The Andalucian Friend

Prologue - A7 Motorway between Malaga and Marbella. July.She kept glancing between the rear-view mirror and the road ahead. She couldn't see the motorcycle, notjust then. It had been there a moment before, looming up behind her, then it disappeared. She pulled into theoffside lane of the motorway, trying to seek cover from the cars behind her. He kept looking back, trying to direct her driving from the passenger seat. She couldn't hear his words, just the panic in his voice. The shaky outline of the motorbike appeared in the rear-view mirror, disappeared for a few moments, thenreappeared as it cruised in and out between the cars behind them. She pulled out into the left-hand lane, which lay open ahead of her, and put her foot down, the car vibrating with the rapid revolution of the engine as she put it into fifth gear, the highest. She felt sick. There was a draft around her feet, the bullets must have hit somewhere down there. The holes made awhining noise that merged with the sound of [...]the straining engine, a terrible noise, obliterating thought. She couldn't remember how far she had driven before the shots came--sudden and unreal, disturbing the equilibrium of the universe--this was wrong, a great big invisible wrong in the middle of everything. She had seen that the man riding the motorbike was wearing a blue helmet with a dark visor, that the gunman riding pillion had a black helmet with no visor, she had seen his eyes for a moment, she had seen the emptiness in them. They had been shot at from the left; the sound came out of nowhere--rattling in quick succession. Theclatter inside the car sounded like someone was hitting the bodywork with a heavy chain. At first she didn'trealise what was happening, even though she had seen the weapon in the gunman's hand and simultaneously heard a yell, but she didn't know if it had come from her or the man beside her. She glanced at him. He was different now: his nerves and fear were almost shining through, showing themselvesas anger. That much was clear from his face: furrowed brow, staring eyes--she could see a twitch in oneof them. He pressed one of the quick-dial numbers on his mobile again, he had done this once already sincethe shots were fired, . He waited, staring intently ahead of him, no answer this time either, he hung up.The motorbike was heading towards them at high speed, he yelled at her to drive faster. She realised thatspeed wasn't going to save them, and nor would his yelling. She felt the metallic taste of fear in her mouth, asa white noise buzzed feverishly in her head. Her panic had crossed a boundary, she was no longer trembling, she just felt a terrible weight in her arms, as if driving the car had become too heavy for her. And, like an invincibleenemy, the motorbike was suddenly alongside them. She glanced to the left and saw the snub-nosed weaponin the gunman's hand again as he raised it towards her.