“She’s in a hospital, Hunter,” Harvey said. Not that I required reminding. I just nodded. The logistics were troubling, but there was one good thing going for a showdown at the hospital. Rickard wouldn’t have far to travel if we met again: the hospital also had a morgue.

Chapter 39

39

Walter met the news that Rickard had given us the slip with less hostility than I expected. He was sticking his neck over the headsman’s block on our behalf and he’d have preferred it if we’d buried the son of a bitch in a nameless grave out in the Colombian jungle. His decades of experience in black ops had somewhat tempered his reaction to the possibility of failure, though, and he simply asked the question, what did I need?

First on the list was establishing a pickup point and a rapid evacuation. Next I needed him to influence the turnout of events here in Colombia. I then told him what I wanted to do with Alisha. Everything else could wait for our return to Florida.

Nunez and Charles delivered us to a hilltop designated only by coordinates punched into a GPS system. Undulating foothills spread out beneath us. The sky was pale blue with a bank of gray thunderheads building on the Andes to the west. The sun was hidden by the clouds but made a last-gasp attempt at holding back the night, making a fiery display of gold and lapis lazuli over the tallest peaks. It was a pretty way to end this trip to Colombia.

From the north a black speck grew steadily larger and more defined. We’d come in at high altitude, but we’d be leaving below radar. As we waited for the arrival of the helicopter, I shook the hands of the Jungla troopers.

“It was a pleasure working with you both.” My words sounded standard, but I meant every one of them.

As usual it was Nunez who did most of the talking. “The pleasure was all ours. Thank you for what you did here, Hunter. You have been of great service to this country.”