Matt Hilton - Cut and run

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 facade 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.'