Cut and Run

Chapter 43

I’d been meaning to take an air-boat ride for the last couple of years, ever since I’d taken up residence here in Florida. Riding the air-boats with their huge rotating fan on the back has always summed up my idea of seeing the beauty of the Everglades in style, but I hadn’t got round to it yet. In the time I’d been here, other things just seemed to get in the way. Too often those things had meant violent death to too many people. A lot of those people should have still been around, but some of them deserved exactly what they got.

‘We get out of this alive,’ I had told Rink earlier, ‘I’m gonna hire an air-boat and go and look at the ’gators.’

‘Keep your eyes peeled, buddy, or you might see ’em sooner than you think.’

He wasn’t kidding.

Rink then slipped away through tall grass, heading in a circuitous route round the back end of the hospital grounds. We had our mobile phones to communicate by, but that was the last I’d heard from the big guy in the last few hours.

Instead of careening through the swamp on a flat-bottomed boat, the huge propeller whirring behind me, my view of the swamp was from a raised hummock of limestone. I’d built an observation post there, scraping a narrow furrow in the earth to make lying down a little more comfortable. I had my carbine propped in a natural V between two rocks, the DPM sheet spread over me with tufts of grass strewn over it to aid the camouflage.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t hiding from Luke Rickard. My reason for remaining so still and silent was so that the men in the grounds of the hospital were unaware of my presence. The men — Hubbard’s HRT troopers — would see my being there as a interference in lawful process worthy of my being arrested and thrown in chains. We were on the same side; it was just a pity they couldn’t see things that way. They wanted to arrest Luke Rickard, hurl the weight of the Federal Court system at him and lock him away for life, while I just wanted to bury the asshole.

Hubbard’s men were highly trained — probably the cream of all SWAT teams in the country — but they weren’t the right men for this job. They were specialists in hostage rescue, not standing guard against a determined assassin. I’d counted half a dozen storm troopers up until now, intimidating in their black Kevlar armour and helmets but no deterrent to someone like Luke Rickard. Maybe Hubbard thought he could frighten off the killer with this show of force, when instead all he was doing was showing his hand and allowing the planning of countermeasures. He should have brought only a small hand-picked team of undercover agents, men and women who could blend with the hospital staff. That way Rickard wouldn’t find it so easy to determine the strength of his enemy. That would give him more pause, make him worry that everyone inside the hospital was a potential threat and that this was neither the correct time nor place for a hit. That would slow him down more than any skirmish line of heavy artillery would. To stop an assassin you had to think like one.

It had been a long day.

Rink can sit for days without moving, but I felt the need for action like a case of hives all over my body. There was the possibility that Rickard had seen sense and had made off to some remote corner of the world where he could concentrate on rebuilding his trade as a contract killer. Lying here, watching the grounds of the hospital over the top of the fence could be a supreme waste of my time, but I didn’t think so. I’d told the others as much: Rickard was coming, and I still stood by my words. More than anything, he had to be stopped. Everything about him was exactly what I hated — especially the face he’d stolen from me: it reminded me too much of the dark things I’d had to do in the past.

As I’ve said, Rapid Intuitive Experience is the designated military term for that sixth sense you get when you feel you are being watched. I’ve felt the cold prod between my shoulder blades on too many occasions to ignore it. Going very still, I listened, used my peripheral vision to pick out any subtle movement a direct stare would miss. But I found nothing out of the ordinary.

Not until my mobile phone vibrated against my chest.

The old spider sense had picked up on the urgency of the incoming call.

‘You got your face on, Hunter?’

Rink says that I have some sort of stone-cold expression that I wear on missions. I’ve tried to catch my reflection to see what he sees, but I’ve just looked the same to me. Nonetheless, Rink is adamant and he calls it my face. Maybe that’s what I’d recognised in Rickard’s features and was why I hated him so much.

‘What’s up?’

‘Unless the feebie on this side has just had a major cardiac arrest, someone just shot him with a silenced gun.’

‘He’s dead?’

‘Hasn’t got up again.’

‘Someone with a high-powered rifle,’ I said. ‘Has to be to go through his armour.’

‘Wait up…’

There was a few seconds of silence. When Rink came back on he was whispering lower than before. ‘There’s another feebie who came out of the trees and is checking on his buddy. Now… hmm, that’s strange.’

‘It’s him.’

‘Think you’re right, Hunter. He’s dragging the dead man into some bushes.’

‘Think you can take him, Rink?’

‘Not from here. Gotta move in.’

‘Hold tight. I’m coming, OK.’

‘He gets inside, we’ll be hard put to differentiate him from the other HRT guys.’

‘He gets inside, he’ll be going for Alisha. We’ll catch him there if needs be.’

Ending the call, I came up to a crouch, pulled back the DPM sheet and then jumped down from the limestone outcrop. Angling left, the fence gave me cover as I moved in, but then I headed for the gate. As soon as I was through it I had to cross open lawn that offered only sporadic cover by way of shrubs and flower beds. I zigzagged between the bushes, stopping at each while I scanned for the FBI troopers. One of the HRT men was about fifty yards away, but he had his back turned. Silently I ran to the next cover, going down on my belly in a flower display. Through the leaves and blooms I searched for the trooper. He still stood cradling his gun and staring off into the distance. His shoulders were slumped, disillusioned by many hours of standing eventless guard duty. Coming to my feet I hurried on. I reached the side of the hospital building without raising the alarm.

My phone vibrated again.

The building came with a crawl space. A lattice frame stopped animals larger than snakes or rodents from getting under the building, but it was brittle, dried out by the Floridian heat. I grabbed and tugged loose a five-foot-long section and then swung under the crawl space. I pulled the frame back up, just in case anyone came along while I spoke to Rink.

‘He’s just standing there, Hunter. Like he’s taken the place of the dead man.’

I told Rink where I was. Then I said, ‘Maybe I can get him as he makes his move for the hospital.’

‘Too late, he’s on the move now. Taking it easy, heading for the front door.’

‘You still in a bad position?’

‘Don’t trust the carbine to hit him from here. I can fire on him, but all hell will break loose. He might run. You want to take that chance?’

‘No. Looks like we’re going to have to take him inside.’

‘Feebies might fire on us.’

‘Yeah, that’s a problem.’

‘The problem is we can’t shoot back at them.’

‘Going to be difficult,’ I agreed. ‘But we can’t let them stop us. Rickard’s not getting away this time.’

‘OK. Hunter, he’s at the steps now. He’s going in. Better hustle, buddy.’

I hustled.

But I still had to be careful. Pushing over the lattice frame again I peeked outside. The trooper was oblivious to what was going on, which meant that his team-mates were equally ignorant that Rickard had launched his attack. Rolling from under the building, I came to my feet and ran towards the front corner. Snatching a quick glance around the wall, I just caught the blur of movement as someone went in through the front door. Looking past the façade of the building I saw Rink moving in. We acknowledged each other with a nod, and then I ran towards the door through which Rickard had entered a moment ago. Rink covered me, dipping to a knee as he searched the grounds through his sights.

Steps led up to the front door, a large expanse of white oak. I went up them and pressed myself to the wall, hips against the discreet sign bearing the acronym AKMC. From there I covered while Rink moved up to the steps. No one was aware of us and I again concluded that Hubbard had the wrong team on this case: Walter’s people would have taken us prisoner out there in the swamp. There was a large brass push-button bell but I’d no intention of advertising my arrival. I pushed down on the handle and the door swung inward silently.

Rink moved up the steps and I went inside.

A short vestibule with double glass doors — a recent addition — separated the entrance from a reception area. The doors were on a sensor and hissed open as I stepped forwards. A woman dressed in a pale blue tunic was bent over the desk and didn’t even look up. Maybe she’d grown used to armed men coming in and out. The second that she saw my camouflage get-up could have been a crucial turning point, but she only glanced my way nonplussed. Funny how people can be desensitised to danger so quickly. I was in a different uniform but she must have taken me, as well as Rink coming in behind me, as FBI agents. No way I’d make her any the wiser.

The receptionist went back to whatever she was doing on her computer and I walked by her, allowing my gun to drop so I didn’t represent a threat. I passed through the next set of doors without challenge and waited there for Rink to catch up. We were inside so easily it made my guts squirm because dressed in the anonymous garb of an HRT trooper Rickard would probably have free range throughout the hospital. He would head directly for Alisha’s room.

A flight of stairs gave access to the upper floors and I went up them with Rink close behind. At the top was a narrow corridor. Checking out the signs hanging from the ceiling, I tried to figure out where Alisha’s room would be. At times like this I wished that Rapid Intuitive Experience went beyond a warning of danger, but that was about as psychic as I got. The signs were for different wards, all named after nearby islands in the Florida Keys, and none of them was distinguished from the next. Going for us was the fact that there were only four of them, two on the left and two on the right. They’d take no checking at all if it weren’t for the HRT commando striding along the hall towards us.

My first instinct was that this was Luke Rickard and I almost brought up my gun. I didn’t, though. This man was shorter and stockier built than the man I’d fought in Jimena Grajales’ sickroom.

I expected the feebie to challenge us, to try to disarm us, but all he did was speak into his throat mike. ‘They’re here, sir.’

I shared a glance with Rink. ‘Sounds like Hubbard’s expecting us.’

Rink scowled.

‘Come with me,’ the trooper said. Without waiting for us to comply, he turned and strode away down the hall.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘Don’t know, Rink, but we have to find out. We can refuse to follow this guy but you can bet his buddies will show up in a few seconds.’

‘Don’t want to make an enemy of the feds.’

We followed the trooper past the wards. Glancing inside, I saw only empty beds. Made sense; the patients having all been moved in anticipation of what was coming. I couldn’t stop the smile that crept on to my lips.

‘You realise what’s going on here?’

Rink nodded. ‘We’re not the only ones setting Rickard up.’

The trooper took us to another flight of stairs, this time leading down to a kitchen area full of stainless steel counters and ultra-modern ovens and ranges. It was empty of domestic staff. We headed directly through and into a short corridor. Two suited men stood guard at a door. Seeing us coming, one of them knocked on the door then opened it. He stood aside and allowed me and Rink to enter. The FBI trooper waited outside with the guards.

Part of me wasn’t surprised to see Walter sitting in an office chair next to a bank of CCTV monitors, not when I recognised the two men outside as being the bodyguards who’d been at the hotel with us. Opposite Walter, SAC Hubbard leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. His beady eyes gave us the once-over before he turned his attention back to the screens.

‘Relax, boys,’ Walter said, ‘you’re amongst friends.’

‘I take it that you’re back in charge, Walt?’

He gave me a grin that caused Hubbard to shake his head. ‘Orders from the White House supersede those coming from the Hoover building.’

Hubbard said, ‘I’m not happy with this situation. Neither are my superiors. We’ll make our feelings known after this, but for now we’ve handed over command and control to Mr Conrad. You have our full cooperation.’ His last words were delivered with plenty of vinegar.

‘How long have you been here, Walter?’

‘Must have arrived before you set up out in the swamp.’

‘Could have saved us the trouble if you’d thought to get in touch.’

‘I was busy organising things.’ He gave us a sickly smile. ‘And anyway, I wanted someone out there who’d spot Rickard coming.’

‘My men had that under control,’ Hubbard said.

‘They didn’t see us,’ Rink pointed out.

Hubbard shrugged, dug his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘We weren’t watching for you, Rington. We’re here to catch a murderer. We can’t do that if we’re traipsing all over the Everglades playing hide and seek.’

‘If you’d set up in the swamp you might have caught him coming in. Now you’ve lost a guy who didn’t have to die.’ Hubbard closed his eyes at my words. I’d already noticed that the nearest CCTV screen showed a view of the front lawn. It was zoomed in on a body partly concealed by shrubbery. ‘You sacrificed that man to ensure that Rickard entered this building.’

‘I sacrificed no one.’ Hubbard glared not at me but directly at Walter.

‘It was necessary to contain the problem,’ Walter said. ‘It also allowed Rickard a way inside without raising suspicion.’

‘This a killing house, Walt?’

‘Soon as you were inside, I had it locked down. I’m having the FBI people moved out. Then it’s down to you boys.’

‘What about Alisha?’

Walter tapped a TV screen. On it a helmeted black-clad figure crept along a corridor. Alert and armed, he looked like he had a firm destination in mind.

‘Rickard should be with her in the next few seconds.’ Walter sat back in his chair, almost as though relaxing in front of a TV to watch an afternoon matinee. ‘There’s no rush, Hunter. Wait and catch the show, you can always get him on his way back out.’