Coming to the entrance to the hospital, he saw a group of buildings. These he could tell were the administration offices. They looked like they had been closed down and there was no sign of life except for two men sitting in a black SUV. The men were obviously FBI agents. The shades and conservative suits were a cliché. He wasn’t surprised to find the feebies on-site: it was for that reason he’d arranged his disguise, expecting that Alisha would be placed in protective custody until he was caught.

Rickard slipped by the FBI guards like he was invisible and continued in toward the hospital. It was a fair jog through the forest, but he didn’t see it as a task. It only warmed him up and prepped him for action.

A windbreak encircled the hospital grounds. It gave great cover for him while he surveyed the layout and position of anyone standing guard. He merely pulled free a handful of the interwoven branches and was able to get a good view through the fence without exposing himself.

In the distance, armored FBI troopers patrolled the grounds, but they were more concerned with watching the points leading in from the swamp than they were the front approach. They probably didn’t believe he’d have the nerve for a full-frontal assault. That had been Cesar Calle’s mistake, and Rickard recalled where that lapse of judgment had got him.

Rickard brought the sniper rifle to his shoulder and extended the silenced barrel through the hole in the fence. Through the scope the solitary trooper standing guard at the front of the property looked as close as could be without becoming intimate. Rickard studied him. The man was fully armored, but his chin and a notch of skin at his throat were exposed when viewed through ten times the magnification. He was only fifty yards away. Shit, Rickard thought, I could drop him without the sights.

The shot was an easy one for him.

So why was he waiting?

Crash through their defenses, cut them down.

He touched the trigger, but again he paused.

Thinking rationally, he knew that this was a fool’s errand he’d set himself. What would he gain from murdering Alisha that he hadn’t already achieved? This was an insane plan he’d embarked on, whatever way he looked at it. He was chancing death when he could simply walk away. He was wealthy: he could turn his back on his apartment in Miami, move anywhere in the world he chose and live a good life on the proceeds of his trade he’d tucked away in offshore accounts.

“You can’t let a woman see any weakness in you, Luc. None at all. Do that and she’ll despise you. You will become nothing in her eyes. You understand, oui?”

Nothing.

“You must make women fear you. It is the only way you will gain their respect.”