Matt Hilton - Cut and run

Charles placed his fists on his hips as he turned to watch the approaching chopper. He had a distant look in his eye, as though perhaps he wanted to jump on board and leave the troubles of Colombia behind him to go back to the home of his father. Even with Calle and Silva out of the picture, there were still many problems plaguing this country, but there was nothing to say that anywhere else was any less troubled. The USA and Florida in particular, I thought, could be witnessing terrible happenings before long.

The speck had grown into a UH-72A Lakota helicopter. The chopper swept in, bending the tops of trees below us and sending up a vortex of dust and loose foliage. Shielding our eyes, we moved forwards, leaving the Junglas standing next to their jeep. I wondered if I'd see either of them again, but decided not in this lifetime. The helicopter was a light utility transporter with room for two crew and six passengers. It didn't feel very spacious when I followed Rink and Harvey inside, but that's what comes of travelling with two large friends.

The crewmen were locals with no capacity for the English language. They didn't try to communicate anyway, they had their instructions and that was all. They flew us almost due north to a strip of land in a valley of the Santa Marta Mountains, where we found a transport plane of the 920th Rescue Wing waiting for us. A few hours after that and we descended towards Patrick Air Force Base, Cocoa Beach a luminescent silver strip against the dark of the Atlantic Ocean on our right. A limousine – a government battlewagon – waited for us in the tepid evening warmth. Walter, Bryce Lang and SAC Ron Hubbard stood next to the limo, and I noted at least four armed guards covering their asses: Luke Rickard was the type for direct attack and not even an air force base overflowing with security and crawling with Homeland Security personnel would put him off.

On the flight there I'd cleaned myself up as best I could, but I still looked like a herd of wild bulls had stampeded over me. I felt a little like that too. As I walked across the tarmac it was with the robotic steps of an alien from a 1950s B-movie. Shaking loose the kinks in my muscles was on the agenda if I ever hoped to be ready for when I caught up with Rickard.

Walter gave me a fatherly clap on the shoulder. 'Things were pretty rough down there, huh?'

'It got a little out of hand, if that's what you mean.'

'Looks like it.' He wrinkled his nose. I probably smelled like a herd of bulls had run over me.

'I know. I need a shower.'

'And food, drink and rest,' Walter said. He scrutinised Rink and Harvey. 'All of you.'

'Jeez, we didn't get this type of treatment in the old days,' Rink said. He eyed the limousine with unabashed admiration. Rink likes expensive vehicles, but his are usually sportier. He was possibly wondering if his Porsche had been delivered back to his place yet.

Bryce exchanged greetings with us. Then, eyes downcast, he said, 'Jimena Grajales. I can't believe it.'

'Like you told me, Bryce, I should've taken the shot. None of this would've happened if I'd done Abadia when I had the chance.'

Now it was he who laid a hand on my shoulder. 'A man like Luke Rickard would commit murder whoever was behind him. It doesn't matter now.' When he stepped away from me to shake hands with Rink and then Harvey I could see tears in his eyes. I couldn't decide if it was with relief or with regret that he had led our old team-mates to a horrible ending.

SAC Hubbard was an unexpected guest at this reunion. When I looked at him he returned my gaze and it was as if he read my mind.

'I've done everything I could in Maine, so I pulled a few strings and have come here to help coordinate the capture of Luke Rickard.'

Recalling his sour, raisin eyes from the first time we met, I noticed that he was less pinched now. In fact he looked genuinely pleased to see me back safe and sound. But there was still something about him I didn't like. I shook his hand and kept hold.

'How's Imogen?'

'She's under guard at a safe house. You needn't worry about her.'

'That's not what I asked.'

'She's fine. A little shook up by her ordeal, but physically she's OK.'

'Thanks,' I said. 'For looking after her while I was gone.'

Finally I let his hand go and he put it in his trouser pocket like he didn't know what to do with it. Maybe I'd been squeezing a little too tightly and he was discreetly checking for broken fingers.

Walter waved us into the limousine. Creaking horribly in my knees, I climbed inside. The leather upholstery was plush. It was a shame that my clothing was going to make a mess of it. I had to bunch over to allow Rink and Harvey in alongside me, but the car was big enough to accommodate even them – it was roomier than the Lakota helicopter, or maybe it just felt more comfortable. Walter, Bryce and Hubbard all sat in the seats in front. Walter hung an arm over the back of his chair so that he could look at us.

Walter's famous for obfuscating – his word not mine – but this time everything was in his favour to come clean and say it as it was. For a certain pair of ears at any rate.

'I want to thank you all for what you did down there, but I'm going to have to ask you to stand down.' His eyes flicked once to Hubbard. 'The FBI is taking over the hunt for Rickard now.'

Hubbard must have felt our eyes boring into the back of his skull because he stirred, twisting round so he could stare back at us. 'People are still dying here, and that's my first concern.'

People? I didn't know who he was referring to.

'The man you captured during the gunfight at the diner was stabbed to death last night,' he explained. 'I've no doubt that his death was to cover the trail back to Jimena Grajales.

I sniffed. No great loss.

'Maybe you don't care about that,' Hubbard went on, 'but this thing is not finished yet. Not until Rickard is captured. A threat to any citizens of our country is too important for the Bureau to ignore. Primarily, we have to protect Alisha Rickard and the other patients and medical staff from any harm. I've activated HRT and they will be in place to take out Rickard when he shows up.'

It looked like Hubbard was ready for an argument because the raisin eyes had returned. Lying back in my seat, I closed my eyes. I let out a weary sigh and there was nothing faked about it. Then looking at him again I said calmly, 'The HRT are good. Just make sure that they're ready for anything. Rickard's good as well.'

His mouth dropped open, as though he'd prepared his next speech, but nothing came. Instead he licked his lips and tapped the window separating the driver from us. Walter shot me a wink, then shared a glance with Bryce over the back of Hubbard's head.

The limousine headed south for Miami, followed by a car containing Walter's bodyguards. It had been a long day, and the last sleep I'd had in the shack in Colombia hadn't been what you'd call quality. I wanted to nap, just as my friends did beside me, but I couldn't. Rink snored like an idling bulldozer but that wasn't what kept me awake. Thoughts of Jimena Grajales' hatred nipped at me, making me fidget. Funny, but the fact that I hadn't shot her lover dead had made me her worst enemy. That animosity had festered for seven years and had finally erupted a continent's length away. The number who'd died was lost to me now; I'd stopped counting after the photographs that Bryce showed me at the beach house a couple of days ago, but the dead now numbered dozens. Senseless dozens. I still couldn't blame the woman though. My ire was centred directly on Luke Rickard and my inability to kill him when I'd had the chance. The small matter of a fragmentation grenade coming between us didn't mean much. Not now.

We still had no idea who Rickard really was. I knew what he was: a monster. He was a cold-blooded murderer masquerading as a contract killer. If he wasn't being paid for his services he'd be tagged with a different title: serial killer. He shared traits with Tubal Cain – the Harvestman who'd almost succeeded in murdering my younger brother, and had come close to cutting a hole through my heart – and also the other contract killer I'd fought more recently who went by the name of Dantalion. I had the horrible feeling that Rickard was worse than either of those I'd stopped and that he was nowhere near finished with his murder spree yet.