Matt Hilton - Judgement and Wrath

'You in some kind of aircraft?' Rink asked me. 'I'm watching my GPS and the land's scrolling along quicker than I can keep up with.'

'Chopper. Remember that FBI agent I was telling you about?'

'The one with the stick up his ass?'

'That's him. Well, maybe I was being a little judgemental. He's a good guy. Flew UH-60s on a couple tours of Somalia before becoming a fed.'

'UH-60s?' Rink said. 'You're talking Black Hawks?'

'Like I said, he's a good guy. Could even have been your pilot on a mission or two.'

The UH-60 Black Hawk is the helicopter of choice of the US Special Forces. Delta Force and US Rangers, primarily. Before joining my team, Rink had belonged to the Rangers. Kaufman had just won kudos in both our eyes.

Beside me, Kaufman indicated the road ahead.

'Dantalion got away from us, Rink. He has Bradley with him as a hostage. I intend getting him back.' I saw a major pile-up of traffic on an intersection of the highway. Then more importantly, a silver Lincoln streaking west. Kaufman banked, following. He knew what I intended, so kept far enough back that we weren't obvious to the fleeing driver. To Rink, I added, 'Got him in sight now, buddy. Get to us as soon as you can.'

'Keep heading this way, and I'll be with you sooner than you think.'

I put the phone safely in my pocket. Took out my SIG and reloaded it.

Kaufman was busy calling up his own people. Nothing I could do about that. I only hoped that I could get to Dantalion before the FBI arrived in force and made a siege of wherever Dantalion intended holing up. Kaufman was an ex-Army aviator, used to working alongside the Special Forces. But now he was an FBI SAC and was governed by different rules. I had to give him his lead on this, as long as he gave me a few minutes' latitude before calling the shots direct from the FBI manual.

The Lincoln continued westward, passing through a couple of small towns, blew under the I-95 then continued going, out towards the wild lands that separated the coastal towns from Lake Okeechobee. The lake itself was a dark line on the horizon as we sped after the sedan.

Dantalion drove the Lincoln like a crazy man, careless of meeting any oncoming traffic on the single lane of tarmac. From our aerial perspective the land looked like it had undergone a barrage of meteors — a lush green version of the surface of the moon.

Fields of very tall grass spread out beneath us, and for a minute or so the Lincoln was hidden from view where the grass became a knitted roof over the road. But then the car was on to a clear stretch of road again and 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.

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.