passing a lake. The Lincoln appeared to be slowing. I nudged Kaufman's shoulder and he banked away, taking the helicopter out of Dantalion's line of sight. We hovered where we could just make out a flash of silver.
'He's moving again,' Kaufman announced and he dipped the nose of the chopper and we moved forwards much slower than before. The Lincoln disappeared beneath a second field of long grass.
'You think he saw us?'
'Not likely. He maybe stopped to get his bearings.'
'Do you know where that road takes us?'
'All the way to Okeechobee. There he has only three choices. North, south or to the bottom of the lake.'
This latest field wasn't quite as large as the first. It should take Dantalion less than a minute to pass through it and come back in sight. We hung back, cautious, waiting for the Lincoln to reappear. I counted out sixty seconds in my head.
'He must have stopped again.'
'We can't be sure of that. He could simply be driving slower than he was before. Hold on, I'll get a little closer, see what's what.'
He put the chopper into a hover, then very slowly took us sideways. The helicopter began to rotate through a half-circle. It gave us a view of the entire field and where sunlight broke on the blacktop about three-quarters of a mile ahead.
'Don't see anything. I think you're right, Hunter. He's stopped somewhere along the way.'
'Can you put me down?' I asked. 'This end would be best. You can go to the far side and see if you can backtrack along the road.'
'He'll hear us coming. He could be waiting for us.'
'That's fine by me. There's no Seagram to fuck things up this time.'
'I know Walter Conrad said that you were one of the best that he'd ever worked with, but it'd be best to wait for back-up. I've a couple McDonnell Douglas 530s on their way here. We could round Dantalion up between us, no sweat.'
McDonnell Douglas 530s are commonly known as 'Little Birds'. They're the gunships employed by the FBI during aerial assaults; the type you see in movies with rocket launchers and men in black jumpsuits hanging out the side with sniper rifles. If Dantalion caught a glimpse of any of those, he'd kill Bradley there and then.
'Can't wait for back-up,' I said. 'He's stopped for a reason. Maybe he doesn't see Bradley as a hostage any more and wants to lighten the load. We need to stop him now, Kaufman.'
He knew that I was right, but I could tell he was considering all the different ramifications for his future career with the FBI. His decisions would be severely tested by his bosses up at Quantico and Washington DC, but in the end, I was my own man and not under his direct jurisdiction.
'Careful of those power lines,' I cautioned as we swung back to the open area next to the big lake.
'The ground is too boggy to land here. I'm going to have to look for somewhere firmer.'
'No time.' I took the Ka-Bar out of my boot and tucked it through a belt loop of my jeans. 'Just get us low enough so I can jump.'
He looked at me like I was insane. He probably had it in mind that I'd disappear up to my neck in a sink hole. But then maybe that would save him from the bureaucratic nightmare he'd have to face for allowing me to conduct my own vigilante action against Dantalion.
Suit yourself, Hunter, his expression said. Then he was going through the routine of bringing us down towards the ground. I pushed open the cockpit door and it slammed back against the side of the chopper. The downwash from the rotor blades flattened the deep grass beneath me. It lifted loose debris that swirled around us like we were in a cyclone.
'This is low enough.' I swung my legs out of the cockpit. I took out the mobile phone, held it tight in my left hand, and took my SIG Sauer in my right. Over the noise of the engine I shouted, 'My friend Rink is coming. Don't let any of your boys stand in his way. He's not as patient with people as I am.'
Kaufman gave me a tight-lipped smile. 'Just watch your ass, Hunter.'
I winked. Then dropped out of the chopper, hoping I didn't land in the gaping jaws of an alligator.
39
Bradley Jorgenson could not have got far in the time it took Dantalion to conceal the Lincoln from the road. A couple of minutes, that was all. In his drugged and disoriented state, it was highly probable that he'd managed to get as far into the long grass as one determined rush would take him, before falling face down and going back to sleep. His trail was easy enough to see; there were bent and broken stems of the bamboo-like grass angling away from the front of the Lincoln into the green twilight.
Dantalion took out the Glock 17 he'd liberated from Seagram and checked the load. He fed spare rounds into the magazine as he started after Bradley. From somewhere ahead the sound of a body pushing through the long grass came to his ears. Then something else: the whup, whup, whup of rotor blades.
He craned round to see the helicopter, but he was surrounded by the tall grass, looking up at only a tiny patch of blue sky. The walls of this maze had the effect of distorting and redirecting the source of the noise and made it difficult to pinpoint where the rotor sound was coming from. He couldn't get a location, but he knew that this was the helicopter which had been on the lawn outside Eunice Jorgenson's ramshackle home. Hunter was proving to be one resourceful dude.
Bradley Jorgenson was still alive only because Dantalion planned to use him to bait a larger trap. He'd hoped to torture Marianne Dean's whereabouts from her lover, contact her, and then demand that she come to a prearranged location where he'd finish the two of them. Hunter and his friend Rink would be along for the ride, but Dantalion was capable of killing them all. He'd beaten Hunter every other time they'd met and felt sure he would do so again.
The sound of the chopper receded, and he assumed that Hunter would continue on towards Okeechobee, before backtracking this way. It would give him all the time he needed to catch up with Bradley Jorgenson.
Sure enough, he heard the drone of the chopper as it swung away to the west. Dantalion smiled to himself, then stepped into the tall grass.
Small biting insects called this grass home.
So did serpents and lizards and all manner of crawling things.
Not a place that Dantalion would choose to frequent. But he pushed through the grass happily, feeling that all was right in his world. The numerological equations in his book would soon be back in balance. He could write up the numbers of those he'd dispatched in the meantime, and he even made himself a silent bet that he was close to meeting the tally of the original Dantalion and his command of thirty-six legions of spirits.
The going was tough. The grass grew in great hummocks, but sent out feelers at ankle level that stretched taut across the clear areas, creating tripwires as effective as any he'd ever laid. The grass itself was as strong and coarse as hemp rope. Sheaves on the stems made long prickly spines where they frayed and split from the main growth, and they scratched and plucked at his flesh and clothing with each step. His hands were protected from the spearing grass, but his face was bare now that he'd ditched the helmet.
He couldn't hear the helicopter now, but he could hear Bradley's stumbling progress. Everything else was still and silent, the indigenous creatures of this sea of grass fleeing before the presence of alien invaders. There was an overpowering stench of rotting vegetation. A breeze touched his face like the caress of the lover he'd never known. Instead of following Bradley, he swung to the left and pushed through the grass towards a wide-open field. Separating him from the cultivated land flowed a sluggish stream, cut out of the earth to help drain the swamp this field had once been. The stream, clogged with black mud and decaying foliage, was the source of the stench. Across the field he could see the buildings and pylons that he'd noticed from the road. Strange place to have a factory, he thought, maybe some sort of electrical substation.
Following the edge of the drainage channel, he could gain time and distance on the fleeing Bradley. He took off at a lope, peering back and over his shoulder as he did so. Giving up the cover of the long grass was great for manoeuvrability, but it made him visible to anyone chasing him. The helicopter would be back and he didn't want to find himself in the sights of an FBI sharpshooter. Bradley's crashing flight through the grass was all he needed to
