened. The faint sound of a siren could be heard over the top of the cliffs. “I think Tomas made it. Help is on the way. Even if it isn’t, they’ll think it is. You do this, maybe I get another twenty-year reprieve.”

Still, she hesitated.

“Jose and I will hold them off. Take that thing out of here. Make sure you wave it around so they see it.” He grinned. “They’ll start shooting at you, instead of me.”

Two sharp cracks echoed from the cliff tops. It was all the convincing she needed, and she shrugged her backpack securely over both shoulders, grabbed the pouch, ran down the path, only to hear him shouting, “Watch out for choppers,” before he and Jose fired off several shots, buying her a few seconds.

She hugged the cliff side, trying not to expose herself. Gunshots cracked and echoed around her. At the bottom was a small strip of white sand and smooth pebbles, then tide pools and rocks. No boat.

She looked up, saw the two men on the cliff top, saw Robert and Jose firing at them, diverting their attention, Robert leaning heavily on his nephew. Her ears rang with each shot fired, the waves roared, crashed beside her, sending a spray of water across her face.

Cove. He’d said something about a cove, and she raced across the thin stretch of sand, eyeing the cliff, the rocks to her right. And there it was, a sleek Cigarette Gladiator racing boat, custom painted in shades of black and gray, which meant one thing in her mind: speed and control under the cover of darkness. Pirates. Robert Orozco probably had no intention of leaving here in broad daylight. Not until she’d led his enemies right to his doorstep. And now here, bobbing in a small cave, protected from the waves that crashed just the other side of the rocks, moored to a piece of jutting rock out of sight from the men shooting above, was a boat worth as much as the finest villa on the rocky shores above her. Knowing Robert’s background, she pictured this as some sort of smuggler’s cave, wondered how far it went back beneath the cliff. Was she supposed to drive inward, find some secret exit?

But no, he would have said something. Unless he was distracted. Being shot will do that to a person, and she eyed the cavern, before turning her attention to the narrow mouth. If the only way out was via the front, the question was, how to get it out of there and not be smashed into the rocks? It wasn’t until she waded to the boat, gun high up in one hand, the pouch in the other to keep them dry, that she saw the channel between the rocks, only visible between waves, as she tossed in the two mooring ropes. She had to assume that if someone drove the boat in there, it could be driven out. Whether she could drive the thing remained to be seen. It was far more boat than she was used to. Hell, the cockpit looked like it belonged in a jet. The basics were there, clearly some extras. Throttle, bilge pump, blowers, oil and temperature gauges, and the tachometer. The keys were hanging from the ignition, and she hit the switch, turned on the bilge blowers, and gave it as long as she dared to clear fumes from the motor compartment, using the time to secure Robert’s bank pouch inside her backpack, then sliding it onto her shoulders. Whatever was in there was too important to chance losing it, she thought, pulling in the docking bumpers, then running through the check of the instruments, putting the throttle in idle, gearshift neutral. She tried to listen, couldn’t hear any shots, shouts, sirens, or any other noises down here, and hoped it was the same, that no one up there could hear her. Maybe she’d have a chance after all.

But not if she didn’t get the hell out of there. She turned the ignition key and released the starter switch as the engine rumbled to life. Switching off the blowers, she listened to the slow, steady roar that filled the cavern, vibrated the boat, and she let it idle. Watched the water. If she didn’t time it right, she’d be shark bait and the boat would be tinder crashing on the rocks. Definitely in the timing. She waited a few seconds, tried to get the feel of the water, the timing of the waves. The boat bobbed gently, up, down as each wave came in. And just when she thought she had the timing, a sleeper crashed, filling the channel with deadly white water. But she knew time wasn’t on her side. Her best chance was at the crash of the white water. Start forward as it came up, hope the water was receding as she sped through. She tucked the gun into her waist, held her hand on the throttle, pushed it forward the moment the next wave crashed.

White water sprayed her face; wind whipped her hair. Before she could breathe, she was through, open water in front of her, the rocks receding behind her. She glanced back and up. Saw the men at the top change their stance when they saw her. And then Robert bracing himself as Jose jumped out, fired at the men. She pushed the throttle. The boat screamed forward, bounced across the surf, jarring her. She steered to the north, zigzagged, hoping for some cover from the rocks, before moving out into the open water, where a bullet could ricochet across the surface like a skipping stone, then bounce up and take her out. It was rare, but she wasn’t about to take a chance. Only when she was far enough out did she dare a second look back, and she thought she saw the black Mercedes speeding north on the highway. Just south, where she thought Robert and Jose were holed up, it looked as if the cliff top was filled with flashing red lights of patrol cars.