One Way (Sam Archer 5) (14 page)

TWENTY ONE

It took them ten minutes to get to 22, Archer’s second trip up there for the evening. They didn’t encounter any remaining residents on the way and more importantly, no-one carrying a gun. They’d heard the two enemy gunmen report they’d found nothing in their area, so they guessed for the moment at least the south stairwell should be clear. They worked their way up quickly but methodically, clearing each corridor, their fingers tense on the triggers of the M4A1s. There were no windows in the stairwell which gave them one less thing to worry about, but each corridor they passed was eerily quiet. With a possible threat lurking on every level, they couldn’t be complacent or let their guard down for a second. They could get jumped or ambushed at any moment.

As they made their way up, Archer quietly thanked God for the cardio work he’d been doing since he got off the crutches. If he’d taken his rehab slower he’d have been in seriously deep shit by now. As befitted the Marshals badge on her hip Vargas was in excellent shape, and by the time they got to 22 she was barely breathing hard.

On the top floor, they waited just inside the door in the stairwell, sneaking a glance through the glass panel.

The corridor was clear.

Vargas pulled the door open quietly and moved inside, sweeping in front of her with her assault rifle. They made their way down, looking through their sights, Archer checking behind them constantly so they couldn’t get blindsided.

Halfway along, they found the red box Helen had talked about. It was exactly where she said it would be, attached to the wall, a glass square with a red phone inside and a fire extinguisher in a bracket underneath.

‘Bulls eye,’ Vargas said.

She reached for the handle to pull the front glass panel open but Archer stopped her.

‘Let’s clear the roof first.’

Castle and Spades walked into the lobby and saw the four gang members they’d hired to do this job in the first place watching King and Bishop, who were keeping tabs on the front door. All the men turned, looking at the newcomers as they joined them.

‘Anything?’ King asked.

‘Nothing. Not a damn thing,’ said Castle. He grinned. ‘The NYPD are going to need a stack of body bags for the roof though. And I saved the chopper pilot a cremation.’

‘You killed the entire squad?’ Braeten asked.

‘Of course. We haven’t found the girl yet. We need more time.’

‘Now you’re cop killers. You got some plan of escape?’

‘They’re sitting ducks,’ King said, ignoring him and addressing Castle, Spades and Bishop. ‘We disabled all the phone lines. One of their guys is bleeding out and might already be dead. We just took out their rescue team. It’s just a matter of time.’

He pushed the pressel switch on his vest.

‘Pawn, Hearts, where are you?’

‘Still doing our sweep, sir. No sign of them yet.’

‘Check again. They may have doubled back behind you.’

Pause.

‘Yes, sir.’

He released the handle, turning to his guys. ‘We’ll find them. Wherever they are, they can’t stay there forever. Sooner or later, they’re going to make a move.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then they die. Every single one.’

Easing open the door to the roof, Archer crept up the last flight of concrete stairs, Vargas beside him. When they saw what was on the surface, they both stopped dead in their tracks.

‘Jesus,’
Vargas whispered.

There was an entire ESU task force scattered in the middle of the roof; they’d been shredded to pieces. In a ragged circle around them were the spent cases and plates of Claymore mines, seared and torn black blankets near them. Small steel ball bearings were everywhere, many of them blackened or stained with blood.

Archer picked one up beside his foot on the step and examined it.

These men were willing to kill each other and an entire squad of police officers to get to Jennifer.

Very soon, he was going to need some answers for those questions he had about the girl.

Vargas went to move forward to look closer, but Archer grabbed her arm, keeping her low.

‘The sniper.’

She remembered and nodded her thanks. Together, the two of them took a last look at the carnage.

‘It was a trap,’ he said. ‘They never stood a chance.’

‘So let’s try the line and tell the people outside.’

Back in the 22
nd
corridor, Vargas pulled the box open and scooped up the red receiver as Archer checked either side with the M4A1.

She held the phone to her ear and her eyes immediately widened.

‘Dial tone.’

She started punching in a number quickly as Archer kept clearing either side of them.

The corridor was empty but he felt exposed and increasingly uneasy.

They needed to make the call and get the hell out of here.

Down on the street, Dalton was watching Hobbs when his phone started ringing. Pulling it from his pocket, he looked at the display and frowned. It wasn’t a number he recognised.

‘Hello?’

Beside him, Shepherd saw his expression change instantly.

‘Vargas! What the hell is going on in there?’

He listened for a moment as Shepherd stepped closer. There was a pause.

‘ESU were taken out with Claymores,’ Dalton relayed to Shepherd, Josh and Marquez. ‘The chopper dropped them off right in the target zone. The mines must have been camouflaged.’

‘Archer?’

Dalton listened. ‘He’s OK.’

Pause.

‘She says the newcomers are all heavily armed. M4A1 assault rifles. She and Archer managed to kill two of them. They were in tactical gear and balaclavas.’

Pause. Dalton continued to listen intently.

‘We saw them arrive, Vargas,’ he said. ‘We counted ten, not including the four remaining men who ambushed you.’ The others watched him as he listened.

His expression changed, and he suddenly hit the front of his car in anger.

‘Shit!’

‘What? What is it?’ Josh asked.

Dalton shook his head, swearing again. ‘One of our people is down. Foster, the team leader. Carson is still bleeding out. They doped him up to kill the pain and keep him quiet. ’

Pause.

‘She said soon after the first chopper arrived, all the phone lines went dead. She’s using a fire phone in one of the corridors.’

‘They must have a jammer,’ Marquez said.

‘How’s the girl, Vargas?’ Dalton asked, the other three watching him intently.

On 22, Archer stood point on the female US Marshal, who was talking rapidly into the phone. He made the signal to her to wrap it up. She nodded and held up her forefinger.
Almost done
, the gesture said.

He looked back and forth, feeling more and more vulnerable in this corridor, well aware that there were men hunting them right now. Vargas was still talking rapidly into the phone, her M4A1 slung over her shoulder as she continued to give Dalton a sitrep.

Even though she was keeping her voice low, the silence meant her words were carrying down the corridor, further fraying Archer’s nerves.

C’mon, Vargas, hurry.

‘She’s OK, sir,’ Vargas said into the phone. ‘But Carson needs to be med evac’d ASAP. He’s bleeding out; he doesn’t have long.’

She listened to his response as Archer cleared either side, covering her back.

Every instinct he had was screaming at him to get the hell out of here.

They’d stayed too long already.

‘Let’s go!’
he said to her quietly.

‘OK. Yes sir,’ she said. Pause. ‘Yes, sir. Will do.’

She put the phone back on the handle and turned to Archer, swinging her own M4A1 off the strap and back into her hands.

‘Dalton said ten men abseiled in. He’s got a Marshals task force with him. No more approaches from up here. They’re looking at a frontal assault. Attack them head on.’

Archer went to reply, but stopped.

Two men in grey fatigues and balaclavas had suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor from the north stairwell.

They were staring at them.

And both had assault rifles in their hands.

TWENTY TWO

The two men looked at Archer and Vargas for a split-second.

A moment that felt like a horrifying eternity.

Then they reacted.

Grabbing Vargas, who had her back turned to the men, Archer smashed into the door of the room to the right of the phone as the two gunmen snapped their rifles up. The old wood around the lock splintered and gave way as automatic gunfire tore into the corridor behind them, the quiet hallway suddenly deafening, chips of wood and plaster around the doorframe spraying into the air from the bullets.

Falling into the apartment, Archer and Vargas scrambled to their feet. There was no-one inside. Running forward, they both dove for cover behind the kitchen counter as the two guys appeared in the doorway, firing and ripping apart the cupboards and shelves, smashing bottles, annihilating the entire kitchen. Rolling out, Vargas fired back, forcing the two men to take cover either side of the door, the muzzle of her own M4A1 flashing as she squeezed off bursts of fire while Archer desperately looked around the room for an escape route.

Staying low, he moved to the window leading to the balcony, firing off some of his own rounds towards the door and buying them some extra seconds. The M4A1 had no triple round setting, just safety, single or fully automatic, so he used short bursts, conserving ammo. Maintaining fire, Vargas followed him, both of them managing to hold the doorway. The two gunmen had no option but to stay back, the ferocity of Archer and Vargas’s assault spraying debris from the corridor and doorframe into the air.

The curtains in the room were drawn. Sweeping the left half to the side, Archer saw a small balcony with an air conditioner on the far right side, blowing cold air into the apartment through a vent to the right of the windows.

Squeezing off a burst at the door, he felt behind him, found the handle and yanked open the sliding door, Vargas keeping up her ferocious fire as she moved across the room to join him.

Suddenly, a black shape was tossed into the room as Vargas’ magazine clicked dry.

Grenade.

He pulled her out onto the balcony with him, dragging the door shut and hitting the deck.

Outside in the corridor, Pawn and Hearts had ducked down, both reloading, slapping fresh magazines into the underside of the M4A1s.

The explosion smashed out any remaining glass in the room. Plaster, dust and smoke filled the air. Moving forward carefully and not encountering any fire, the two men eased themselves into the apartment, the triggers on the M4A1s half pushed down, ready to execute, thirty fresh rounds locked and loaded in each weapon.

The place was dark and dim and smoky. Their weapons traced through the gloom.

There was no sign of them.

Outside, Vargas took a deep breath and leapt off the balcony.

She was only in the air for a second, but for that brief moment she was over nothing but twenty two storeys of night air, the New York City street far below.

She landed on the balcony next door, re-gathering her balance then turned and looked back at Archer. Hearing footsteps crunching on debris behind him in the apartment, he stood up on the concrete edge, holding onto the wall for balance with his left hand, fresh cuts on his arms and body from the smashed glass.

Looking down, his toes were over twenty two storeys of nothing.

Far below, he saw the street. They were on the east side of the building, so he saw all the cop cars with their lights flashing down below.

‘C’mon!’
she hissed.

Bunching his hamstrings, Archer sprang forward and jumped.

Stepping their way over the debris on the floor, Pawn and Hearts checked behind the kitchen counter. Then they dragged the main curtains out of the way and moved out through the smashed windows onto the balcony, their boots crunching on the glass.

They swept their M4A1s up and down, left and right.

‘Where the hell did they go?’ said Hearts.

Six feet from them, huddled behind the concrete wall of the balcony next door and hidden from view, Archer and Vargas stayed low.

Archer eased out the magazine of his assault rifle, quietly placing the empty on the ground, and pushed in a new one with the softest of
click
s.

Suddenly, the sliding doors behind them opened.
A man in a vest and underpants appeared, coughing and frowning. Judging from the dust and debris on him, the bullets and the force of the explosion had shredded apart the walls of his apartment.

He looked down at the two of them.

‘
Who the hell are you
?’

They were already moving; Vargas went through the door as Archer tackled the man back into his apartment, automatic gunfire tearing into the concrete where they’d just been and smashing the glass window, shooting it out as they fell through the gap.

Pushing off the man and staggering to his feet, Archer followed Vargas, who’d wrenched open the front door and was already back out in the corridor.

Next door, Pawn and Hearts ran back through the apartment. They slowed when they got to the entrance, then edged out into the corridor and saw the door to the north stairwell swinging shut.

Reloading, the two men sprinted down the hallway after them.

The moment the first man burst through the door, Archer front kicked him as hard as he could. He’d been standing beside the doorframe, the frame just missing him as it was smashed open.

The gunman flew down the flight of stairs and hit the landing between 22 and 21 hard, the breath knocked out of him. He dropped his rifle, dazed and winded. The other man behind him reacted fast but Vargas had been ready, coming from the other side. Considering Archer was behind the guy, Vargas couldn’t shoot so she smashed the butt of her rifle into his face instead.

He shouted in pain and fell back into the corridor, trying to raise his own M4A1 through blurry vision. This time he had nothing behind him. Vargas had no choice and fired.

On the landing in the stairwell, the other gunman had regained his senses. He lifted his rifle but Archer got there a split second ahead, putting the sights of his M4A1 on the man’s upper torso.

‘Drop the weapon!’

The man paused, mid-sweep, staring into Archer’s eyes venomously, his face masked by the balaclava.

‘Don’t do it!’

Pause.

He suddenly swung the rifle up all the way.

Archer fired just before he did. The burst hit the man in the sternum and killed him instantly, his finger jerking instinctively and spraying a burst of bullets into the wall near Archer, who threw himself to one side.

Those last shots echoed down the stairwell.

Then it was silent.

Archer got back to his feet, panting as Vargas re-joined him. Both of them were bleeding from flying glass and covered in debris from the gunfight, dirty, sweaty and cut up. Pulling up his M4A1, the barrel hot to touch, Archer aimed down the stairwell beside the dead man, waiting for his hearing to fully return and for any other gunmen to run into his sights.

He stood there, Vargas beside him, both of them taking deep breaths.

They watched and waited.

But no-one else came.