Return Fire (Sam Archer ) (15 page)

TWENTY SIX

Standing on the opposite side of the road from the burning car, Dash, Piccadilly and Portland quickly checked up and down the street, searching through the sights of their automatic weapons. They saw a load of frightened teenagers cowering behind a car down the street to their right, but there was no sign of Bernhardt or the cop.

‘Shit!’
Piccadilly said, standing in the middle and looking left and right. ‘We lost them!’

‘No, we didn’t,’ Dash replied, looking at the burning Mercedes, the only vehicle near Bernhardt’s house. ‘I saw that car outside the ARU HQ earlier. The cop must have come in it.’

‘So?’

Doing a 360 degree turn, he scanned the road around them. ‘So they’re still here. They can’t get away.’

Then he froze in sudden realisation.

Turning, he sprinted back towards the alley.

On the street the other side of the house, Archer and Bernhardt raced out of the other alleyway and up to the BMW the three gunmen had arrived in. As Archer hoped, they hadn’t locked the car, and when he jumped into the driver’s seat he saw the keys were still sitting in the ignition, the driver not bothering to take them in the rush to breach the house.

As Bernhardt pulled the passenger door shut, Archer twisted the key and the engine burst into life. Up ahead was a cul-de-sac, so they needed to turn around to get the hell out of here.

But before they could move, he saw the three gunmen running down the alleyway twenty feet to their left, coming straight for them.

‘Shit!’
Archer said, slamming the car into reverse and stamping his foot down.

Realising he’d left the keys in their car, Dash hadn’t made it out of the alley before he heard the engine roar into life.

With the other two hot on his heels, they sprinted out onto the street to see their BMW reversing hard down the street to their right, the blond cop behind the wheel and Bernhardt beside him.

‘Son of a bitch!’
Dash shouted, opening fire with his AR-15.

‘Get down!’
Archer shouted, gunfire ripping into the windscreen and the sun visors as he reversed, the front of the car eating the brutal onslaught of gunfire.

As they roared backwards, Archer yanked the handbrake on and spun the wheel, swinging the car round and then taking off to his right, heading towards the exit to the next street. The gunmen had each emptied a magazine into the front of the vehicle, but the onslaught didn’t stop the BMW, the front of the vehicle riddled with bullets as they swung out onto the next street, the rear eating some rounds too as they escaped.

Trying to put as much distance between them and the three gunmen as possible, Archer put his foot down, evening shoppers standing around uncertainly, wondering what the noise of gunfire was about.

‘You OK?’
he asked Bernhardt as they sped down the street.

The former soldier didn’t answer, twisting round in his seat to check behind them.

Archer went to speak again but then disaster struck.

The BMW suddenly started to stall.

He pumped the accelerator, but the engine didn’t respond and the car continued to slow. Swearing and quickly checking his rear view mirror, Archer changed down and tried to rev the engine to coax a response, but it was no good. The car drifted to a halt right there on the main street, having taken too much punishment from the AR-15s.

Fighting with the unresponsive car, Archer checked the rear view mirror again, waiting for the three gunmen to reappear.

He knew they’d be coming.

‘C’mon!’ he said, begging with the engine. ‘Not now!’

Smoke started rising from the bullet-riddled engine.

It wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Shit!’

As soon as he’d seen the two men disappear, Dash didn’t waste any time chasing after them on foot. He’d immediately turned and headed for the house next door to Bernhardt’s, the other two following close behind as they each reloaded their assault rifles with a fresh magazine.

Striding up the path to the front door, he shot the lock and kicked the door open. Entering the house, he quickly found the woman he’d seen at the door earlier cowering in the sitting room, talking frantically into a telephone.

Walking over and pulling her to her feet, Dash threw her against the wall with vicious strength then stepped back, aiming his rifle straight at her. She screamed and sank to the floor, cowering against the wall in pure terror.

‘Where’s your car?’
Dash shouted, keeping his sights on her head.

She didn’t reply, just whimpering in fright. He fired a burst, putting three bullets into the wall two inches from her head, and she screamed again, covering her head with her hands, looking as if she was about to pass out from fear.

‘Where’s your car?’
he screamed at her.

‘G…garage,’
she stammered.

‘Keys?’

‘My…bb...bag!’
she whispered.

Standing beside Dash, Piccadilly saw a handbag on the floor by the sofa. Grabbing the bag, he immediately upturned it, spilling the contents all over the floor. He saw the keys lying amongst all the other paraphernalia and bent down to pick them up. As the woman started to sob hysterically, Dash stepped forward and hit her hard over the head with the butt of the assault rifle, one savage blow hard enough to knock her out cold.

Once she slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap, Dash turned and strode back outside. As the other two joined him, all three could hear sirens approaching in the distance. The garage door was locked but Dash took it out with one burst from his AR-15 then ripped the door up. There was a Volvo parked inside, the rear window now with three bullet holes in it from the assault rifle fire.

The trio jumped inside the car, Dash behind the wheel, and he reversed it str
aight out onto the street.

A moment later he slammed the gearstick forward and the tyres screeched as they took off after the cop and Bernhardt.

Just a single street away, Archer and Bernhardt were already out of the wrecked BMW, taking cover behind the front of the car, kneeling side by side as Archer reloaded his MP5 quickly, ripping out the empty mag and replacing it with a fresh one from his vest. He was on the left, Bernhardt on the right, and as he hit the cocking handle forward on the sub-machine gun Archer desperately looked around for an escape route.

‘Shit! We need another way out of here!’ he said.

Searching around their position, Archer’s eyes were suddenly drawn to a four-storey car park to their right.

Before he could say another word, there was a sudden squeal of tyres on tarmac in front of them.

Looking around the BMW, Archer saw a car slide out onto the main street, a silver Volvo with the three gunmen inside.

Recognising their previous vehicle slumped to a halt in the road, they immediately braked hard and raised their rifles.

‘Go!’
Archer shouted an instant later, pushing Bernhardt up and out into the street.

The former Para took off across the road, running as fast as his ankle would allow as Archer followed behind, opening fire direct
ly at the Volvo as he ran and unloading the entire clip.

His gunfire tore into the front of the car, the three gunmen inside forced to duck as Archer and Bernhardt sprinted across the street, totally exposed. The magazine had thirty two rounds slotted inside and Archer used every single one, firing as he ran, the MP5 spittin
g out a stream of shell casings and buying him and Bernhardt the chance to make it across the road.

The weapon clicked dry just as
they entered the car park; a moment later, the glass of the empty ticket collector’s hut smashed out beside him from a barrage of close return fire as he and Bernhardt fled inside.

TWENTY SEVEN

Firing from the driver’s seat into the multi-storey car park, Dash swore then pushed open his door, Portland and Piccadilly following, all of them dusted with broken glass and pieces of the car’s interior. The street around them was now deserted, all the pedestrians and drivers of passing cars running or taking cover, and they stalked unchallenged across the road towards the car park entrance.

Just as they were about to enter there was the sound of sirens and tyres screeching on asphalt and a Met police car suddenly appeared down the street to their left. Portland spun immediately and opened fire, aiming at the front tyres and blowing them out. The vehicle braked, the officers inside ducking down as Portland focused his gunfire on the car, Dash and Piccadilly leaving him to it and moving inside the car park.

Stepping
past the barrier and into the four-storey concrete structure, they saw the place was a sea of parked cars, scores of potential hiding places.

Bernhardt and the blond cop had disappeared.

Tracing with his assault rifle, Dash swore; they didn’t have time for this but they dare not let this son of a bitch escape. He and Piccadilly moved further inside, looking for any sign of movement. Portland’s gunfire continued from the street as he held off the police but Dash took no notice, focusing on the lines of cars parked in neat rows instead.

He paused and waited, listening. The ramp behind them was the only way out of here for a vehicle; however, he realised the car park would most likely be connected to a shopping centre of some sort.

That meant their prey could also get away on foot.

As he turned and took a step forward, the sound of a car alarm suddenly re
verberated around the car park, echoing off the concrete walls and coming from the level above.

He smiled in satisfaction.

‘Go!’
he hissed to Piccadilly, who was already running for the ramp.

Lowering himself back to the ground floor through the gap between the metal barrier and the floor above, Archer watched as the pair of gunmen ran up the ramp on the other side of the car park to the 1
st
floor, where he’d just set off the car alarm.

For the first time since this had all kicked off, he had a good look a
t the men and saw both were big, dressed in cargo slacks and t-shirts. One of them was Dash; he was easy to ID. His skin was terribly disfigured from horrific burns to his face and arms, and he also had a strip of tape over his nose, possibly Vargas’ handiwork. The other guy was blond and built like a rugby player with wide shoulders and a thickly muscled frame.

To Archer’s left thirty feet away, Bernhardt was still where he’d left him, hiding beside a 4x4 Toyota parked with its back to the wall. As the alarm on the level above continued to echo its shrill warning, Arch
er ran forward and joined him. Checking they hadn’t been seen, he tried the driver’s door of the Toyota more out of hope than expectation, but it was locked.

‘Ready?’
he whispered to Bernhardt, who nodded.

Without hesitation, Archer reversed his MP5 and smashed the driver’s window.

The moment he did, a second alarm wailed inside the car park, an instant giveaway of his location, giving him just seconds to work. Moving fast, Archer reached through the broken window, undid the lock, then climbed inside and pulled a jack-knife from his tac vest. He ripped off the panel under the ignition as he looked back up at the car park for the gunmen to reappear.

As Bernhardt leapt in the other side, Archer found the three wires under the exposed panel and separated the two red ones, ripping off the plastic nubs on the end and touching the naked wires together.

Nothing happened.

‘C’mon, c’mon!’
he said desperately, trying again as the car alarm wailed.

The engine fired.

Archer slammed the gear into
Drive
, pressed his foot down on the accelerator and turned the wheel to the left as hard as he could.

The car lurched out of the spot with a screech, heading for the exit. Dash and the other man suddenly appeared at the top of the ramp, raising their weapons and letting loose another violent barrage, but Archer already had a head start on them. As the back of the car took some intense fire, he pulled a sharp left turn, ploughing through the lowered barrier and snapping it off.

Straight ahead of him was the third gunman, who was firing on the unarmed police down the street, keeping them pinned down. Hearing the car racing towards him, he swung round, but Archer jammed his foot down and pulled a quick sliding right, the side of the car smashing into the man and knocking him to the ground.

‘Stay down!’
Archer shouted to Bernhardt, straightening the vehicle and stamping his foot down.

This time the car wasn’t shot to pieces, and they took off down the road at a furious pace, finally making their escape and heading off into the night.

Running out into the street moments later and seeing the tail-lights of the Toyota disappearing out of sight, Dash shouted a curse then turned and saw another Met police car had arrived beside the one Portland had shot to pieces. There was no sign of the occupants who were no doubt already out of the vehicles and taking cover, calling for back-up.

Dash’s temper boiled over and he swung round to Piccadilly.

‘Get us another car!’

As the South African nodded and ran back inside the multi-storey car park, Dash strode out onto the road. He could hear officers shouting at him to put his weapons down and get down on his knees, but he ignored them. One of them fired a warning shot, which meant the new car must have contained a Firearms Unit, forcing Dash to take cover behind a post-box beside him. He quickly reared up and returned fire with his AR-15, emptying the clip and keeping the cops pinned down.

Behind him, Portland had managed to get back to his knees after being hit by the Toyota and started firing again on the police, giving Dash the chance to reload as he hustled across the street and opened the rear of their original car, the destroyed BMW. Inside the trunk was an equipment case; slinging his rifle, he unlocked the case and took out an M90 rocket launcher, which each car of his team was carrying in
case of a situation like this. An anti-tank weapon, the M90 was light-weight, only thirteen kilograms when the warhead was slotted inside, and could only be used once, but it was designed to stop tanks in their tracks in combat situations, which meant static police cars were like target practice.

Slotting the rocket in place and arming the launcher, Dash nodded to Portland, who’d just rel
oaded and intensified his fire. Dash lifted the launcher to his shoulder, stepped out and aimed the M90 at the front fender of one of the newly-arrived firearms officers’ police car.

Seeing what he was intending to do, the police officers scrambled out from behind their vehicles.

He fired and the rocket whooshed down the street, smashing into the front of the police car, shortly followed by a huge explosion destroying the windows on the cars and buildings around them. The blast ignited the other police car’s fuel tank which resulted in a second explosion, levelling the two vehicles and injuring the officers nearby.

Standing in the middle of the street, Dash watched in satisfaction as the cars burned, everything suddenly quiet around them.

That would keep the police occupied for a while.

Throwing the now useless launcher to one side, he unslung his rifle just as Piccadilly swerved back onto the street with a stolen car. Stepping forward, Dash climbed into the front passenger seat, Portland getting gingerly into the back and pulling the door shut. A moment later the men took off in the same direction as the Toyota, leaving a scene of total destruction in their wake.

But without the cop and Bernhardt.