Chapter 47

Having four hands would have been useful. One to hold my gun, one to slap on the wound in my thigh to stop the bleeding, another two to hold on to the edge of the roof to stop me from plunging three floors to a nasty landing.

As it was I only had one free hand, which didn’t say much for my chances of survival.

Rickard’s bullet had struck me in the meat of my thigh. It felt like Thor had smacked me with his hammer, the pain a white hot flame followed by the numb sensation of traumatised nerve-endings. My leg had lost its ability to support me and I’d nowhere to go but down. The balustrade would have halted my fall, if not for the fact the bullets fired by the HRT troopers had cut it to pieces. It crumbled and I fell.

Experiencing slow motion is an aspect of endorphin overload. My mind was working faster than the ability of the real world to keep up. My eyes saw and pigeon-holed the various images that flashed before me.

Bits of the railing drifting towards the ground like feathers caught on a breeze, intermingling with droplets of my blood.

The sky pitching slowly, becoming the green of the lawns and then the grey of the gravel path at the base of the wall.

Rink running, arms outstretched, intending snatching me out of the air like he was Superman coming to the rescue.

My left hand shooting out and grabbing at the edge of the roofline. Fingertips digging in, thumb curling under the stone ridge.

The wall coming at me.

Then things returned to normal as I slammed against the wall, my nose and left eyebrow taking the brunt of the force. It was almost sickening enough to make me loosen my grip and give in to the inevitable.

But I didn’t.

I clung on for dear life.

I’m a fatalist. I know I’m not going to live forever, but I wasn’t ready to cash in my chips just yet. When it’s my time to go then so be it, but I wanted it to be after Luke Rickard wasn’t a threat to anyone else.

I kicked and scrabbled at the wall with the toes of my boots. My right leg was numb, couldn’t rely on it to support my weight, so I concentrated on finding a foothold with my left. My arm felt stretched beyond belief, like it was coming undone at all the joints. I had seconds before it gave out. Glancing down, I knew that Rink wouldn’t make it to stop my fall, and even if he did I’d probably kill the two of us.

I needed my right hand.

It was holding my SIG and I loathed giving it up.

With not even enough time to slip it into my waistband, I had no option.

I let it drop, arching it out towards Rink.

Let him save my gun instead. I’d collect it from him later if I managed to stay alive.

Unencumbered by my gun, I now had two hands free. My right was still weakened from the injury I’d taken in Colombia, but it was better than nothing. I got a hold on the roofline, then grabbed up at the balustrade with my other. Kicking and digging with my toes, I finally found a seam in the wall and I pushed and pulled myself up and got my forearm over the edge of the catwalk. It was an effort to drag myself up on to the roof, and when I finally looked there was a broad smear of blood advertising my exertions. I lay there a moment, my view full of blue sky as I sucked in air.

Finally, I craned my head over the edge and peered down at Rink.

He grinned back at me, teeth just a shade whiter than his drained features. Rink worries about me, even though I tell him not to.

He was holding my SIG.

For a second I expected that he’d try to throw it back up to me. I pulled out my Ka-Bar and showed him I was armed, so he jammed the SIG into his belt.

‘Where is he?’

It was strange hearing my own voice. It came to me like an echo in a tunnel, another effect of adrenalin.

‘Must have gone to the front. Forget him, Hunter. Come down, we can take him when he tries to make a break for it.’

I held up the knife. ‘Got to finish this, Rink. You know me, right?’

‘Right. Except you’re bleeding like a stuck pig and he’s still got a gun.’

‘What’s new?’

He shrugged, seeing the point. I’d been injured and outgunned before and when had that deterred me? Sometimes when the thrill of battle takes me I’m just too pig-headed for my own good, and it takes Rink to remind me. This time, he just held his peace. He knew this was our best chance of stopping the murderer.

Two troopers ran past, heading for the front of the hospital.

Taking it that they’d been summoned by their colleagues, I had a good idea where Rickard had got to. Didn’t fancy my chances of making it up and over the roof with my lame leg, so I set off along the catwalk, heading for the corner. Blood pulsed from my wound with every step.

Ideally I needed to staunch the blood loss and lower my racing heartbeat or I’d bleed out in minutes, but I guessed that reacquainting myself with Rickard was more imminent than that. I could hear the thuds of someone making their way along the roofline just round the corner.

My first thought was: Maybe I shouldn’t have given up the gun after all.

Rickard had one and I didn’t.

That put me at a distinct disadvantage.

But then again, I had the fact that he wasn’t expecting me working in my favour. I had a knife too, and it would prove more effective against his anti-ballistics armour than a nine mm Parabellum would.

The chimney stack I’d earlier discounted as his hiding place was now only feet away from me. I grabbed at it and pulled myself up, pressing myself against the brickwork. From this vantage I could see over the slope of the roof going down to the side of the building. Rickard was on his hands and knees.

Perfect.

Without fear of the consequences I pushed out from the chimney, as if I was taking that HALO jump from the airplane over Colombia all over again.

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