outdated, SUV style all-terrain vehicle built during the Soviet era for use by the military. Since the fall of communism, surplus vehicles were exported to those countries with ties to Russia, including Cuba. Many came onto the civilian market. In countries with poorly developed infrastructures, they came into their own, able to traverse tracks and roads that would have stopped a more modern truck. Even so, it looked like an antique. He had doubts about whether the engine would start.
"Get in the cab," she hissed.
They reached the truck, and she told the rest of them to climb in back. They leapt over the tailgate and dragged Vega after them. As they pulled him up, Nolan saw blood on the cobblestones where he'd been shot. He looked up as Eva shouted at him again, and he ran to join her in the cab.
She started the engine, roared out of the courtyard, and jammed on the brakes. A police cruiser, another Soviet built vehicle, a Lada saloon, had pulled across the entrance to block them. She looked at him, and for the first time she seemed uncertain.
"My truck is worth twenty thousand dollars to me. That is how much it would cost me to replace it on this island."
"Do it. We'll pay for the damage, that's a promise. Besides, those Ladas are crap."
She nodded and said, "That's true," as she stamped down hard on the gas pedal. The Gaz surged forward, and she caught the flimsy car on the front of the hood. The blow was so hard the Russian built saloon tipped over until it was lying on its roof, but the Gaz had not escaped damage. The front fender had bent inward until it touched the tire, and they drove away emitting a high-pitched noise of metal scraping rubber.
"We have to stop," she shouted, "We can't carry on. It'll wreck the tire."
She started to slow, but a hail of bullets cracked past the cab, and several rounds tore holes in the canvas covering the rear cargo area. She jammed her foot back on the gas, but the noise from the damaged fender was louder, and it was evident they'd soon lose the tire.
"Hold them off," he shouted to the men in back. "Stop the jeep as soon as you can."
She nodded. The order to his men wasn't necessary. They were already firing their weapons at the cops, and the interior of the Gaz was assaulted by the noise of their combined gunfire. Even Vega had produced a weapon, a bulky but iconic Stechkin, the pistol that fired a Makarov 9mm round, yet had an additional benefit. It could fire on full auto, and he'd attached the optional wooden butt to the weapon, turning it into a useful submachine gun. The magazine carried twenty rounds, and he fired in short, professional bursts.
More shots struck the Gaz, and then Eva turned the corner, and they were out of the line of fire. She kept her foot pressed to the floor, and they lurched around more corners and bumped along tracks until they reached the outskirts of Tortuguilla. Even in the darkness, and with the absence of any streetlamps, he could see they were coming to the edge of town. A patch of deep jungle lay ahead, as well as the main road, which would soon be alive with cops.
"What are you going to do? They'll call in reinforcements, and they're sure to find us."
She grinned then for the first time. "Not where I'm going, they won't. This may be a piece of crap, but off-road, it's unbeatable. Anything that can handle Russia in winter can go anywhere."
She drove along the road for a few hundred meters and then swung the wheel hard over. They were bumping over a field, little more than hard beaten earth, with abundant rocks and stones to make their journey more hazardous and uncomfortable. She smashed through a wooden fence, swung the wheel over, and stopped.
"We need to free that wheel. We won't get much further the way it is."
He nodded and turned to the men in back. "Everyone out. We need to bend the wing away from the tire."
It proved to be more difficult than they would have thought possible. Unusual in anything Soviet built, the metal was
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