I was less than fifty yards through the brush when the first burst of automatic rifle fire rang out. Limbs and trees shook and splintered around me, but I kept running down the hill, focused on avoiding branches and vines, sidestepping anything that could slow me down.
There was no way for me to know if the soldiers were already following me. I assumed they were. I knew the terrain would slow them, but I had no clue how much of a head start I had, so I plowed onward, making swift progress in the dense growth.
That progress came to a crashing halt seconds later. The thick copse of trees ended, and all that stood out in front of me was empty space. I slid to a stop, nearly toppling over the edge. Another fucking cliff!
Fifty feet down, waves crashed against the cliff and half submerged boulders, sending towers of spray nearly as high as the ledge I found myself on. I backed away, looking up and down the edge for any sort of escape. This time there was no zipline. Worse, I was in some sort of depression. Vertical cliffs book-ended the ledge I stood on. Running down the ridge to escape wasn't an option, and neither was going back. That left one direction. Forward.
I backed up a few more feet. I was going to need a running start to clear as many of those underwater boulders as possible. From behind me, I could hear the crashing of the soldiers over my own labored breathing. I was out of time.
"Chase Hawkins!" Bardales' powerful voice boomed, echoing off the trees and stone. "There is nowhere for you to go. Surrender now, or a Cuban prison will look like a resort compared to where I send you!"
I took one deep breath and yelled back. "Eat shit and die, Bardales!" I took a handful of running steps and launched myself off the cliff.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The water hit me like a sledgehammer, nearly forcing the air from my lungs. I shot straight down into indescribably clear blue water, my momentum slowing rapidly until finally coming to a stop at a depth of around twenty-five or thirty feet. A couple of quick but efficient kicks to propel me farther down were all I needed to reach a point of negative buoyancy and begin free-falling. The point where the pressure was enough to compress the remaining air stored in my lungs, causing me to sink instead of float.
I let gravity do its job and pull me down. Knowing that every muscle movement uses up precious oxygen, I placed my arms at my side, looked straight ahead instead of up, or down in this case, and put my legs together to streamline myself as much as possible. My clothes offered more resistance than the skin diving and streamlined wetsuits I typically wore when free diving but, despite the drag they caused, I still descended rapidly.
I had to work constantly to equalize the pressure in my ears, and without a mask I had no way to clearly see my surroundings. I hit the pebble and sand bottom in what I assumed was around a hundred feet of water. At this depth they wouldn't be able to spot me from above, but I also couldn't hold my breath forever. My plan to escape Bardales had been reckless, and it forced me to make up the rest of it on the fly.
Orienting myself right side up again, I let the cold water swirl around me. Several shapes darted and moved in the water. It was obvious they were fish of some sort, though I couldn't make out the species. Their presence somehow brought a sense of reassurance and calm I desperately needed.
I went through the beginning of the familiar and involuntary diaphragm spasms. Ignoring these was one of the major keys to deep diving. It was a meditative, if uncomfortable, practice.
Thoughts and options raced through my mind. I needed more information. My blurred vision underwater was hindering the choices I could make. I could tell visibility in this nearly unspoiled sea was good, but without a mask I couldn't make out any details. I needed a place to hide.
Bardales' troops would have reached the ledge by now. If I swam straight up, they would pick me off with their rifles. Heading out to sea was a fool's errand. It would tire me out, and I had to return to land, eventually. The only option I could see was trying to surface as close to the cliff face as possible, where, with any luck, the waves would have carved out a small section at the bottom to obscure me from view. After, I would have to figure which way to go to find a beach and hope the waves didn't bash me up against the cliff.
My need to breathe was what finally spurred me into action. There was no way for me to know how long I had been down, but I had spent enough time underwater to know I needed to surface soon. If I waited too long, I would suffer a blackout, and with nobody else here to rescue me, it would prove just as fatal as being seen by Bardales' troops.
I pushed off the bottom, angling myself up and towards the cliff. The angle would slow my ascent, but my goal was to surface as close to the base of the cliff as possible. Using slow, measured strokes, I made my way to the surface. The solid wall of rock which formed the cliff came slowly into view and grew more impressive with each stroke. Soon the darkness of the deeper water faded and I could see the shimmering light refracting on
