by Tom Barber
‘Slow down,’ Archer said, rising from his seat. ‘Stop back here if you can.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Spencer asked, as Archer focused on the road ahead. He would have expected to see troopers either standing outside or at least sitting inside the vehicle, but there weren’t any.
Then as Spencer started to brake, the headlights illuminated something snaked across the road.
As Archer shouted a warning, there was a loud bang and the heavy bus started to veer out of control. The extradition agent stamped his foot harder on the brake, throwing everyone forward as the vehicle slewed across the two lanes, only stopping when it hit the low concrete wall which intersected the bridge. ‘The hell was that?’ Spencer asked, as the inmates in the back started cussing them out. Gallagher had been smacked into the seat in front when the bus had braked and was now looking even worse than he did before, bleeding from a cut to his forehead.
With the road behind them momentarily clear but the State Police Impala blocking off the way ahead, Archer pulled his Sig Sauer and crouched low as Harrington joined him, pumping his shotgun. Over the dash and illuminated in the bus’s headlights, Archer saw now they were closer that the police cruiser ahead was damaged.
And he could also see what looked like blood, spattered across the windshield.
The extradition bus’s own windshield was suddenly partially shattered as a muzzle flashed from behind the Impala, and Agent Spencer was cut through by three bullets fired in quick succession, another few missing him but smashing out more glass at the back of the bus. The prisoners saw the agent get hit but rather than start hollering, most of them ducked down as self-preservation kicked in, a few starting to fight to try to get free from their handcuffs and chains. Archer kept low and moved closer to Spencer, seeing the man was still alive but not for much longer. Then another burst broke more of the windshield, forcing Archer down lower and spraying him with shards of glass, but two of the bullets hit Agent Harrington in the back of the head as he’d turned to check the prisoners were still secure, the shots killing him instantly.
As Harrington dropped, Archer gripped Spencer who was held in place by his seatbelt, blood leaking down onto the floor as the prisoners started shouting to be released, but while holding him he felt the extradition agent sag against him and go limp. As he turned to look down the bus, now after only a matter of a few seconds the last member of law-enforcement on board, Archer realized Harrington had fallen backwards near the inmates and the rear gate was still open from their checks on Gallagher.
The dead agent had landed near the foot of the Latino with the wispy goatee beard who was frantically trying to reach the shotgun with his shackled foot. Archer caught the grip of the 12 gauge and pulled it away an instant before part of the bus’s front door was blown apart by the shell from another shotgun, Agent Spencer’s dead body taking a flanking shot.
Someone had moved forward to assault the bus, and a hand reached in to pull the door open.
‘COP ON BOARD!’ Archer recognized Lupinetti’s voice shout from the back, just before the NYPD detective pulled the trigger on the twelve gauge. Whoever was out there ducked as the shotgun blasted glass and metal into the air, and Archer racked the pump before firing again through the windshield, the figure abandoning the attempt to board the bus and scurrying for cover instead.
As the individual retreated, Archer caught a glimpse of a huge man wearing a white t-shirt with orange prison jumpsuit pants. He fired again, more in an attempt to dissuade whoever it was from having another go at approaching the bus rather than in an expectation of hitting him, and watched for a moment to make sure no-one else was going to attempt to get on board, then hearing a noise behind him, swung round to see the black inmate from Big Sandy scramble out of the rear window smashed by the bullets that had killed Spencer. Archer realized the Latino convict who hadn’t quite got hold of the shotgun must have managed to unclip the keys from the dead extradition agent’s belt instead, and had released himself in seconds before throwing them to the black inmate on his way out.
As another prisoner started to free himself, the one who’d been talking nonstop since they’d left Virginia, Archer ran down the bus but was slammed off his feet by the giant called Briley who’d just successfully removed his leg shackles. These guys had worked incredibly fast, just as Spencer had warned earlier, always waiting for an opportunity. While Archer was bulldozed onto one of the empty seats and tried to fight off the giant, the next inmate with the keys undid his shackles and threw them at Lupinetti, the remaining prisoners shouting at him to pass the set over.
Flashing red and blue lights suddenly lit up the back of the bus as a police cruiser pulled up on the bridge behind them, but Archer was too busy to notice; he’d dropped the shotgun when he was hit and had pulled his Sig, but Briley had him pinned to one of the seats and was bending his arm slowly, forcing the gun towards Archer’s head. The prisoner was so strong there was nothing Archer could do to stop him, and he realized the guy was going to put the gun to his head before pulling the trigger. Executed a couple homicide detectives in Atlanta, Spencer had said about one of the pickups from Big Sandy. Archer had just found out which prisoner that was likely to have been.
‘Night night, piggy,’ the guy told him, but Archer suddenly stopped resisting with his left hand, then snapped his head up a split-second before the gun fired, the bullet missing his skull by a hair’s breadth and going into the floor of the bus instead. Before Briley could react, with his free hand, Archer buried his thumb deep into the man’s eye. As the giant screamed and dropped the pistol, Archer grabbed the twelve gauge on the floor beside him and rammed the stock into the convict’s head several times, putting him down hard.
The Charleston city police cruiser that had stopped behind the bus had been returning to patrol from the accident scene and traffic buildup further back down the highway, but instead, the officer inside had just found himself unexpectedly caught up in the assault on the prison transport on the bridge.
A civilian vehicle had also arrived just ahead of him, now trapped between the cop’s cruiser and the bus, but before the lone patrolman inside the cop car could reach for his radio or weapon, he came under fire from a vehicle with Virginia plates that had just screeched to a halt behind him. He was immediately killed; the VA truck had been the vehicle the bus had passed back on the highway, apparently broken down on the shoulder.
Unknown to Archer at the time, Craig Loughlin was the driver.
Leaving Archer to fight a losing battle with the monster inmate from Big Sandy, Lupinetti jumped out of the broken window at the back of the bus, having thrown the keys on the seat beside Gallagher as the other two inmates still secured yelled for them. He fell as he landed, hearing a gunshot followed by a shout of pain on the bus and smiled, knowing it had to be Archer. He got back to his feet but before he could take off, his NYPD nemesis landed on the broken glass beside him, shotgun in hand and still very much alive.
Archer ducked under a wild swinging backfist before smashing the stock of the twelve gauge behind Lupinetti’s ear, dazing him; he then pulled him back against the rear of the bus, using it as protection while giving himself a chance to catch his breath and figure out what to do next.
Three cars were now lined up behind the bus stopped at an angle across the road. A civilian Subaru which had been unfortunate enough to have been travelling behind them was the closest; the vehicle hadn’t taken any gunfire, its terrified driver huddled inside, but Archer saw the second in line, a Charleston city police cruiser, had been hit, an officer at the wheel slumped against his door. It looked to have been shot at from behind, some of the front windshield blown out onto the hood, which meant whoever was responsible for this attack had people on both sides of the bridge. He saw the door to the car farthest back in line was open but there was no sign of the driver.
But it was then that Archer also became aware of the smell of gasoline, and saw the coiled snake lying across the road responsible for blowing out their tires was
actually a hose with dozens of large nails drilled through it. The hose had got caught up under the vehicle and Archer guessed the nails being whipped around underneath had ruptured one of the bus’s fuel tanks.
Gasoline was now leaking out onto the concrete around them, and he and Lupinetti were standing right in the middle of the growing pool. Keeping a tight grip on his prisoner, Archer edged to the side of the bus and risked a glance around it, seeing two large men moving his way.
He recognized them immediately as Brooks and Billy Loughlin, still in their Gatlin jumpsuits and white t-shirts. Using the bus as cover, Archer retreated, dragging Lupinetti with him towards the first car, worried that a muzzle flash from his own weapon could ignite the gasoline and send the bus, and them with it, skywards. Running turned out to be a wise choice; the result of a shotgun blast moments later created sparks on the asphalt which set the gasoline on fire, just as Archer had feared.
Two remaining inmates on board were still secured, but from his position behind the car, Archer saw Briley tumble out of the back window, followed shortly after by Gallagher who’d somehow found the strength to free himself. They both landed in the flaming gasoline which set their shoes and lower jumpsuit pants on fire; the pair each batted at the flames, then realizing almost simultaneously they were fighting a losing battle, both ran to the edge of the bridge before hurling themselves off into the dark water below, flames creeping up the legs of their jumpsuits as they disappeared out of sight.
The other two still trapped on the bus weren’t so lucky. Flames pooled out and spread under the bus, and within seconds it was consumed by an explosion; the force of the blast knocked both Archer and Lupinetti to the concrete, despite taking cover behind the car. As they recovered, Lupinetti started struggling to escape Archer’s grip again, but while the NYPD cop fought to overpower him, he caught sight of Brooks and Billy giving the bus a wide berth and heading straight for him and Frank, both men holding weapons up ready to fire.
Archer abandoned his efforts to overpower Lupinetti and rolled back behind the civilian car as a shotgun blast disintegrated the wing mirror above his head. He pumped his own twelve gauge and dropped down to look under the car in time to see Billy waving Lupinetti forward to join them. Frank passed the giant figure of Brooks who was advancing towards Archer, holding a rifle, but the oldest Loughlin brother suddenly stopped and ran to his right.
In that instant, Archer remembered the empty car back down the bridge, and also that he hadn’t yet seen the youngest Loughlin. He swung round in time to see Craig had stalked down the bridge, his prison overalls stained with dirt and dried blood. He was already raising a rifle, but Archer was faster than the escaped convict could ever have expected and threw himself across the concrete as bullets hit the civilian car instead of him. A blast from Archer’s twelve gauge a second later hit Craig before he even had time to realize he’d been outmatched, and this time the NYPD detective wasn’t firing a non-lethal beanbag; the shell punched through the convict’s blood-stained, dirty white t-shirt a second before he collapsed to the road.
Further up the bridge, as Billy ran back to the shot-up trooper cruiser with Lupinetti, unaware his kid brother had just been shot, Brooks watched in horror as Craig went down. Before he could react, there was a second explosion from the bus as another tank ignited, knocking him to the ground.
Knowing the shotgun was either out of shells or close to it and that he was still outnumbered three to one, Archer decided it was time to split. As they’d approached the bridge in the transport bus, he’d seen it was relatively high above the water.
But he hoped not high enough that a fall would kill him.
Keeping low, he ripped open the driver’s door of the car he’d been using as cover and pulled the terrified man out. ‘Can you swim?’ he asked the guy, not waiting for the answer as he ran him towards the concrete barrier running the length of the bridge.
The answer was irrelevant anyway.
As Brooks got back to his feet, he was just in time to see the guy who’d just shot his brother disappear from sight as he and another man jumped off the side of the bridge.
He climbed over the barrier, ran across the opposite lanes which were now completely empty of traffic after approaching drivers had seen the attack on the bridge and reversed quickly out of harm’s way, but it was dark down there and he couldn’t see much.
Apoplectic with rage, Brooks started blindly firing bullets into the water below. As the magazine clicked dry, he went back across the central median then ran towards Craig. It was only then he saw he was still moving. He dropped to his knees beside him as Craig writhed in pain, coughing up blood, the front of his dirty t-shirt becoming increasingly soaked in it. Brooks looked to his right as he heard someone running towards them and saw it was Billy, who’d now realized what had happened.
‘Hold on, baby brother,’ Brooks said. ‘Just hold on.’ Craig coughed a few more times, then went slack in his arms.
The first of the USP Gatlin inmates to go down since the breakout.
He’d lasted less than twelve hours.
TWELVE
Two hours earlier, Friday night traffic had been running smoothly over the Kanawha River Bridge in both directions, with people getting out of the city of Charleston for the Labor Day weekend or heading in from out of town. But now each of the two lanes both sides of the central median were closed off, vehicles further back being rerouted. The bridge was completely sealed as troopers set up armed roadblocks on each side, the extradition prison bus still burning and surrounded by firefighters working on extinguishing the flames. Water sprayed off the vehicle, reflecting the color of the flashing lights close by.
A lead deputy from the US Marshals district office in Charleston had just arrived with members of his team. They’d liaised with their contemporaries in southern Virginia who were now overseeing the manhunt for the Loughlin brothers, a situation that was escalating fast. The three fugitives were not only responsible for a batch of fresh murders but their actions had allowed several high-risk prisoners to escape from the bus and also caused the death of the two still trapped on board when the transport exploded, as well as the two extradition agents and three members of law-enforcement. The need to locate and apprehend the runaways as soon as possible had become an urgent necessity. ‘How many got out?’ the Marshal deputy asked a State trooper, looking at the burning vehicle.
‘Five. Cop from New York who was on the transport gave us the details.’
‘New York? The hell is he doing out here?’
‘Helping escort one of the prisoners who used to wear a NYPD badge, apparently. Guy escaped and took off with the two remaining Loughlin brothers.’ He looked at the scene around them, then back at the deputy. ‘They shot a local PD officer and two of our people. Stole their cruiser and set it up down there across the road to block it off.’
‘Where’s this cop from New York?’
The trooper nodded at a sodden Archer wrapped in a borrowed blanket standing further down the bridge as he stood looking at the bus. ‘He ended up in the Kanawha?’ the deputy asked.
‘Probably the only reason he survived.’
Dripping wet from head to toe and hugging the blanket close in an effort to warm up, Archer turned when he realized a gray-haired man wearing a Marshals badge on a chain around his neck had approached and was saying something to him.
‘What was that?’ Archer said.
‘-said, I heard you were on the bus?’
Archer nodded and let go of one side of the blanket to shake the Marshal’s hand, as well as that of another deputy who’d joined him. ‘Sorry. My gun went off right next to my ear. Can’t hear too well.’
‘They fished you out?’
‘With the driver of the Subaru,’ he said, nodding at the car of the unfortunate local who’d been caught in the crossfire. ‘Jumped off with me. He’s been taken to hospital to get checked out.’ Luckily for Archer there’d been no sign of his new friend from Big Sandy, the cop kill
er Briley, who’d gone off the bridge before them.
‘They didn’t want to take you in too?’
‘Yeah, but I told them I’m fine. Subaru driver was too I think; just suffering from shock.’
The deputy was looking at him curiously. ‘Accent of yours ain’t exactly from Brooklyn.’
‘Long story.’
‘They hit you hard man,’ the other Marshal said. ‘These Loughlin boys didn’t have long to plan this. They’ve only been out of Gatlin for what, twelve hours?’
‘Paid a heavy price for it though,’ Archer told him. ‘That’s the youngest brother over there.’ He nodded down the bridge and the Marshals saw Craig Loughlin’s body still lying where he’d fallen, covered with a sheet but left in place until all necessary photographs had been taken. Archer could see glimpses of orange under the sheet. The man hadn’t been gone from prison long enough to even change out of his BOP clothes.
‘These boys busted out of a federal house just to hit this bus and break free more guys who they didn’t know?’ the lead deputy said. ‘That sound right to you? Why not just keep running.’
‘They know Frank Lupinetti,’ Archer said. ‘When we found him this morning during the riot, he was close to the laundry. It was where the brothers escaped from.’ Archer looked back down the bridge at the flames being extinguished. ‘Been thinking about it. My guess is, he was supposed to get out of the prison with them but he was too late and the truck left without him.’
‘I heard he used to be a cop,’ the other Marshal asked. ‘They that desperate for his company? What’s their end?’
‘Haven’t worked that out yet.’ Archer wrapped the blanket tighter as he shivered, trying to ward off the night chill.
‘Any idea how’d they know he’d be out here?’ the lead deputy said. ‘Our people in Virginia said this isn’t the transport he was supposed to be on.’
‘Hospital guards at Jonesville where he was being treated screwed up and let him slip out of custody before we re-apprehended him. I borrowed a cell phone just now to call a colleague who’s still there. She told me a phone had gone missing belonging to a guy in the room Frank escaped out of. Last call on it was to an unlisted cell in upstate New York. 315 area code. The Loughlins have friends and family everywhere up there. It’s home turf.’