But then again, I had the fact that he wasn’t expecting me working in my favor. I had a knife too, and it would prove more effective against his anti-ballistics armor than a 9 mm Parabellum would.

The chimney stack I’d earlier discounted as his hiding place was now only feet away from me. I grabbed at it and pulled myself up, pressing myself against the brickwork. From this vantage I could see over the slope of the roof and down to the other side of the building. Rickard was on his hands and knees.

Perfect.

Without fear of the consequences I pushed out from the chimney, as if I were taking that HALO jump from the airplane over Colombia all over again.

Chapter 48

48

Joe Hunter?

How many lives does this son of a bitch have?

That was all the thinking that Rickard managed.

Then Hunter was on top of him and he had to forget about thinking and go on instinct.

He spun on his side, lifting and discharging his gun in the same instant. Would have got him in the guts, but Hunter’s knee came down on his wrist and plastered it to the roof tiles. The bullets careened off the slick surface, ricocheting off into the heavens. Hunter’s hand plunged and only a twist of Rickard’s body saved his life. The military knife jammed through the material of his bulletproof vest but was halted before it found flesh by Rickard’s catlike movement that twisted the blade off-line. Undeterred, Hunter ripped out the knife and stabbed again.

Rickard pulled loose from under Hunter’s knee, swinging his elbow up and back and catching the crook of Hunter’s arm. The blade missed his throat by less than a thumb’s width. Rickard twisted again, getting himself under Hunter’s chest, and thrust with all his power, throwing them both back against the roof. He tried to turn, to bring around the gun, but Hunter wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed a fistful of collar and dragged Rickard backward, driving into his ribs with the knife. Kevlar vests often had exposed areas under the arms where the straps were fixed around the body, but this was full tactical armor and the opening wasn’t there. It didn’t deter Hunter, he just kept on digging with the razor tip, drilling his way through the material. The armor was designed to stop the blunt trauma of a bullet, not sharp pointy things. It was only a matter of time before the knife would penetrate and start to saw its way through his ribs.

Rickard reared back again, using the edge of his helmet as a weapon against Hunter’s jaw. He struck twice, felt the pressure go from his ribs. Then he dropped his gun and snatched at the ceramic knife on his belt. Thumbed it open.