uninhabited mountains that bisected the peninsula. Part of him wondered what had gone wrong with the bull. Everything had been so perfectly planned, and then it didn’t explode.
Spotting the cactus with the streak of yellow paint on it, he made another right turn, and thirty yards farther, pulled to a stop. All the planning was worth it, he reasoned with satisfaction. They’d never catch him, and even though he hadn’t succeeded in his attempt to kill the two presidents, this escape would be spoken of in hushed awe by police for generations.
He killed the motorcycle engine, dropped his mount and walked into a small cave that had been eroded by centuries of flash floods from the mountains. He couldn’t help but grin at the thought of his pursuers’ plight.
Cruz saw the motorcycle tire tracks careen off to the left, and he spun the wheel, nearly flipping the burly vehicle. As they tore up the arroyo, they heard a sound from above. Cruz slowed, and the men searched the sky for the source of the clamor.
An ultra-light flew off into the distance, a single man at the controls. It was already five hundred yards away, so out of rifle range, leaving Cruz and the soldiers to gape at it in disbelief.
It banked over San Jose, and made for the coast and the sparsely inhabited East Cape area.
Cruz watched it disappearing from view as he radioed to the pursuing choppers. A few minutes later they
A large part of him wanted to celebrate at the prospect of nailing the son of a bitch, but a tiny voice inside him countered that they wouldn’t.
“I’ll be arriving in two minutes. Have everyone suited up and ready to go,” he instructed into the phone, which he then dropped; watching as it fell two hundred feet to the ground. He was deliberately flying as low as possible, so as to avoid possible radar hits, but there was always a chance, so he’d taken an extra precaution.
He rolled onto a dirt road by a large cement factory and braked to a stop, shutting off the ultra-light motor before climbing to his feet. Three men, all dressed exactly like
“Good luck, gentlemen. On your mark, get set…go!” He gunned the throttle and took off, as did the rest, each in a slightly different direction.
As he rode towards the coast, he heard the choppers overhead. They’d managed to track the ultra-light, as he’d feared. Oh well. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that there were only two helicopters. One peeled off after the pair of racers who had gone via an inland dirt track, and the other stuck with
He glanced down at his speedometer; he was doing fifty miles per hour — dangerously fast on that stretch of marginal track. The helicopter, uncertain which rider to go after, had gained altitude, the better to follow them both. He knew, and had anticipated that as he rounded the point and made it to the small beach outpost of Zacatitos. The other rider would branch even further inland, forcing his pursuer to make a decision. That would be in about three minutes at the rate he was traveling. He could see the other ATV’s dust cloud to his left as they diverged.
He still liked his odds.
As he rounded the point, the helicopter faced the expected moment of truth. He’d know soon enough which rider the pilot had decided to follow, so he slowed a little as he passed the houses in Zacatitos. He pricked his muffled ears for the chopper and heard it heading north, after the other man. His luck had held.
He continued up the coast road for another few minutes — not so much a road as a single lane, badly-rutted dirt track. The ATV was the perfect vehicle for such terrain, and he wondered how the residents got their cars over the ruts, especially during the brief, intense rainy season.
A green beachfront house on his right sat atop a bluff, the ocean crashing below the gentle seaside slope. He turned down the drive and pulled into the courtyard, taking care to close the gate after him. The house was vacant, the owners having left it empty during the unbearable summer months, which he’d gleaned from talking to a real estate agent who’d shown him the property two weeks earlier. He’d broken in last week and made the meticulous preparations for his escape.
The serenity was broken by the shuddering
Perhaps next time.
Knowing that the helicopter crash would draw more scrutiny within minutes, he pulled the ATV into the garage and shut the doors. Now it was just another multi-million dollar house on the beach.
And what a nice beach it was. White sand, medium drop off, some submerged rocks, little undertow.
Worst case, he could swim it. But the Torpedoes were worth their weight in gold.
He pointed the unit out into the open sea and got under way.
It was a good day for a boat ride.