One Way (Sam Archer 5)

by Tom Barber

  ‘That bitch is going to pay for what she’s done. I swear to God.’

  Fowler nodded, continuing his search. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for.

  ‘Bingo,’ he said, holding up the item he’d pulled from Patterson’s vest. ‘Unharmed.’

  ‘Good.’ Denton paused. ‘Let’s get out of here and get moving.’

  Fowler rose and pointed to a black holdall slung around Denton’s shoulder.

  ‘Might as well dump that shit. You’re not gonna need them anymore.’

  Denton thought for a moment; he had a point. The contents were heavy and he’d been carrying the bag around all night. He slipped the holdall off his shoulder, leaving it on the floor.

  Fowler rose, scooping up his M4A1, and the two men ducked back out of the door.

  Inside the bath, Archer didn’t move, his M4A1 resting on his thigh, pointing down between his feet. He heard the two men exit. He shifted to one side to sneak a glance over the rim. The bathroom was half-destroyed, the walls torn apart from the gunfire.

  His movement disturbed a piece of tile from the wall above him.

  He saw it, almost in slow motion, drop away from the ruined wall.

  It fell towards the floor.

  Outside in the hallway, Denton and Fowler heard it.

  They stopped in their tracks.

  The two men swung round and doubled back, looking through the sights of their M4A1s. They re-entered the apartment, looking left and right silently. They cleared the kitchen and sitting room, ending up with their weapons aimed at the bathroom.

  Denton examined it; the room had been half-destroyed by gunfire. The bathtub was against the far wall, standing on a step, riddled with dents. The wall above had taken most of the onslaught, with few tiles remaining.

  He pushed his pressel down. ‘Joker.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You see any movement in the apartment on 5?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  The two men stayed still for a moment, listening.

  As they stood there, a small piece of tile above the bath fell off the wall, smashing to the rim of the tub, mirroring the noise they’d heard from out in the corridor. Both men smiled.

  ‘What a dump,’ Denton said.

  ‘Think they improved it,’ Fowler joked, pointing at the half-destroyed wall. ‘Let’s go.’

  Inside the bath, flat on his back, his fingers curled around the grip of the M4A1 and ready to fire, Archer held his breath. He heard the men leave the room but didn’t move for at least a full minute, making sure they’d actually gone and weren’t lying in wait. Then, hearing nothing, he exhaled.

  Taking the utmost care, he climbed out slowly.

  This time, no pieces of tile fell.

  FORTY TWO

  Archer made it back to the 12 floor apartment safely and without incident, re-joining a relieved Vargas, Carson and Isabel in the sitting room. The girl had taken a dosage of the medication under Vargas’ watchful eye and was now curled up in an armchair, still recovering from the seizures. She’d been sick a couple of times during Archer’s absence and was pretty out of it; Archer had never encountered anyone with epilepsy before, so he followed Vargas’ lead and left the child alone, giving her some room and letting the aftermath of the seizure run its course. Apparently that was the best thing to do.

  Watching Isabel, Vargas turned to him. ‘You see anyone down there?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ she asked, pointing to his side. On his way out of Helen’s apartment, Archer had noticed a black holdall dumped on the floor, left by one of the two men who’d almost found him in the bathtub. Archer had quickly unzipped it, checking what was inside; after seeing what it contained, he’d decided to take it with him.

  He unslung it carefully off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor, and unzipped it again so Vargas could see the contents.

  Two Claymore mines were sitting inside the fabric, nestled side by side.

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Guess they didn’t need them. They might come in handy.’

  She frowned and saw the detonator already connected to the blasting wire inside the holdall by a length of wire.

  ‘Wait, are they armed?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just the clacker and the wire. Relax. It’s all good. You need to fit the blasting cap for it to explode.’

  Placing the bag safely out of the way, Archer walked across the room to the sofa, kneeling by Carson. The wounded man was still conscious, but only just.

  ‘Welcome…back,’ he forced.

  Archer nodded, patting him on the arm.

  ‘What’s…the situation…down there?’

  ‘We made it to the lobby through the elevator shaft earlier. I saw they’ve booby-trapped the door. They’ve used Claymore mines, the same as they did up on the roof. And there was something else against the wall.’

  ‘What…was it?’

  ‘It looked like an internet hub. I think it’s a phone jammer.’

  ‘You…need to turn it off,’ Carson said.

  ‘Jack’s right,’ Vargas said. ‘We need to warn the people outside. If they try a frontal assault, they’ll be cut to pieces.’

  Archer checked his watch. It was just past 9 pm. ‘They’ve lost a lot of their guys,’ he said. ‘They’ll be getting desperate. You know who they are. Their dead buddies are scattered all over the building. Once CSU IDs them, the whole group will be convicted. They’ve got nothing to lose now.’

  He paused.

  ‘Or they’ll cut their losses, gather up their dead guys and bail.’

  ‘No way,’ she said. ‘I know them. Not when I still have air in my lungs.’

  There was a pause. In the quiet, they all noticed something, a sound coming from the hall. Archer turned and looked at Vargas.

  ‘You hear that?’

  They listened closely. It was coming from the corridor.

  ‘What the hell?’ she said.

  He thought for a moment then rose, moving out of the sitting room and making his way quietly towards the main door.

  ‘Wait!’ she hissed, following him. He turned to her, standing in the sitting room doorway; she shook her head.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he whispered.

  He pulled the refrigerator back a foot and unclicked the lock.

  The door opened a slit. Archer looked through the slender gap.

  The corridor was empty.

  But there was a sound coming over the intercom; it was muffled, but was constant and monotonous, electronic, some kind of beeping. Vargas joined him, listening by the jamb.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ she said.

  Listening for a few moments longer, he eased the door shut and locked it.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Vargas looked at him, confused, then turned and took a quick look out of the window. She stiffened.

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think my people are coming in.’

  He moved over and joined her; she was right. Down below, he could see a cluster of US Marshals in vests and with assault weapons. They were in a huddle which broke, people checking their weapons and moving towards the building.

  ‘They try to come in through the front door, the mines will kill them and half the people on the street.’

  ‘We can’t just walk down there and tell them to hold off.’

  ‘We stay here, they die!’

  ‘We move, we could die.’

  They looked at each other; neither option was appealing.

  ‘We’ve got to do something!’ she said.

  They rushed back into the sitting room; Carson was looking over towards them anxiously.

  ‘What’s…happening?’

  ‘A Marshals task force outside are preparing to come in. We need to stop them. They’ll get blown to pieces.’

  Isabel had stirred and was blinking up at Vargas, who looked down at the little girl.

  ‘We need
you to stay here with Jack, honey. We won’t be gone long.’ Isabel tried to sit up. Vargas moved forward, kneeling down and hugging her. ‘What we’re doing means we can get out of here once and for all. Jack will protect you.’

  By the couch, Archer looked down at Carson. ‘Sure you’re up to it?’

  Gritting his teeth, Carson nodded. ‘I could…do with giving some…payback.’

  Hugging Isabel one last time, Vargas rose. The two of them hustled to the door. Vargas looked back as Isabel moved off her chair and joined Carson by the couch, the wounded man holding his Glock in his left hand. He reached over with his right and took her hand, the girl looking over at Vargas, unsure.

  ‘We’ll be back soon,’ Vargas said. ‘I promise.’

  FORTY THREE

  Down on the street, the Marshals team had finally had enough. Hobbs had been on the phone for most of the past two hours, first explaining to his senior officers what had happened to his team on the roof and the chopper, then trying to figure out a plan for a secondary approach. The police commissioner had arrived, been filled in on the situation and was talking with the senior NYPD men on the ground, also trying to come up with a solution to the stand-off. Two other ESU teams had arrived but they were being ordered to hold back; no more NYPD choppers were going near the building unless ordered, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

  Dalton’s group was a separate issue. They were a Federal team and had jurisdiction here, and he’d decided it was time to get inside the building once and for all. Their two helicopters were back from an operation in Long Island, but after what had happened to the ESU vessel, the pilots were understandably reluctant to fly anywhere near the building carrying a team on what could well turn out to be a suicide mission.

  That meant they were going in from the ground.

  Dalton was mid-briefing when Hendricks and Shepherd approached him. He sensed their urgency and broke off from what he was saying, motioning to his team to give him one moment. He moved off to one side with the two men, Dalton’s team watching him expectantly.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Shepherd asked.

  ‘We’re going in.’

  ‘That’s not wise. They put down ESU with Claymore mines and a rocket launcher,’ Shepherd said. ‘Who knows what kind of weapons they’ve got in there?’’

  ‘We have no alternative. It’s time to end this thing.’

  ‘Listen. These men aren’t after the child,’ Hendricks said. ‘This is something else.’

  Dalton looked at him. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  ‘I went downtown; grilled Mike Lombardi. He has no idea what this is about.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? You went down there and told him the whereabouts of our only witness in his trial?’

  Hendricks didn’t reply. Dalton’s expression changed, hardening.

  ‘You know what, from now on we’ll handle this,’ he said. ‘This is a Federal situation; stay the hell out of it.’

  ‘Listen to him, James,’ Shepherd implored. ‘These men aren’t who we thought they were. They’re here for one of your people.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I think you do.’

  Dalton didn’t reply. Behind him, his team waited expectantly, ready to go.

  ‘Stand down and stay the hell away,’ he repeated. ‘That’s a Federal order. We’re going in.’

  On the 12 floor, Archer and Vargas were in the corridor, the two of them standing back to back, covering each other in the now familiar pattern. The hallway was quiet but they both felt vulnerable, as they’d done the entire damn time they’d been here. Being inside one of the apartments gave momentary protection and slight security; out here, there was nowhere to hide.

  There were no more people left on this floor; the place was eerily empty.

  And in the quiet, the constant beeping over the intercom continued.

  They couldn’t waste a second; if the Marshals managed to breach the front door, the Claymores hidden behind the desk would blow them to pieces.

  Moving fast, the pair entered the stairwell and started making their way down, ready and fully prepared to encounter the SRT team or the guys from the street and take them out head-on.

  Hendricks and Shepherd watched Dalton re-join his team.

  ‘This isn’t smart,’ Hendricks said. ‘They annihilated the ESU task force. They’ll do the same to them.’

  ‘What else can we do, Jake? He won’t listen.’

  ‘Last time they came in from above,’ Hendricks said. ‘This time, they know it’ll be from the ground. It’ll be a massacre.’

  Shepherd glanced at his friend and saw him staring up at the top of the building. He realised what he was thinking. Hendricks turned to him.

  ‘You with me?’

  Shepherd nodded. Without another word, the two men ran from the sea of NYPD vehicles and jumped into Shepherd’s car, Hendricks pulling his cell as Shepherd fired the engine.

  They needed a chopper ASAP.

  Archer and Vargas moved down the stairs quickly. By now they’d become accustomed to each other’s movements and patterns, strangers from mere hours ago who were now relying on each other to stay alive.

  5.

  4.

  3.

  The lower apartment block was like a ghost-town. Everyone was either gone, hiding out or had been killed in the gas explosion on 8 when the mob of residents had found them. Pausing on the 3 floor stairwell, they both glanced down the corridor.

  It was deserted. There was no-one about.

  Including the response team.

  FORTY FOUR

  Down on the street, Dalton’s task force stepped past the barriers and shot-up cop cars, moving slowly forward. Four men at the front of the group were holding bullet-proof riot shields, the same type that had saved the Hostage Rescue man’s life when he’d tried to get a phone inside earlier. The raids and busts they performed as an agency often weren’t smooth and they were accustomed to this kind of drill. They were approaching in a group like a Roman tortoise, an ancient defensive manoeuvre but still highly effective.

  Watching them approach the building, Dalton realised Hobbs was beside him, looking anxious. Any cause for argument they’d had earlier had been blown up with the ESU team and their chopper.

  Dalton glanced at Hobbs.

  ‘Here we go.’

  Archer and Vargas arrived onto the 1 floor. It was empty, no-one around, like all the others. However, they knew the team of Miami cops were using these floors, so Archer pulled open the door, Vargas going through, wanting to clear it quickly before they continued down. Halfway along the corridor, Archer passed a room with an open door that looked different. It was some kind of maintenance office, no one inside. Expecting an ambush at any moment, he ducked into the room, followed by Vargas. They both saw an intercom panel on the wall, but the button wasn’t pushed down.

  There must be another somewhere else in the building, Archer thought.

  Vargas looked at him and pointed down. He nodded. They couldn’t waste any more time. They quickly cleared the rest of the corridor and the north stairwell. As they moved down to the ground floor, ready to fire, they saw a load of dead bodies slumped on top of each other. They’d all been shot, blood on the floor and on the walls behind them. Climbing over them, with no time to spare, Archer and Vargas paused by the door. He looked at her and nodded.

  Ripping the door back, they aimed into the lobby, ready to fire.

  But none of the gunmen were there.

  The man Archer had strangled was still dumped in a heap by the elevator but there was no-one else. The place was deserted. Archer looked over at the mass of Claymores aimed at the door and winced. He approached the jammer by the wall and flicked a switch; it seemed to shut down.

  Vargas had already pulled her phone, looking through the shattered window, seeing a task force of Marshals approaching the door.

  ‘Put your hands up!’ one of them bellowed, seeing Arc
her through the gap and aiming at him with a shotgun.

  Outside, the Marshals were eight yards from the door. Behind the cop car barrier twenty yards away, Dalton watched.

  Suddenly, his phone rang. They were two yards from the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sir, it’s Vargas! Do not enter! I repeat, do not enter! The door is rigged to blow!’

  Dalton took off and started running towards the building with no regard for his own safety, people watching from the crowd and wondering what was happening.

  The Marshals team were at the door.

  ‘Stop!’

  The other side of the door, Archer saw the Marshals task force by the blown-out glass. Two of them were training their weapons on him. He saw a dark-haired man suddenly appear from behind, running forward and shouting at his team to lower their weapons. He had a phone to his ear. Dalton. Vargas saw him and ended the call, moving forward as close as she could get without touching the Claymores.

  ‘You can’t get in here, sir,’ Vargas told him. ‘There are enough Claymores here to kill everyone on the street.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ Dalton asked. ‘Where’s the child?’

  ‘She’s upstairs. She’s fine. These men are the cops from Miami; they’re here for me.’

  Dalton stared at her. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive. This door’s trip-wired, sir. You’ll have to come in from the roof!’

  Inside the lobby, there was a noise from the north stairwell. Vargas spun and swept up her M4A1, pointing it at the door. She and Archer both eased their way towards it. Pulling the door back, they aimed their weapons up the stairs past the dead bodies, but no one appeared, no other sound except the continuous beeping.

  ‘Where the hell is that coming from?’ Archer said.

  Vargas withdrew to the lobby, checking the detailed building plan on the wall.

  ‘The basement,’ she said. ‘I’ll check it.’

  As she turned, Archer heard what sounded like movement again, from somewhere just up the stairwell. He took a step forward, aiming up the flight, as Vargas moved down the stairwell to the floor below, her M4A1 in her shoulder, easing her way downstairs.