The tan-colored wood was wet with blood around them.
Court hoped it was Spider’s blood and not hers.
Or his.
Court didn’t check for a wound; he had no time. He helped Laura to her bare feet. She hugged him tightly, and his focus slipped away from scanning for threats in the room, the gunfire outside, the burning and whipping draperies. Instead he hugged her back, tightly, looked down into her eyes. They were wide and bloodshot but alive, and he embraced her with his free hand.
She broke away from him after a moment, took off her gag, knelt down, and went through Spider’s suit coat. She pulled a micro Uzi free from a holster and stood back up.
Court said, “Follow me close. I have scuba gear hidden at—”
“We have to kill de la Rocha.”
“No! We don’t! I’m here for you! I’ve got you! Let’s go!”
Her eyes were wide with emotion, but Court couldn’t tell what was going through her head now. The fires had spread to the sofa and chairs, the sea breeze’s fuel turning small flames into swirling vortexes of smoking and burning debris. “I’m not leaving him alive.” She turned away from him and disappeared behind the curtain.
“Fuck,” Court shouted, but he followed her.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Court caught up with Laura at the top of a staircase. It was dark here and quiet save for a raging battle going on around the villa’s grounds. Police sirens wailed along with civilian car sirens, and the nonstop pop, pop, pop of rifles punctuated the madness below them. Smoke from the sala followed along at the ankles of Gentry and Laura as they headed up a dark hallway. Laura whispered that she’d been kept in the wine cellar since her arrival and admitted she had no idea where they were going.
Fully automatic fire came from inside the house now; it sounded like Madrigal’s men had pushed DLR’s men into the main sala. Laura found another stairwell, and Court noticed a blood trail; he wondered if he’d hit Daniel in the back with his blind shot through the curtains. They moved slowly and carefully at first, but when they heard a helicopter’s rotors spooling up above them, they ran upwards through the dark.
As they opened the door to the roof, both Court and Laura raised their weapons and opened fire. A man in a pilot’s uniform stood outside the black helicopter with a gun in his hand. Laura missed with her weapon, but Gentry brought the man down with four single shots from his Glock. As his body crumpled to the ground, the Eurocopter’s propellers sped up and the craft rose a few inches into the air, spinning on its axis, turning its nose out to the bay.
“It’s de la Rocha!” Laura screamed, running for the helicopter.
“He’s gone!” Court answered back over the wail of the propellers.
But Laura ignored him and sprinted across the roof, towards the lifting chopper.
Court cussed loudly and then raced after her again.
Daniel de la Rocha had been shot in the upper left shoulder by that pinche Gray Man gringo, but he’d be okay, if only he could get away. He was a well-trained helo pilot with over one hundred hours in this model of Eurocopter, and all he needed now was to put some distance between himself and the attack by los Vaqueros. He knew the Gray Man and the girl were chasing after him up the stairs, so he’d kicked the pilot out of his chopper, handed him one of his .45s, and gave him orders to shoot anyone on the roof until DLR could get the fuck out of here.
As he rolled the sleek chopper to the left and began gaining lift, the back door opened up behind him. It was too loud to be heard without screaming at the top of his lungs, but as he lifted off, he did just that. “I told you to wait on the roof for—”
He felt the hot barrel of a submachine gun press into the back of his head. “Land!” It was the girl, screaming into his right ear.
He couldn’t believe it.
He looked back over his shoulder, saw the girl, and then, behind her, the Gray Man himself climbed up through the open door. DLR increased the throttle and pushed the cyclic stick forward, almost throwing the American back out the door. Finally, the American fell in for good, rolling all the way across the floor and grabbing onto a cargo tie against the wall. Laura had a good hold on DLR’s seat, and though the gun wavered from his head for a moment, she jammed it back seconds later. “Land! Land, or I shoot!”
“You gonna shoot the pilot, you dumb bitch?” he asked, screaming and laughing at the same time. He had no idea if the Gray Man could fly a helicopter; it was a fair bet he could, so de la Rocha increased speed and jacked the chopper violently to the left and right, desperate to keep the aircraft on the verge of falling out of the sky. This way, even if the gringo assassin could pilot the bird, he wouldn’t be able to take the controls in time to avoid a crash.