We sat like that until the gunship did a loop and returned to its starting position. The chopper hovered over us and once again I was in the sights of the sniper scopes. My head was the only visible target, but my emphatic gesturing with the upside-down gun meant that I wasn't going to experience my last moments with the smell of Bradley's fear in my nostrils.
A second 'Little Bird' screamed into view. This one was about two hundred yards out, and it swept over the open field from the west. Passing over the top of the first chopper, it tilted and raced off over the long grass behind me. The combined roar of both choppers drowned out both Bradley's and my exhortations for them to back off.
Out of the side door of the nearest chopper, a black garbed Hostage Rescue Team trooper rappelled to the floor. He was armed with an assault rifle and he took up a crouched covering position while two more members of the team dropped from the guts of the chopper like large black spiders on fat webs. Once the two exchanged positions with him, the first agent came towards us, his gun braced to his shoulder. The 'Little Bird' swooped away and finally I could hear myself think.
The FBI agent's voice rang loud and clear.
'Drop the weapon, Hunter. Now!'
I wasn't surprised he recognised me. He was one of the men SAC Kaufman had been communicating with from the headset. Whatever Kaufman had told him, he wasn't taking any chances. Truth was, even with my gun in an awkward upside-down position, I could manipulate it faster than the human eye could follow and could've shot him.
'Lose the fucking weapon.' To emphasise the command he leaned into his rifle so that it drew a bead on my forehead.
'The killer is still out there,' I shouted back. 'I wounded him, but he's still dangerous. I'm not dropping my gun.'
'The perp's our problem now. I have orders from SAC Kaufman to make you stand down.'
'Bradley is my problem, and I don't stand down until I know he's no longer in danger.'
Switching tack, the anonymous agent said to Bradley, 'Mr Jorgenson, we are here to protect you. You need immediate medical assistance. We can't offer that while Hunter is armed. Tell him to stand down.'
'Look,' I said. 'We're on the same side here. Let's cut the crap and get Bradley the hell away from here. I'm going after Dantalion.'
'You aren't going after anyone.' He'd taken another step forward. The two back-up agents had also moved to flank me. I was the proverbial fish in the barrel. But out there in the water lurked a more dangerous creature in need of spearing.
Rising up from behind Bradley, I lifted the SIG so it was clear to all. 'I'm going to holster my weapon, but that's as far as it goes. You can load Bradley into one of those birds, but I'm staying.'
'Step away from Mr Jorgenson,' said the first agent as though I hadn't spoken. 'The FBI will deal with this situation now. You do not have official sanction in this matter, Hunter. You are no longer on active duty and do not work with our government's agreement. If you refuse to step away you will be arrested for obstructing a federal agent.'
I stepped away.
I pushed the SIG into the waistband at the back of my jeans. One of the HRT agents came and laid a hand on Bradley's shoulder. He took a grip on the cloth of Bradley's shirt and pulled him round and away from me. As if I was the bad guy. The other two covered me with their rifles, but I was gratified to note that neither tried to disarm me. Not immediately.
I indicated the Ka-bar, hilt deep in the silt. 'I'm taking that as well.'
I stooped and picked up the knife. As I rose from my crouch I was already pivoting. The Ka-bar is a man- killer. To kill is its primary function, and all other applications of the fighting knife are side-products of its design. Not that I was about to kill an FBI agent in the correct execution of his duty. I used only the butt-end to thrust into the midriff of the man nearest me. He was wearing armour, but my blow was delivered with all the power of my upswinging arm and the force went directly through the vest and into his internal organs. Wind rushed out of his wide open mouth, even as I whipped the rifle out of his grasp and turned it on the first agent. I hurled the rifle at him, end over end. His reaction was to bat it away with the barrel of his own gun. And into the space he'd left me I stepped and launched a kick that caught him in the juncture of his thighs. He was wearing a box, but it didn't make a difference. Not when my shin lifted him a hand's width off the floor. I jumped in as he landed on his face, kicking away his gun with the side of my foot.
One and a half seconds isn't long in any violent confrontation. Viewed in afterthought it's amazing how rapidly a tableau can change. But there was a third armed agent to deal with.
'Now, Bradley,' I yelled.
Bradley immediately became less than the crippled weight he seemed. He threw his arms round the man supporting him, grappling the agent's rifle so that it was wedged between them. Bradley continued to drive into the man, and they went down on the ground, rolling in spongy earth. I charged over and grabbed the man's rifle away from him. Then I spun so that I was covering them all with the levelled rifle.
'OK, boys,' I yelled. 'The deal's the same. You get Bradley out of here, I go after Dantalion.'
The first agent was the first to recover from our attack. 'You have assaulted FBI agents in the execution of their duties. It is a federal crime, Hunter. You'll be arrested for this.'
'Get a fuckin' life,' I snapped. 'We all know how this is gonna go down. I'm leaving. You lot get the fuck out of here. You tell Kaufman I escaped. I've gone after the demented killer we all want to see dead. Where's the fucking crime in that?'
I threw the gun aside, took out my SIG and raced away. None of them lifted a weapon, so it seemed they'd seen sense in my words.
I'd seen something too. Way ahead of me. A pale blur of a face turned my way. A dark-garbed figure loping across the field towards the huge buildings on the horizon.
41
The bullet had clipped Dantalion's right shoulder when he was about to shoot Bradley Jorgenson in the face. It had cut away a large chunk of his hide, but had missed anything serious like an artery or bone. The wound was numb, likely very soon screaming in agony, but not totally debilitating. He could still hold his Glock, he could still shoot, and he could still finish his mission.
The force of the bullet had knocked him off balance, but that might prove a boon. It offered him another chance at killing Jorgenson. Next time it would take much, much longer and involve an infinite amount of pain.
The bullet had also thrown him headlong into the putrescent stream, providing salvation. If he'd fallen on the dry ground, Hunter would most definitely have killed him. The murky water had given him cover while he swam away. He was able to surface many yards west of where he'd fallen, concealed from the eyes of Hunter by overhanging foliage. There he'd been able to catch his breath and check the two things most important to him. The Glock was wet, but serviceable. After his last plunge into the Inter-Coastal Waterway, he'd taken care to protect his book in cling film, so it was barely damp when he fished it from inside the jumpsuit. Everything was A-OK.
Then fortune smiled on him again. The FBI helicopters forced Hunter away from the stream, giving him the opportunity to make his own break for freedom. He heard the roar of the choppers, the hard snap of rifles, and knew that the FBI had confused Hunter with him. Maybe they'd kill the bastard and leave the door open for him to get at Bradley a second time. Or maybe not. He couldn't rely on Lady Luck. He had to make his own opportunities.
He scrambled along the stream bed, found a place to climb out and crawled up on to the far side. Lying on the embankment, he watched as a chopper set down three armed agents and witnessed Hunter dispatching all three in the space of seconds. Impressive. Hunter was proving a dangerous enemy. Time, he decided, to finish him off.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he scrutinised again the power station he'd intended taking Bradley to. The buildings had a decrepit look, as if they had not known service in some time. They were bordered by a chain-link fence, but here and there he could make out breaches in it as though vandals had broken into the compound many times over the years. One of the nearer buildings had metal sheets over its windows and doors, but he could also
