by Tom Barber
Just ahead, Marquez and Josh were both cleared through security and they joined Shepherd on the other side, the trio waiting for Archer and all dressed similarly to him. An official beckoned Archer forward, and he stepped through the rectangular detector, his bag, shoes and valuables placed on a grey plastic tray and going through the x-ray machine to his left. The scanner didn’t bleep, satisfying the TSA team, and he was allowed to continue forward, the security team shifting their attention to the next person in line.
Despite the hassle, Archer felt reassured by the safety of the whole process as he pocketed his phone, wallet and NYPD badge then pulled on his black and white Converse shoes, tying the laces. However, at that moment he was less comfortable with the absent holster and Sig Sauer pistol that usually resided on his hip. Seeing as the NYPD quartet were travelling to another country, they’d each had to leave their side-arm behind at home.
Given the circumstances and the reason for their trip, Archer didn’t feel especially comfortable about it and he knew the others would feel the same.
With his shoes back on, Archer scooped up his holdall and re-joined Shepherd, Josh and Marquez. The team then headed up a few steps into the inner heart of the Terminal, immediately surrounded by Gates, wandering travellers, Duty Free shops selling alcohol, fragrances and gadgets beside several overpriced news vendors offering refreshments at twice the normal price.
The place was subdued and quiet, just like the four NYPD detectives. Walking forward, Archer checked his watch. 4:57 am. Their flight wasn’t for another hour and twenty three minutes, which meant all they could do now was sit and wait. He immediately set off towards a row of empty seats up ahead but Shepherd caught his shoulder and pointed to his left.
‘Ethan booked us into Club Class,’ he reminded him. ‘Let’s use the Lounge.’
Turning, Archer followed the others as they cut a direct path through the Terminal towards the entrance to the British Airways Lounge. A perk of their more expensive seats, the Lounge was a private, secluded area which provided privacy, space to work and complimentary food and drink. Arriving at the reception desk, they each showed a woman in a navy blue BA suit their boarding passes and passports. She welcomed them through with a smile that was impressively genuine for this time in the morning, but only Josh managed to match it as they passed her desk and walked into the Lounge.
There were about twenty other people sitting around the room, mostly businessmen and women reading documents or working on laptops, brought together for a brief spell before flying on to their various destinations around the world. A few had dozed off, that light kind of sleep that would be ended in an instant when a flight was called for boarding, whilst others were sipping drinks or eating the light snacks provided.
There were plenty of available seats and the quartet moved towards four armchairs centred around a low-cut polished table towards the back of the lounge, the typical police approach, keeping their backs to the wall and their eyes on the door. Placing their bags down, Josh and Marquez immediately headed over towards a coffee and tea selection across the room beside the complimentary food. As they both left, Shepherd’s phone started ringing and he took the call, walking away and talking quietly to whoever was on the other end.
Momentarily alone, Archer took a seat and leaned back in a leather armchair, rubbing tiredness out of his eyes, the warm darkness of his apartment a distant memory now it had been replaced by harsh airport lighting and cold recycled air from the ventilation system. He felt like shit; ever since Josh had told him Vargas had been taken, his stomach had knotted up like an intricate Chinese puzzle and had stayed that way ever since.
What the hell was this about?
Whatever the reason Stanovich and Payan had kidnapped Alice, they’d taken her at 2:30am; she would have been fast asleep, the element of surprise helping to make their task easier, but it sounded as if she’d gone down fighting. Even though these men must have caught her off guard, she’d still managed to draw blood from all three, giving the investigating team plenty to work with.
Sitting there alone for the moment, Archer paused.
All three.
There was someone else involved here. The owner of the fourth sample that Travis said wasn’t Vargas’ and which hadn’t yet been matched.
A third kidnapper.
As he considered the few facts he had, Archer tried to clarify his thoughts; the owner of the as yet unidentified blood sample was another mystery in a night already full of them. Everything had happened as suddenly as a fast-moving tornado hitting an unsuspecting Midwest town. Three hours ago he’d been fast asleep but was now on his way to the UK to track down two sleazy, ex-con sex traffickers who’d kidnapped his girlfriend.
Another nightmare.
But this time he was awake.
Sitting there alone, his foot tapped quietly with impatience as he checked his watch. He’d seen the Liam Neeson movies but he also knew the facts; every sixty seconds after a woman is kidnapped by men in the sex-trade is another minute closer to never finding her again. Although Stanovich and Payan were both apparently back in London, there was no guarantee at all that they’d brought Vargas to the city with them. They could easily have passed her onto someone else on their way through Europe, injecting her with substances to keep her compliant.
Or done something even worse.
Feeling bile rise in his gut, he forced his mind elsewhere, but despite his best efforts it kept conjuring up an image of Vargas tied up somewhere, bleeding and vulnerable, still dressed in those small grey nightclothes she wore, alone and scared.
Just hold on, Alice, he thought.
I’m coming for you.
Then his thoughts shifted to Stanovich and Payan. His already dark mood turned as black as pitch.
I’m coming for you too.
Ten feet to the left, Shepherd thanked whoever had called him and hung up, tucking the phone back into his jeans and walking over to take a seat beside Archer.
‘That was Travis,’ he said. ‘Still no match on the fourth sample. Spanish police have been informed that we’re heading to London and have asked that we keep them fully updated on any progress.’
Archer nodded but didn’t reply, the silence filled by the quiet murmur of muted conversations around the room.
‘There’s something else too, Arch,’ Shepherd said, settling back in his chair.
‘What is it?’
‘We’re going to need a Command Post and base when we get to London, and a hotel room isn’t going to cut it. Is there any chance your old colleagues could help?’
As Josh and Marquez walked over, each carrying two cups, Archer realised he’d been so focused on Stanovich and Payan that he hadn’t given any thought to where they were heading.
London; his old stomping ground.
Checking his watch, he saw it was past 10am in the UK, and pulled his cell phone as Josh and Marquez sat down.
‘Any news?’ Josh asked, passing Shepherd a cup of coffee.
Taking the drink, Shepherd didn’t reply, watching Archer who was looking at the screen of his phone. Reading a text message that had come in a few minutes earlier without him noticing, Archer fired back a quick reply then pocketed the phone, taking a cup of tea from Marquez.
‘That was Chalky, one of my old team-mates,’ he said to Shepherd. ‘He’s an officer at the ARU. He said we’ve got a Command Post ready and waiting for us after we land.’
‘At your old HQ? Already? How did they know?’
‘Apparently Ethan called ahead at Lieutenant Franklin’s request and informed Director Cobb about the situation. He’s very keen to help. He’s offered us space at their base and the use of their resources to help apprehend Stanovich and Payan.’
‘Great,’ Josh said, drinking from his tea.
Shepherd nodded. ‘That’s good of him.’
Archer didn’t reply, glancing at his watch again as he looked at the quiet Lounge around him, feeling impatient.
Just over an h
our until flight time.
Now all they could do was wait.
*
Three thousand four hundred miles away, the sun had already come up over London on a bright July Saturday morning, but the light beating through the apartment window was giving the scarred Middle Eastern man with the broken nose a thumping headache.
His mood sour, the man took a mouthful of pizza, the act of chewing causing his face to throb with every bite; he was sitting inside an apartment in the south of the city with Milo Stanovich and a South African man who was standing near the window watching the street below. They had an open Dominos box on the floor beside them, half of the contents already eaten, not a typical choice for breakfast but convenient and providing the ample calories they were possibly going to need today.
Stanovich had paid for the food but the South African had picked it up. Finishing the crust of his second slice, the Middle Eastern guy squinted against the light coming in through the window.
‘Draw them for me, will you?’ he asked the South African. ‘Feel like I’m being interrogated.’
By the window, the other man nodded and twisted the handle on the blinds; the room suddenly became darker. He then walked forward and took another slice of pizza.
‘Breakfast of champions,’ he said, his accent infused with a Johannesburg lilt, breakfast sounding like blekfust. Taking a bite, he bumped Stanovich’s shoulder with his other hand. ‘You not hungry, Stan?’
Stanovich didn’t reply. Chewing and stepping back, the South African shifted his attention to the man with the broken nose.
‘How’s the beak?’
‘Think the bitch broke it,’ he replied, gently feeling the swollen surface.
‘You bled out, right?’
He nodded. ‘The cops will be all over the samples by now.’
Breathing in through his mouth, he shifted his attention to Stanovich.
‘That means they’re going to be looking for us.’
Stanovich stayed quiet. He’d been that way all morning, keeping his thoughts to himself. The Middle Eastern man took a bite of pizza, leaving a smear of oil across his lip.
‘That means we need to be ready for when they come.’
Stanovich looked at him for a moment but didn’t respond. The guy with the broken nose looked up at the South African, who took another bite of pizza and checked his watch.
It was 10:04am.
Then they both glanced at a holdall full of equipment sitting next to them on the floor beside the pizza box.
The Middle Eastern man took a last bite and tossed the half-eaten crust at the open box, his bad mood overpowering his patience.
‘Enough pizza. Time to prepare.’
SEVEN
The British Airways Boeing 747 left New York right on schedule at 6:20am. Located towards the front of the plane, the Club Class seating was separated into spacious pods, positioned in pairs with screens between the seats to afford some privacy.
Archer and Josh were in a pair of seats on the left of the cabin, Marquez and Shepherd in the middle of the cabin with an aisle either side. Despite what lay ahead and the fact that they were flying into daylight hours, Josh and Marquez managed to doze off early in the journey, their bodies making up for the sleep they’d missed during the night. Beside the sleeping Marquez, Shepherd was hard at work, studying Stanovich and Payan’s files whilst taking occasional sips of strong coffee, figuring out a plan of action when they arrived in London.
In his seat by the window in the pod beside Josh, Archer was also awake, looking through the small gap in the blind at the white clouds and Atlantic Ocean far below. Now they were in the air, time seemed to have slowed right down. Seeing as they were flying into a different time-zone, the flight was due to land at 6:15pm UK time which meant they’d have lost half a day, twelve more hours to move a kidnapped woman whose current location was still a mystery. Although he knew worrying about it wouldn’t do anything to help their situation, he felt that radius of where Vargas could be widening every second.
Twelve hours.
Shit.
By the time they landed, she could be almost anywhere.
Feeling restless, Archer unclipped his seatbelt and rose, walking down the cabin towards the partition between Club Class and Premium Economy. The curtains on both aisles had been drawn across, allowing passengers some further privacy, and a stewardess was standing in the space between, placing several stubby cans of Heineken onto a tray from a compartment and tucking plastic glasses on top.
She smiled when she saw Archer, her uniform as pristine as her make-up.
‘Can I get you something, sir?’
He shook his head, forcing a smile in return. Continuing with her work she pushed the compartment closed and moved down the cabin with the drinks, disappearing down the aisle on the opposite side.
Turning, Archer stood with his back to the curtain and folded his arms, watching the cabin in front of him. Including Josh and Marquez, three or four other people were asleep, another absorbed in a movie, two others working on laptops. Despite how anxious he felt, he was reassured that his colleagues were here with him; he thought back two years to another plane journey, that occasion flying in the opposite direction from London to New York. Someone had killed his father and he’d spent a dangerous week tracking that son of a bitch down; although he’d had a degree of assistance he sure could have used Shepherd’s, Josh’s and Marquez’ help back then too.
The plane suddenly shuddered as they hit a brief patch of turbulence, the movement waking Marquez, who stirred. As she opened her eyes, came to and stretched, she noticed Archer standing further down the cabin and smiled. After a quickly-stifled yawn and smoothing down her hair, she unclipped her seatbelt, rose to her feet and walked down the aisle to join him, getting some blood flowing through her legs.
‘Can’t sleep?’ she asked, the two of them standing near one of the main exit doors of the plane.
‘Not right now.’
She paused for a moment, working her ankles. ‘How are the dreams?’
He looked over at her, surprised. He hadn’t slept for a second, so she couldn’t have seen or heard him struggling with nightmares.
‘Vargas told me,’ Marquez added, seeing the look on his face.
‘Yeah. They’re still there.’
‘What happens in them?’
He thought for a moment. ‘I’m stuck somewhere. There’s no way out. I know something is coming to kill me, but I can’t move, like I’m caught in treacle. It’s coming closer and closer, but I’m trapped. I’m thrashing and shouting, but there’s nothing I can do. Then it goes black.’
Marquez watched him closely and he forced a smile.
‘Gee, I wonder what that stems from,’ he said.
There was a pause.
‘Two weeks ago I tried to go up the Empire State with Vargas and her daughter but I couldn’t even get into the lift. I’ve never headed towards an exit so fast. It’s been four months since that night and it still freaks me out when I have to enter a tall building.’
He shook his head.
‘Bit of a handicap in New York, right?’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ she said. ‘That was one hell of an ordeal you guys went through. To bounce straight back from that into an everyday routine was never going to be easy. It’ll get better in time.’
She paused.
‘And everyone’s afraid of something. It isn’t sensible, or rational, it’s just what it is. Fear’s nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t make you a coward; it’s what makes you human.’
Standing beside him, she looked down the cabin and smiled, nodding at Josh.
‘He’s terrified of spiders,’ she said, looking at Archer’s partner who was fast asleep, his large frame almost overflowing the seat in the pod. ‘Put him up against big dangerous suspects resisting arrest and he won’t even breathe heavy. But tell him there’s a spider anywhere near him and you watch him jump around like a schoolgirl on Halloween.’
>
Archer glanced at her and grinned. ‘Are you serious? I never knew.’
‘He keeps it quiet. You know what some of the guys are like in the Bureau; he’d be finding spiders everywhere.’
Still smiling, Archer turned his attention to Shepherd, who was awake and studying Stanovich and Payan’s files, lost in concentration with his back to them.
‘I can’t imagine much frightens Shep,’ he said, lowering his voice even though it was unlikely he’d hear over the noise of the aircraft.
‘Horses.’
‘What?’
‘Horses, I swear to God. I took a call with him once to Central Park and discovered that little secret when a series of horse-drawn carriages rolled by.’
This time Archer laughed. ‘Where the hell does that come from?’
‘God only knows.’
‘So what are you afraid of?’ he asked her.
She didn’t reply. Turning, he watched her smile fade.
‘Hospitals.’
Archer paused.
‘Why?’ he eventually asked.
She thought for a moment, then forced a smile.
‘That’s a story for another day.’
Standing beside her, Archer didn’t push it, feeling guilty that he’d stirred a memory in her that clearly made her uncomfortable. He glanced at his fellow detective and close friend; Marquez was a tough, guarded woman and there was a lot about her he didn’t know.
He treasured his own privacy but she valued hers like solid gold.
‘What’s the most afraid you’ve ever been?’ he asked quietly.
She paused, considering it. ‘Four months ago. Had a gun pulled on me from behind. Thought that was it.’ She nodded at Josh again. ‘Thankfully he showed up just in time.’