Return Fire (Sam Archer ) (25 page)

FORTY NINE

Three months ago, she’d been about to kill him.

She’d flown to New York without any difficulty, having travelled from London on a fake passport with neither the US or UK border controls having a clue who she was or her connection with the Taliban. She’d then tracked Archer down and had been watching him for almost two weeks before she decided to make a move.

On a bright afternoon, she’d tailed the detective from his apartment and followed him into the city on the subway, watching him head into Bryant Park on East 42
nd
Street. He’d taken a seat in the courtyard there beside a dark-haired woman she hadn’t seen before, both watching some kid playing on the grass nearby. After a brief conversation, Archer had stood up and moved over to a stall to buy a few cans of soft drink and Talia had stepped up immediately behind him, gripping the hilt of the knife jammed in her pocket.

She’d longed for this
moment, the chance to bury all three inches of the blade into his neck and watch him die. She’d already spotted several cops in the immediate area and knew there was every chance they would shoot her once she killed Archer, but she didn’t care.

Her precious son was dead and this man had killed him.

But standing there trembling with rage, the knife in her hand and his neck exposed, she couldn’t do it.

Not because she’d changed her mind.

Not because of fear.

But because it was too quick.

Letting go of the hilt, she’d let the knife drop down into the pocket of her light coat. He’d turned away from the stall, carrying three cans of Sprite, and had smiled at her as she’d stepped back out of his way.

Without hesitation, Talia had
instantly walked away, leaving Archer and his female companion alone in the courtyard of the Park.

Her cruelly inventive mind immediately set to work.

It was time to plan something far bigger.

Sam Archer had suffered before; Talia had read that much in the files she’d been obsessively accumulating on him. His father had been murdered a couple of years ago and his mother had died of cancer, both of which she’d been pleased to read about, deriving some comfort from picturing their son’s pain at both their deaths.

Apparently he had a sister too, a lawyer who lived in Washington DC, but Talia couldn’t locate the bitch as hard as she tried; she’d called her hacker back in Kabul and put him onto it, but it seemed the woman had got married and changed her name, her exact whereabouts unknown.

Not wasting any more time on her, Talia focused on her brother and his friends. Sam Archer had more lives than a cat; judging by the reports Talia accessed, he’d found himself in some extremely dangerous situations but had come through all of them. Suicide bombers, bank robbers, Neo-Nazi terrorists, Special Forces soldiers from Kosovo; they’d all failed to take him down. It sickened her that he was obviously highly regarded whilst her son had briefly dominated the headlines, but only as an evil monster whom the world was well rid of.

Sam Archer had taken so much from her that a quick death was far too merciful.

He deserved to suffer, to watch everyone he cared about die before he joined them.

Then Talia had an idea.

She’d hire Dash’s team to do it.

By the time the men had agreed to the terms of the contract and had all arrived in the city
three weeks ago, Talia had already paid for a six month lease on the 12
th
and 17
th
floors inside this office building, using a fake identity, bank accounts and a series of fake references, bank-rolling it all with some of her substantial fortune. She’d been informed that workmen hadn’t finished renovating much of the place but she said that wasn’t an issue; in fact it was just what she’d been looking for, the floors between the two she’d hired totally out of action due to the renovations.

A
n anonymous space big enough from where she and Dash’s team could work.

The building was empty today given that it was a weekend; despite that, there would usually still have been some activity from other businesses, but there was no one here due to the fact that many of the floors were
closed. However, over the past few weeks, Dash and his team had set up shop here and accumulated weapons from an old contact of Bernhardt’s.

Dash’s man Piccadilly had then come up with the plan of attack. It was a good one, luring Archer’s NYPD team here to London then ambushing them and the ARU
at the same time. Nevertheless, getting the New York police group over here in the first place was the main challenge.

How could they do it without attracting suspicion?

Kidnap was the answer. Talia and Dash’s team all knew the way police teams worked; the abduction of a fellow cop was almost as serious as one getting shot, especially in the States, whose military prided themselves on the
no one gets left behind
bullshit that continued to get so many of them killed. They guessed the same would apply to the police force, which was something to exploit.

And Archer’s girlfriend was the perfect target.

As Dash’s team had gathered in London and waited on standby on Talia’s orders, she’d stayed in New York and waited patiently, observing Archer and his movements, looking for a chance to take the woman Vargas.

An opportunity had presented itself eight days ago.

In a car down the street, Talia had been watching Archer’s apartment when his girlfriend had suddenly stormed out, striding up to 30
th
with a bag and hailing the next available taxi. Talia had followed her to JFK, and after leaving the car in the short stay area she quickly relocated the woman inside the Terminal and watched her check in for a flight.

She’d made it to within earshot of the desk and heard the airline employee tell the woman
that her flight left at 12:05. Looking up at the board as the woman passed her, she checked the departures.

12:05
to Malaga was the only flight that matched that particular time.

She was going to Spain.

Calling Dash, he ensured that Wood and Covent were already in place before the girl landed and they’d tailed her from the airport south to some coastal town called Nerja, watching her step out of a taxi at a villa by the beach.

She was isolated, unprepared and unarmed.

Ready to be taken.

Ordering Wood and Covent to watch the female detective’s movements and report back to him, Dash and his team soon identified two men they could use as donors and bait, two Eastern European scumbags who had records for trafficking which Dash knew would get the detectives’ colleagues running over here hotfoot from the States.

Once two other small safe-houses were arranged, a place in Hendon and a run-down apartment in Brixton, they were ready to go.

Two nights ago, they’d abducted the two Slovakians and transported them to Hendon and Brixton, forcibly taking samples of their blood
before injecting them with sedatives; Dash had then gone to Spain in Talia’s hired private jet to join up with the two other men, the trio kidnapping Archer’s girlfriend to bait the trap. The bitch had fought back and busted Dash’s nose, which they hadn’t allowed for, but they’d left the traffickers’ blood on the sheets as planned to spoon feed the NYPD before flying back to the UK.

The blood samples had worked, luring the NYPD search team to London, but getting them here had been the easy bit.

Killing them had proved to be a whole lot more difficult.

The news reports and Dash’s calls had kept Talia up-to-date all day as each successive officer or detective went down, but to her knowledge only two of them had died. Maybe some of Sam Archer’s luck had rubbed off, like fairy dust or some other shit.

However, a quick death meant no pain, so Talia was able to take some pleasure from the fact that they were all suffering at the loss of their two colleagues and that so many were lying injured in hospital.

She knew all about the two teams; Lisa Marquez, Josh Blake, Danny White, Ryan Fox and Mike Porter. Tim Cobb and Matt Shepherd. The analyst Nicola Carter. Some of them had been involved in that operation that had taken on Dominick and his cell of suicide bombers.

But as well as that, they were all Sam Archer’s colleagues and close friends.

And just for that alone, they were all going to die.

Talia hawked and spat on the office floor as she thought of someon
e else that Archer cared about, the bitch upstairs, Alice Vargas. Talia had been observing Archer for a while and had seen the female detective with him constantly; the pair had somehow survived that situation she’d read about inside the Harlem building and were clearly more than just colleagues.

And now, just as he was happy, she was going to take that from him.

She smiled, picturing Aldgate upstairs with the woman; she’d be dead by now, bled out like a stuck pig, her boyfriend soon to follow.

She’d make sure Archer
saw her body before he died.

The day Dominick had been killed
he’d been the ninth member of his cell to die, and the post-mortem said he’d been shot through the right eye, Sam Archer the man who pulled the trigger. Her mood darkening, Talia looked down from the window at the city below, waiting for Dash and his men to return with her son’s killer.

An eye for an eye, you son of a bitch,
she thought.

FIFTY

At the ARU HQ, Chalky had got the black Eurocopter going, the rotors on the vessel gathering speed fast. The angle of the building meant the bulk of the helicopter was hidden from the gunfire from below, but the spinning rotors pinged as they took a round every now and then, Marquez still unloading on the five mercenaries below and giving Chalky and Archer a chance to lift off.

Bursting through the door to the roof, Archer stayed low and ran over to the vessel, his MP5 in his hands and spare magazines slotted into his vest. Pulling open the cabin door behind Chalky, he jumped inside then dragged it shut.

‘Let’s go, Chalk!’

Down below, Dash saw the rotors of the ARU chopper now whirring in a blur.

The return fire from the police building was now only coming from one person, the Latina NYPD detective. He knew how cops like this operated; they’d never leave someone behind in a situation like this, which meant Archer
and his friend would only depart for somewhere or someone absolutely crucial. There was no sign of Bernhardt either, which meant he was either restrained inside or dead.

The
office building; it had to be.

They must have found his mother’s location somehow.

As the others fired up at the woman on the 1
st
floor who was pinning them down, Dash looked across at Notting, who was firing his Benelli with a litter of empty red shells around him; he’d arrived in the same Audi that he’d started out with earlier in the day and Dash remembered he had a spare M90 in the trunk, each car equipped with several, the team taking no chances.

Notting squeezed off two shells, then looked to his right, hearing Dash shouting to catch his attention.

‘What?’
he called back.

‘
M90; take it out!’
Dash ordered, pointing at the police chopper.

It was just starting to lift off the roof.

As the vessel climbed into the air, there was a sudden smash in the cabin and Chalky jolted, falling against the door on his left.

Seeing his friend get hit, Archer leaned over and helped him with the stick, fighting to keep the aircraft level.

‘Chalk!’

Gritting his teeth, Chalky heaved himself upright, gripping the gear stick hard and continuing to control the chopper as it climbed into the air. Looking down, Archer suddenly saw one of the gunmen from behind the silver Audi aiming something directly up at them from his shoulder.

It was a rocket launcher.

Down in what was left of the Briefing Room, Marquez had seen it too.

Letting loose with a volley of fire to buy her a brief second, she sighted her MP5 on the mercenary as he aimed the M90 at the vessel.

She couldn’t see his head.

But she could see his arm.

As Dash watched from behind his car, Notting was suddenly thumped back, shot in the shoulder.

At the same moment, the heat-seeking rocket whooshed out of the launcher, ploughing across the car park and exploding as it hit
a car parked on the far side. Taking cover from the explosion but feeling the intense wave of heat, Dash swore, looking up at the ARU helicopter as it disappeared into the night unscathed, no doubt heading for the office building. He emptied his assault rifle at the vessel, but it was already out of range as it flew off across the city and out of sight.

He turne
d to the three men beside him.

‘You stay here with him!’
he said to Grange, pointing at Notting then up at the building.
‘Kill that bitch before back-up gets here then get back to base!’

As Grange nodded, Dash turned to Piccadilly and Portland.

‘You two, with me!’

Looking around the car park, he saw one of the police 4x4 BMWs sitting in a bay to his left.

‘Cover fire!’
he shouted.

As the other three men opened fire, he ran towards the vehicle and tried the handle, but the car was locked. He went to break the glass, but a burst of gunfire from the Latina cop suddenly smashed out the window by his head, taking him by surprise and causing him to duck.

Reaching through the blown out window, he sprung the locks and opened the car, then jumped inside and after a few seconds, hot-wired it. As the engine fired, he reversed the car around, the rear taking some fire but the angle momentarily protecting him in the front seat.

He pulled to a halt as Piccadilly and Portland both ran across the
car park, jumping into the car. Not wasting a second, Dash floored it and they took off, speeding down the street and back towards their base in the office building by the Thames.

Now alone in the Briefing Room, Marquez fired down into the parking lot, watching three of the mercenaries take off in a stolen ARU BMW, speeding out of the car park and leaving two men behind, one being the man she’d just shot in the shoulder.

However, the son of a bitch reappeared with a pistol aimed in her direction over the side of the car, and at the same time, the uninjured man fired up at her.

She went to return fire, but the sub-machine gun suddenly clicked dry. Pulling the trigger three more times, as if the act might cough up another bullet, she quickly stepped back and reached to the ARU vest she was wearing, but her hand met nothing but empty space. She looked down at the floor, grabbing the magazines that were lying there, but they were all used. Despite the extra clips Archer had brought her, she’d already gone through all the bullets keeping the attackers at bay.

Ducking as enemy rounds ripped into the ceiling above her head, she dropped the MP5 and pulled her Glock, firing back. Sensing the balance was shifting slightly in their favour, one of two men edged out from behind the car to try and get a clearer shot but Marquez fired again, a double-tap that ricocheted off the metal beside his head, just missing him but forcing him back behind the car.

She fired again to reinforce the point but then fell back as the slide on the Glock stayed back.

She was out of ammo.

‘Shit!’
she said, looking around in desperation. She could hear sirens way off in the distance but they were still too far away.

She, Nikki and Lipton would be dead before back-up got here.

The two men below reared up again and fired a barrage at the upper level, realising the defensive fire had stopped and Marquez threw herself back onto the burnt, damaged floor, looking towards the stairs down the corridor to her right.

She needed to get to the armoury for more ammo.

Swearing again, she turned and ran across the room, stopping by Bernhardt’s body to pull the magazine from the Glock he’d been holding and slot it into her own pistol. Then she moved over to Lipton; helping him to his feet, she half-carried him over to the Briefing Room and unslung the man’s MP5 from his shoulder, putting it into his hands.

‘Whatever you do, stop them
from getting inside!
’ she ordered.

Lipton nodded and started to fire down at the two mercenaries, but Marquez saw the two gunmen had taken advantage of the brief lull in the return fire and had almost made it to the entrance, ducking down behind another car much closer to the door. Now Marquez would never make it to the armoury; from their field of fire facing the stairs, they’d cut her in half.

Cursing, she turned and ran across the floor towards Nikki, who was slumped against her desk, her laptop beside her, lying in a pool of blood from her leg.

‘Is there any more ammunition up here?’ she asked.

Nikki shook her head.
‘All…downstairs.’

Knowing she had seconds to come up with something, Marquez looked around frantically for anything she could use as Lipton continued to fire with his MP5. Running across the room, she moved into Cobb’s office
, thinking the boss might have a weapon or something inside his desk. All the filing cabinets had been knocked to the floor but his heavy desk was still upright, bolted to the floor.

Racing behind it, she pul
led open his top desk drawer but saw no weapon, just an unopened bottle of Glenmorangie whiskey.

Looking at it, she
thought for a moment, then suddenly remembered seeing Lipton smoking outside earlier when he was by the front gate with Wilson and two Met cops.

I just hope he didn’t ask for a light
, she thought, grabbing the bottle.

She ran back into the Briefing Room as Lipton continued to fire on the mercenaries below, not inflicting any damage but managing to stop the two gunmen from getting inside the building. He’d run out of ammo for his MP5 and was now firing his Glock, blood running down the side of his arm from the gunshot wound.

Kneeling beside him, Marquez ripped a strip off a tattered, smoke-stained piece of now unrecognisable clothing she’d found on the floor, stuffing it into the bottle. Then she tipped the Glenmorangie upside down, wetting the lower end of the rag.

Beside her, Lipton’s Glock suddenly clicked dry and he dropped back.

‘I’m out!’

‘Lighter!’
Marquez demanded.

Clutching his left arm, he tilted his pocket towards her and she reached forward, taking out a plastic lighter.

Sparking a flame, Marquez lit the rag, ducking from a sudden burst of assault rifle fire.

Then she rose and quickly threw the bottle down at the car twenty feet from the entrance as hard as she could.

The makeshift Molotov cocktail exploded on impact, the two gunmen jerked back but not affected by the blast, protected by the other side of the car.

‘Shit!’
Lipton said, who’d hauled himself up beside her to watch. ‘You missed!’

Ignoring him, Marquez suddenly pulled
her reloaded Glock.

And she aimed the sights at the car’s fuel tank.

She fired twice, putting a double tap into the side of the car, and then dove back with Lipton as petrol spilled from the ruptured tank onto the flaming Molotov cocktail on the concrete beneath.

The blast that followed a second later was huge, resulting in a massive fireball as the car’s fuel tank went up.

Lying on the blackened floor, hearing the car thump back onto the concrete as it landed after the blast, Marquez rose carefully to her feet and edged towards the damaged open edge of the building, one bullet left in her pistol.

Both gunmen were dead.
They were sprawled either side of the burning car with their weapons on the ground beside them, the car they’d taken cover behind burning like a pyre. The flames crackled in the sudden quiet after the gunfight, the sirens of approaching police cars growing louder as they turned into the street, the car park a sea of empty shell casings, broken glass and cars shot to pieces.

It looked more like a warzone than a police station.

Turning back, she saw Lipton was OK and then ran across the level, re-joining Nikki and kneeling to check her leg.

‘Are…they down?’

‘They’re down.’

As Nikki looked at Marquez, they both heard cars arrive in the car park outside, back-up finally here.

‘That…was a nice move,’
Nikki said.
‘How did you…’

Marquez grinned, as the sound of car doors opening and closing joined the crackling of the flames from the burning car, the flashing lights on the police cars reflected off the windows of the buildings around the car park.

‘You see some interesting things growing up in the Bronx,’ she replied.