One Way (Sam Archer 5) (7 page)

‘Everybody out!’
he shouted.
‘Let’s go! Right now!’

People continued to flood into the lobby, many of them half-dressed. They all jerked to a stop when they saw the smashed glass and the man with the Kalashnikov, people piling up behind them, but he kept the weapon on them and pulled the cocking handle for effect, a shell jumping out of the ejection port.

‘Get the hell out!’

As the alarm continued to ring, Foster kept his Magnum trained on the refrigerator, looking down the sights of the large handgun, waiting for one of the assholes to try and break in. He’d already taken out one of their group, the kid who’d shot Carson, putting one of the .44 bullets in the middle of his chest when they’d been jumped in the street. His friends could join him.

‘Did they start a fire?’
Helen asked, loudly enough so the others could hear.

Archer shook his head, reading the situation and feeling uneasy.

They’re clearing the building
, he thought.

And they’re not giving up.

EIGHT

Shortly afterwards, two things happened. The alarm finally died and Foster’s phone rang. In the new quiet, the alarm still ringing in their ears, he took the call, keeping his Magnum in his hand and one eye on the door. In the meantime, Helen disappeared back into the sitting room to tend to Carson and Barlow joined the others in the kitchen, watching the action in the street below through the kitchen window with Archer and Vargas.

From their position on the south-east corner, they could see scores of residents pouring out of the block, NYPD officers hustling them to safety, the gunfight momentarily paused. As Foster talked on the phone, he moved towards them to take a look himself and give an update. Archer stepped away to make room and turned to Vargas

‘Are you guys New York based?’ he asked quietly.

She nodded.

‘What’s Marshal procedure for a situation like this?’

‘Task force,’ she said. ‘Ten, fifteen or twenty man team. Bulletproof vests and assault weapons. They’ll take over from your people on the street when they get here. They’ll access building blueprints, assess the situation, then breach and enter. Take down the enemy and secure our team.’

‘And get Jack to a doctor,’ Barlow said, over his shoulder.

‘It’s still a stand-off down there, sir,’ Foster said on the call, examining the scene and standing beside Barlow. ‘The NYPD are outside. The men who attacked us are holding the door.’

Pause.

‘I don’t know. They set off the fire alarm; it’s doing its job. Most of the residents seem to be outside with the police. I guess they’re trying to clear the building to make it easier to find us.’

Pause.

‘Heavily,’ he said. ‘One of them has a Kalashnikov.’

He listened.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll check it.’

Pause.

‘It’s not a problem. They won’t get the drop on me again.’

During the call, Helen had reappeared in the doorway. They could all hear Carson’s groans and gasps of pain in the room behind her. Foster ended the call and turned to her, tucking the phone back into his pocket.

‘Tell me about this place,’ he asked her. ‘How many floors are there?’

‘Twenty two.’

‘I saw an elevator.’

‘Doesn’t work. Been busted for weeks.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘What if you live at the top of the building?’

‘You either don’t go out, or you walk.’

‘No-one’s repaired it?’

‘What do you think this is, the Waldorf?’

‘How many stairwells?’

‘Two. North and south. You headed up the south.’

‘Exits?’

‘Just the one. A set of double doors downstairs on the ground floor. One way in. One way out.’

‘What are you thinking?’ Vargas asked Foster.

‘Dalton’s on his way; he’ll be here any minute. He said our quartet will be focused on holding the lobby, the only access point.’

‘On foot,’ she finished.

He nodded. ‘Back up will probably have to come in from the sky. I’m going up to check the roof and if necessary, keep it secure until they get here.’

‘Are you crazy?’ Helen said.

‘No-one else is getting hurt on my watch tonight. That includes the rescue team.’

‘You can’t leave. What about us?’

‘I won’t be long. I want to make sure there’s nobody up there waiting, especially not the kid with the AK. No more surprises.’

Helen stared at him. Archer knew what she was thinking and feeling. Unlike Foster, this was the first time she’d ever been in a situation like this. As the obvious leader of the group, his presence was reassuring.

‘You can’t go out there,’ she said.

‘No better time than right now. They’ll be near the lobby, focused on getting people out and keeping the cops back.’

‘They’re armed.’

‘So am I. This is a big building and I’ve been in worse situations. And these idiots have no idea what they’re doing. They’re not professionals.’

‘They managed to shoot your friend,’ Helen said, indicating next door.

‘They got lucky. And that’s not happening again.’

Silence. The window reflected on-off flashes of red and blue from the police lights five floors down. In the quiet, Foster holstered his Magnum then pulled his Glock and replaced the magazine, tucking the back-up shooter back into the pancake holster on his hip. Taking one last glance out of the window, he checked the time on his wrist then drew the .44 again, ready to go.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Vargas said.

Foster shook his head, pointing at Jennifer. ‘I need you and Barlow here with her. I’ll go alone.’

Beside him, Archer shook his head.

‘No way. I’m coming too.’

Foster was about to say
no,
but
Archer didn’t let him.

‘Think about it, John,’ he told him. ‘This entire building is made up of corridors. At every moment, you’re going to have your back turned to an access point. Someone needs to watch it for you.’

Foster stared at him, examining him like a road map. Then, without speaking, he moved next door and reappeared a few moments later with a black handgun, which he passed to Archer grip first.

‘Carson’s back-up weapon. He didn’t fire it on the street. Fifteen in the mag, one in the chamber.’

‘Thanks,’ Archer said, taking it. He pulled back the slide halfway just to check and saw a round already in the pipe.

There was a smear of blood on the grip; Archer wiped his palm on his jeans.

Meanwhile, Foster turned to Vargas, who’d taken Jennifer by the hand.

‘Get the girl next door. Once we’re gone, you and Barlow drag the refrigerator back. We’ll be back soon. I’ll tap four times quietly and say my name. If someone doesn’t do that and tries to come in, whoever they are, don’t hesitate. Drop them like a bad habit.’

‘Yes, sir. Be careful.’

Foster nodded, looking at Jennifer.

‘You too.’

Across the Hudson River, in a safe house on the outskirts of New Jersey, a response team had already moved into action.

There were ten of them there in total. After they’d learned of the Upper West Side gunfight and car chase, they’d been monitoring the situation on a television in the corner of the room. They’d watched footage of a ferocious gunfight between the NYPD and some gunmen inside a Hamilton Heights tenement block on 135
th
and Amsterdam. Now scores of residents were emptying out of the building and flooding into the street, the fire alarm that had prompted their exit dying off a few minutes ago. Despite a fleet of NYPD squad cars surrounding the building, the armed gunmen inside were managing to hold the officers at bay. NY ONE were covering the scene but so far they didn’t have specifics on what was happening.

The response team were carrying out final checks of their equipment, working quickly but methodically. They’d done this scores of times in the past, and this was what they were here for, after all.

The leader of the group slid a thirty round magazine into a black assault rifle then checked his watch. They were always prepared for any kind of situation but if their ideal plan was an alphabet this would have been Plan X, Y or Z. A tenement building, hostiles inside, unknown layout and access points. Even though residents were leaving, there were bound to be others still inside who hadn’t responded to the alarm.

He slapped forward the stock on the rifle, then whistled, jabbing his thumb at the door.

They didn’t have a moment to waste.

The ten man team scooped up their weapons and bags of equipment then followed him out of the room.

Outside, they loped across some tarmac towards a large black helicopter, the rotors gathering speed as the vessel warmed up.

The man pulled open the door and his team started climbing in, ready to go.

NINE

There was a scraping sound on the 5
th
floor corridor of the tenement block.

Then it stopped.

There was the soft
click
of a door being unlocked. The handle of 5B turned slowly and the door eased back an inch.

Foster listened for a moment then pulled it back further, not all the way but enough for him to check what he could see of the corridor.

There was no-one out there, hostile or otherwise.

It seemed the floor had been cleared.

He eased his large frame out through the gap, immediately followed by Archer, who felt his heart thumping like the bass drum on a dance track as he aimed the pistol in his hands.
For Christ’s sake,
get a grip,
Archer told himself.
It’s not like you’ve never done this before.
Foster glanced back at him as the door was closed and secured.

Archer hid his uncharacteristic nerves and nodded, adopting his best poker face.

With Foster’s back turned, clearing the corridor ahead with his .44, Archer took a deep breath, angry at himself. Just three months out of the field and it was like starting all over again. The workout at the gym, the sudden ambush on the street and all that had followed since had taken more out of him than he realised. He felt like one of those video game characters with their life down to 15 or 20 per cent. It wasn’t pleasant. Telling Foster he’d join him had been an instinctive response but standing there outside the apartment, he hadn’t expected to feel so on edge. Particularly as they weren’t exactly dealing with high-level opposition here judging from the haphazard way their attackers had behaved since the ambush. Given their sloppy shooting and what he’d seen on the street, Archer figured the four gang members had to be coked up or on some other kind of substance, maybe angel dust. If so, their aim would be all over the place; shooting a gun with a heart rate that erratic was a recipe for disaster and increased the odds in his and Foster’s favour. However one of them still managed to hit Carson, he reminded himself. And handgun bullets didn’t offer a lot of second chances.

He forced the negative thoughts from his mind. They could get him killed. Shifting his focus from himself to the situation, he looked down the sights of the pistol at the empty stairwell behind them. The weapon in his hands was a Heckler and Koch USP 9mm, a German semi-automatic with a built-in recoil reduction system which greatly reduced the kick. He’d fired this weapon before on the gun range the ARU used in North London; it was a solid shooter and had good stopping power. A small blessing of the corridors in this building meant the enemy would
be funnelled too if they tried another ambush, the confined space restricting their movement unlike the street, where they’d attacked from all directions. If Archer had a choice in a situation like this, a USP would be near the top of the list.

And unlike the enemy, he wasn’t a guy who needed luck to put someone down with a pistol.

Helen’s apartment was next to the south stairwell, but Foster pointed down the corridor towards the north side. Archer guessed he wanted to check out the rest of the floor and clear it before heading upstairs. A smart precaution.
No more surprises.
Foster took the lead, his .44 going everywhere his eyes went, Archer covering his back with the USP, the two men moving quickly down the hallway. This wasn’t a job that Foster could sensibly have done alone. Not with a long corridor accessible from both ends. Some of the apartments were still occupied; Archer heard music and the sounds of televisions from a few of the rooms. People were still here, either not hearing the alarm for some reason or just deciding to ignore it. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing yet.

Without mincing words, the apartment block was a dump. The walls had been a dark cream colour once but over time had faded to more of a light brown. The entire corridor was about forty five or fifty feet long. Helen had said there were twenty two floors. With twelve apartments on each floor, that was over two hundred and sixty apartments to search, which would buy the group hiding out in 5B a little time, even if the gunmen started to work their way up systematically from the ground floor. Plus, at least one or two of them would have to stay in the lobby covering the entrance, otherwise the NYPD could walk straight in, so their numbers would be lessened. All he, Foster and the others had to do was hang on. Federal backup was already on its way and when it came to siege and entry, they never messed around. In the meantime, the NYPD would be planning their own assault. Four coked-up gang members were no match for that kind of professional operation and firepower. This thing would be over before too long. Archer had done his part and would gladly stay the hell out of the rest of it.

The two men moved up the corridor. They passed the elevator on their right halfway down the hallway. Helen said it hadn’t been used in weeks and she hadn’t been lying. A piece of paper with
Out of Order
printed on it in black marker pen had been stuck across the doors with a few choice extra four-letter words scribbled underneath, no doubt by disgruntled and pissed-off residents who wanted it fixed. There was a long window panel on each door. As he passed, walking backwards, Archer peered through one of them but all he saw was darkness. The door to the apartment just past the elevator had been left open. Glancing inside, Archer saw a pair of feet slumped over the edge of a couch, the owner fast asleep. He also noticed an open black leather case on a table beside the man with some items spread out on top. The guy was going to be out cold for a while.

They arrived at the door to the north stairwell. Foster eased it back and the two men slid through the gap, covering both sides of the stairs with their handguns.

The stairwell had a railing-protected space in the middle that ran all the up and all the way down. The two men paused, listening. Archer peered up through the gap and saw flights of stairs ascending upwards as far as he could see, all the way to the 22
nd
floor. He did the same the other way, carefully looking down. There was the sound of movement both above and below, people making their way down to the entrance in delayed response to the fire alarm. With an elevator that was out of action, if the residents wanted to get out, they’d be walking. Archer guessed some would be staying put, probably assuming it wasn’t a real fire, just some punk who’d set it off for a prank. It was a hell of a long way to walk down for nothing.

Three people suddenly appeared on the landing above. Foster and Archer snapped around, but they weren’t the gunmen, just three residents shuffling down, all of them looking pretty pissed off. Keeping their handguns tucked by their jeans, the two men stepped back and let them pass, none of the trio giving them a second glance.

Watching them go, Archer looked at Foster, who nodded.

The older man took the lead and the pair quietly started making their way up the stairs.

Across the Hudson, the rotors of the response team’s helicopter were spinning in a blur. Inside the cabin, the whine from the vessel was intense and killed any conversation. The ten men were sitting across from each other, each grim-faced and focused.

They all wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible, secure the building and take care of the enemy inside.

They were carrying an assortment of automatic weapons, pistols in holsters on their thighs, combat overalls covering their legs and torsos, the ends of their trousers tucked into thick black boots. There were also a series of black holdalls stowed to one side, packed with other equipment they would need for this kind of aerial assault. They were an eleven man team in total but one of their guys was already on his way to the scene by car. He wasn’t going inside the building, but he would be an essential part of the operation nonetheless.

The pilot did his final checks then twisted in his seat and gave the thumbs up to the men in the back. As the helicopter lifted into the air, the leader of the group pulled a balaclava down over his face.

The other men did the same.