Matt Hilton - Judgement and Wrath

'Surprised to see me, Bradley? Thought I was dead, eh? Must piss you off that the big bold Hunter failed to stop me? Stand up.'

Terror kept Bradley exactly where he was.

'I said " stand up",' Dantalion yelled. 'Or I will shoot you where you are. Cowering on the ground like a dog!'

Bradley came partly to his feet, but couldn't prevent his knees dipping again. Dantalion stalked over, kicking aside the dead FBI agent to get at him. He pushed the hot muzzle of the Taurus under Bradley's ear. 'Stand up. That's the only choice I'm giving you right now.'

Cringing like a wounded animal, Bradley came to his feet. He tried to protect himself with his arms but Dantalion struck at the meat of his forearms, forcing the hands away. Then he pushed Bradley back against the kitchen counter and forced him to bend backwards away from the pressure of the gun.

'Now, Bradley, it's choices time again. Do you die instantly, or would you rather I kept you alive as bait to bring Marianne to me?' Dantalion pushed the muzzle of the Glock under Bradley's chin. 'Come on, speak up. I'm giving you the opportunity of living a little longer.'

'Please,' Bradley croaked. His plea never came to a conclusion, and Dantalion was left wondering what decision Bradley had reached.

Dantalion heard a car pull up outside the front of the house.

So he made the choice himself.

He slipped the Glock in his pocket, pulled out a hypodermic syringe. Given in the same dosage, ketamine would kill Bradley as instantly as it had the pilot, but this syringe didn't contain ketamine. He'd brought this ampoule from the truck: sodium amatol left over from the hit on the Moore household. In small doses it caused the drugged person to become compliant. A higher dose caused unconsciousness. Too much and the person would die. Dantalion administered just enough to leave Bradley with no will of his own but with the use of his legs. He didn't want to have to carry him out of there.

Special Agent in Charge Taylor Kaufman wasn't exactly pleased to see me. He extended his hand, but his shake was abrupt and his words dry. 'Walter Conrad says you're the best in the business.'

'Depends what business he's referring to,' I answered.

The silver-haired SAC studied me with eyes the colour of tarnished brass. He didn't appear impressed. Something about my accent seemed to irk him as well. I guessed it was because he'd already fought a jurisdiction war with the Miami PD and Martin County Sheriff's Department, which he'd indubitably won, only now to be faced with a Brit with carte blanche to take over his position of power. He straightened his grey suit. Nodded towards the 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.