cough, once, twice, three times in rapid succession: Thok! Thok!
Thok!
Then, as abruptly and as terrifyingly as it had all begun, it was over: the stabbing lights were gone and the helicopter itself was scudding along the shoreline, jinking left and right like a
big dirt fly, skimming low over the sand, rearing up and over Mi’s car. Maybe Mi cast a spell on it, scare it right away. A plume of flame poured out from the chopper’s tail, trailing
fire like a comet across the sky. It flew straight for a few heartbeats then lurched wildly to the right. A moment later there was a loud whoomph and it jerked straight up into the air, hung
for a second and then piled down into the ground, erupting in a sheet of dazzling orange and white flame, so bright that Reve had to shield his eyes against the burst of light, even though it must
have been at least half a mile away.
There was silence apart from the sea slopping against the pier, the hiss of fire and water. Then Reve heard someone moaning, someone else calling and the pattering of running feet, engines
starting up. Some of the motorboats must have cast off and headed into the dark rather than sit there, easy targets, and now they were nosing back to the pier.
He touched LoJo’s shoulder. ‘You OK?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
Ramon’s brother was hunched against the wall, his arms wrapped over his head, his body quivering still. ‘You want to go look for your brother?’ Reve said. ‘I think
he’s all right, you know. Maybe a little wet.’
The boy clambered to his feet. Looked down at his torn-up knee raw from the fall. He poked it with his finger and winced. ‘You nearly broke my leg,’ he said.
‘He saved your life,’ said LoJo.
‘Yeah?’ He shrugged. But he peered at Reve and after half a second said, ‘I know you. Hevez don’t like you much.’ Then he grinned. ‘Don’t like me much
either.’ Then he ran off, or tried to – his hurt knee made him hobble.
At that moment the truck’s headlights flicked on, and in the sudden glare Reve saw men hurrying down towards where the boats had been moored. There was fuel burning on the water and the
boats that had cast off as soon as the helicopter attacked were now drifting a few lengths away from the pier, outside the ring of fire. Like hungry dogs, Reve thought, ready to come in again but
not too sure if it was safe.
The señor had Calde and his men gathered round him. A moment later bulky Calde was running back to the edge of the pier, gesturing for the boats to come in.
‘How many we lost?’ shouted the señor.
‘One only,’ Calde called back.
‘One only,’ mimicked the señor to his men. ‘How that country pig Calde like to walk round with only one cojon , hey?’ His men laughed and then peeled away as
he gave more orders, to dismantle the gun, strap down the load.
The señor took a couple of steps from the truck towards where Reve and LoJo were watching from the deep shadow of the wall. He flipped open his cellphone.
‘It’s me, Moro . . .’ His voice was low and ugly. ‘I want to know who gave a call to these dirt-fly coastguards . . . Yes. You’re the lawyer. You find out.’
The señor was silent, listening for a moment and then said, ‘Fix it.’ He snapped the cell shut.
The señor was now standing so close that Reve could smell him: something sweet and musky, not the village smell of salt, fish and sweat. He noticed now that, though the señor wore
a suit like his men, there was something shabby about him too. He wore a stringy vest under his dark jacket, an old pair of trainers on his feet. The señor scratched the back of his neck,
looked at the phone in his hand and then made another call. ‘Captain,’ he said, his voice low, polite this time, ‘I have a problem here . . .’ and then he turned his back
and Reve couldn’t hear what else he said. The señor ended the call, took one last draw on the butt of his cigar and tossed it away towards where Reve and LoJo
Thok!
Then, as abruptly and as terrifyingly as it had all begun, it was over: the stabbing lights were gone and the helicopter itself was scudding along the shoreline, jinking left and right like a
big dirt fly, skimming low over the sand, rearing up and over Mi’s car. Maybe Mi cast a spell on it, scare it right away. A plume of flame poured out from the chopper’s tail, trailing
fire like a comet across the sky. It flew straight for a few heartbeats then lurched wildly to the right. A moment later there was a loud whoomph and it jerked straight up into the air, hung
for a second and then piled down into the ground, erupting in a sheet of dazzling orange and white flame, so bright that Reve had to shield his eyes against the burst of light, even though it must
have been at least half a mile away.
There was silence apart from the sea slopping against the pier, the hiss of fire and water. Then Reve heard someone moaning, someone else calling and the pattering of running feet, engines
starting up. Some of the motorboats must have cast off and headed into the dark rather than sit there, easy targets, and now they were nosing back to the pier.
He touched LoJo’s shoulder. ‘You OK?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
Ramon’s brother was hunched against the wall, his arms wrapped over his head, his body quivering still. ‘You want to go look for your brother?’ Reve said. ‘I think
he’s all right, you know. Maybe a little wet.’
The boy clambered to his feet. Looked down at his torn-up knee raw from the fall. He poked it with his finger and winced. ‘You nearly broke my leg,’ he said.
‘He saved your life,’ said LoJo.
‘Yeah?’ He shrugged. But he peered at Reve and after half a second said, ‘I know you. Hevez don’t like you much.’ Then he grinned. ‘Don’t like me much
either.’ Then he ran off, or tried to – his hurt knee made him hobble.
At that moment the truck’s headlights flicked on, and in the sudden glare Reve saw men hurrying down towards where the boats had been moored. There was fuel burning on the water and the
boats that had cast off as soon as the helicopter attacked were now drifting a few lengths away from the pier, outside the ring of fire. Like hungry dogs, Reve thought, ready to come in again but
not too sure if it was safe.
The señor had Calde and his men gathered round him. A moment later bulky Calde was running back to the edge of the pier, gesturing for the boats to come in.
‘How many we lost?’ shouted the señor.
‘One only,’ Calde called back.
‘One only,’ mimicked the señor to his men. ‘How that country pig Calde like to walk round with only one cojon , hey?’ His men laughed and then peeled away as
he gave more orders, to dismantle the gun, strap down the load.
The señor took a couple of steps from the truck towards where Reve and LoJo were watching from the deep shadow of the wall. He flipped open his cellphone.
‘It’s me, Moro . . .’ His voice was low and ugly. ‘I want to know who gave a call to these dirt-fly coastguards . . . Yes. You’re the lawyer. You find out.’
The señor was silent, listening for a moment and then said, ‘Fix it.’ He snapped the cell shut.
The señor was now standing so close that Reve could smell him: something sweet and musky, not the village smell of salt, fish and sweat. He noticed now that, though the señor wore
a suit like his men, there was something shabby about him too. He wore a stringy vest under his dark jacket, an old pair of trainers on his feet. The señor scratched the back of his neck,
looked at the phone in his hand and then made another call. ‘Captain,’ he said, his voice low, polite this time, ‘I have a problem here . . .’ and then he turned his back
and Reve couldn’t hear what else he said. The señor ended the call, took one last draw on the butt of his cigar and tossed it away towards where Reve and LoJo
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