squad car.
'You'd better get in. I'll take you to Jorgenson.'
'Go ahead,' I told him. 'I'll bring my own car.'
The Audi was no good to me a half-mile away.
'Prefer it if you came with us,' SAC Kaufman said slowly. 'I'll also have to ask you to hand over your sidearm.'
'Isn't going to happen.' I challenged him with my stare.
'I've got a man down there who has already survived two attempts on his life. Don't want to risk that again,' he said.
'I'm here to protect him, not harm him.'
'I don't know that.'
'Walter Conrad vouched for me,' I reminded him.
'Walter is CIA,' Kaufman said in reply, 'and we all know what they are famous for.'
'I'm not CIA,' I said.
'No. But that's the problem… I'm not sure what you are.' Then he turned his back on me and walked towards the sheriff's car.
'Kaufman.'
He turned.
'I'm not here to usurp you. We're on the same side.'
His mouth made a thin line, and he turned away again. I shook my head and then climbed into the Audi. The cop at the gate gave me room to bring the car in and I followed the police vehicle back on to the Jorgenson estate.
Approaching the village made up of estate staff lodgings, I was surprised when we took a left, skirted the village and approached a lone wooden house standing on the Atlantic shore. This house wasn't like the others; it was older, more homely. Less forbidding than the brick monstrosities that the younger Jorgensons had erected.
Why we were headed there instead of directly towards Bradley's house I didn't quite get, but then I saw the silver Lincoln parked adjacent to the back of the house and it made sense. Bradley had gone somewhere he felt safe.
SAC Kaufman climbed out of the police car. He leaned in and said something to the uniformed driver. The driver shook his head, then peeled away, heading back along the road towards Bradley's house. I parked the Audi next to the Lincoln Seagram had been driving the day before. Climbing from my car, I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket. I answered it and Rink said, 'I'm back from San Francisco. Harvey's got Mari tucked up safe and sound. I'm on my way back to you now.'
'Pleased to hear it, Rink,' I said. 'Your mom?'
'On the mend. She smacked me round the head for leaving you alone and told me to get my ass back here. How could I argue with that?'
'You know better than that.'
'You ain't kidding,' he laughed. Then his tone grew more serious. Back to business. 'The punk survived, huh?'
'Unfortunately, yes.'
'Where are you?'
'I'm back at the estate,' I told him. 'Had to pull a few strings via Walter Conrad, but I should be with Bradley in a minute or two.'
'Walter came through, huh?'
'He had no option, did he? He owes us big time.'
'No,' Rink rumbled. I imagined him touching the scar on his chin. Like the knife wound in my chest, Rink's scar was courtesy of Tubal Cain.
'I'll wait here until you arrive, then we'll move Bradley between us.'
'Give me an hour or two, OK?'
'Should take that long to sort things out at this end,' I told him. 'I've got a fed here with a stick up his ass.'
'Nothing new there then,' Rink said.
I hung up.
'I heard that,' SAC Kaufman said.
'You were meant to, Kaufman,' I said. 'We started out on the wrong foot back there. Can we try this again? We're both here for the same reason, so let's agree to work together, huh? Truth is, I'm not going anywhere, so we may as well be civil to each other.'
Kaufman nodded. He swept the surroundings with one look. 'Would be a whole lot easier without this stick up my ass.'
We shook hands again, this time with meaning.
'Walter Conrad told me what you'd managed to piece together about the shooter. I've passed the information along to my people. Got someone on the skin-complaint angle, another on this demon stuff. Hopefully we'll have something useful before long.'
'He's unorthodox. I don't think he's been trained through the usual channels.'
Kaufman paused mid-step. 'That in itself could point us towards him. Maybe one of these private CQB courses or something?'
'Nah, close quarter battle's about protection. This guy comes from a different school. Maybe he has roots with one of those paramilitary Home Defence groups or something similar.'
Kaufman continued walking.
My step after him turned into a lunge.
I grabbed him by the shoulders, and powered my chest against him, taking us both down hard on the pavement.
Through the space we'd just vacated whistled two high-velocity rounds.
For all he was wearing an expensive suit, Kaufman was no slouch at crawling. He was off, scurrying for the cover of a low wall. He reached it within seconds and went over, landing on his back.
I had gone the other direction, rolling sideways. Another round chipped concrete from the paving stones, throwing splinters towards my face. Blinking to clear my vision, I continued rolling and got myself under a parked station wagon. Somewhere along the way, I'd drawn my SIG and was looking for targets.
My first reaction was to aim for the window where the shooter had fired from. It was the subtle shifting of his shadow, the pale face looming above it that had warned me of his presence. If my mind hadn't been tuned to recognise the danger of his ghoulish face, Dantalion would have got us cold.
The window had been smashed by his bullets, but I saw no movement there. He'd moved, possibly to get a clearer angle on me.
Just as I had that thought a round struck the front tyre next to my head and the hiss of air sounded like an angry snake. The car dipped slowly towards me, and I wormed further away from the collapsing corner of the chassis.
'FBI,' Kaufman shouted. He had one arm propped on the low wall, his service revolver aiming towards the empty window. 'Drop your weapon and come out.'
The FBI SAC wasn't a stranger to action. But it looked like it was some years since he'd engaged in a gun battle. His face was as pale as that of the man who was trying to kill us.
'Keep your head down, Kaufman,' I shouted across the intervening space. His gaze jumped to me, back to the house. I knew he was going to shout again even before his mouth opened.
'Come out with your hands in the air and you will not be harmed.'
Bullets smacked the wall beside him and I saw his gun arm drop. He cursed loudly and I wasn't sure if he'd been wounded or not.
My position was not the best for shooting back. I could only see a small portion of the house, and most of that was blank wall. On my belly, I used my feet to push me towards the station wagon's engine. That was a slightly better position, but most of my view remained obscured by the sunken front end of the car. It took me about
