Page 55 of Murder Island

Jesus. No wonder they needed security.

The boa was thrashing and twisting on the hot tarmac. The guy with the hook pulled out his .45 and blew its head off.

“Maybe that would have been a better place to start,”I muttered to the pilot. He didn’t answer. He was still trembling.

Right. None of my business.

The guy with the hook looked up at us. One of the others carried a packet to the jeep. He sliced it open with a penknife and placed a fingernail’s worth of powder on the hood. He took a small glass vial from his pocket, unscrewed the top, and dribbled a single drop onto the powder.

The other three men crowded around him like they were watching a science experiment. The pilot tensed up. I saw him suck in a deep breath and hold it.

After a few seconds, one of the men looked up at the pilot and gave him a jaunty thumbs-up. The pilot started breathing again. His whole body relaxed. He nodded back, and gave a weak little wave.

I looked back into the hold. Christ. Five more crates. The sweat was dripping off my forehead and soaking through my shirt. It was going to be a long morning. Especially for the snakes. The pilot moved back and started unfastening the second crate.

Suddenly a series of cracks echoed across the runway. On reflex, I ducked back from the doorway. When l looked out again, three of the smugglers were lying on the tarmac. One was sprawled across the hood of the jeep. Blood was pooling underneath the bodies.

I heard engines revving in the distance. Two more jeeps appeared from around the back of a closed hangerabout a hundred yards away. Each jeep carried two men. Face masks. Guns. No uniforms. Not good.

The pilot crawled up beside me and looked out. I tried to push him back into the plane, but he squirmed away and jumped down onto the runway. He ducked behind the parked jeep for a second, then took off in a sprint in the opposite direction, his skinny legs and arms pumping like crazy.

Another crack. A bullet punched him square in the back and exploded through his chest. In like a dime, out like a cash register. He flopped forward, dead before he hit the ground.

The jeeps were driving in wild, weaving patterns as they headed toward the plane. I took aim and emptied my first clip. I hit the lead jeep. The right headlight shattered and a rear tire blew. The jeep spun out. But the other one kept coming.

I pulled out the empty clip and jammed in my second. I knew that if I didn’t get moving, I’d die right there in the plane. I reached back and grabbed the sack with my money and my cutlass. I hopped down and sprayed fire single-handed while I sidestepped toward the smugglers’ jeep. With my free hand, I dragged the dead smuggler off the hood and let him flop onto the ground next to his buddies.

The jeep was still running. I jumped over the side door and slid into the driver seat.

I tossed my rifle into the footwell and floored thepedal. For a few seconds, I was heading straight for the other jeep, like a game of chicken. The driver swerved. I cranked my wheel, made a tight ninety-degree turn, and headed for the lake.

I kept my head down as rounds whizzed past me. My right-side mirror blew off. I checked my rearview. The guys from the disabled jeep were running toward the dead snake. The other jeep was still on my tail. Both men had dropped their masks now. I could see them smiling.

Sick, twisted smiles.

Goddamnit! Kira was right.

These assholes were everywhere.

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.