The first one hit Carlito in the shoulder—with such force that he spun right round and dropped to the floor. Bullets raked the ground just in front of Osvaldo’s feet, raising small tufts in the earth, like tiny volcanoes.
For the first time since arriving on the island, Osvaldo felt afraid. He cast around, trying to establish where the shots were coming from as his men ducked down behind the nearest gravestones. And then he saw them.
Two men were peering over the wall at the far end of the graveyard, hunting rifles leveled at him. In a split second, as he dived for cover, he took a mental photograph: One of them was burly, with a sweaty bald pate and a ferocious look in his eyes, and the other was a younger man with a messy shock of hair, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he took aim.
Who are these motherfuckers?
“That money’s mine!” yelled Ibaibarriaga as he fired another shot. There was an impact, and the marble gravestone by Osvaldo’s head showered him with fragments. “Hands off, you bastard!”
That was the signal for chaos to break out. Suddenly, all the islanders were running hither and thither, fleeing from the exchange of gunfire. The gunmen, too busy returning fire, could do nothing to prevent them from scattering.
“Boss!” Python shouted, dropping down beside him. “It’s an ambush!”
“I can see that!” Osvaldo hissed.
“We can’t stay here! The cover is for shit, and they’ve got the high position, plus more firepower! We have to retreat!”
“The money’s over there!” Osvaldo pointed to the duffel bags, which had been left in what was now no-man’s-land. “We aren’t leaving without it!”
“But, boss, we’re almost out of ammo! Carlito’s hit, and for all we know, they could be about to flank us!”
Osvaldo swore. His lieutenant was right; they’d been caught completely off guard. He didn’t have a clue who the attackers were, or if they were part of a larger force. For all he knew, this could be part of a pincer movement. If they were also coming up from behind, he and his men were done for.
Osvaldo Salazar was clever, but he wasn’t all-seeing.
Had he known that it was only two of the lighthouse keepers, he might have made a different decision. Had he known that his adversaries had barely a dozen bullets left each, he would no doubt have proceeded differently. Had he known that they were far more terrified by the situation than his own men were, he would have made a stand.
Then things would have had a different ending.
A far bloodier one.
But Osvaldo had no way of knowing any of this, and he instead ordered the retreat.
The calm nerves that had kept him alive all those years won out over the rage. But this thing wasn’t over.
No way.
This was just a deferral.
“Head back to the beach,” he shouted to Python. “You help Carlito. Me and Joel will cover you.”
The four of them began moving back to the gate, Carlito wincing at every step, while Osvaldo and Python loosed off some shots at the lighthouse keepers. Ibaibarriaga and Pazos ducked as the bullets crunched into the stone wall.
The islanders were all racing to escape from that hornet’s nest. For a moment, Antía was right next to Osvaldo, but the gunman didn’t even notice.
The chaos was total.
Osvaldo’s whole plan, which had gone so smoothly until now, was unraveling.
41
“It’s All Your Fault”
“Come on, Diego!” Antía urged the boy, who was staring open mouthed at the chaos around him. “We have to go!”
“What’s going on? Who’s shooting?”
It’s the lighthouse keepers—but right now, that doesn’t matter. If we don’t get out of here, we’re dead.
