Return Fire (Sam Archer )

by Tom Barber

  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 reverberated 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 1st 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 at 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, Archer 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 reloaded 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.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Archer and the former Para made it back to the ARU HQ in twenty minutes or so, not a word said between them as both men recovered from the sudden, intense encounter with the gunmen. As he focused on the road ahead, Archer felt rough as hell; although his only injuries were some small nicks and cuts, the combination of the continual nagging worry about Vargas, his constantly-spiking adrenaline ever since they’d landed and jet-lag wasn’t a good cocktail.

  He also knew how lucky they both were to be alive and wasn’t lowering his guard for a second until they got back to the relative safety of the ARU HQ. It was only through quick thinking, firepower and a bit of luck that they’d managed to make it out of there; consequently, he was driving on all his mirrors as well as constantly scanning both the road ahead and the streets they passed either side, just in case they got hit by another ambush.

  These still anonymous guys seemed to be everywhere, and anticipating the ARU and NYPD’s every move.

  Beside him, Bernhardt was unhurt but silent as he recovered. As Archer made a final turn, the former soldier’s phone made a sound and he withdrew the Samsung from his pocket.

  ‘My girlfriend,’ he said, as he tapped in a reply. ‘Shit. Better warn her the house won’t look the same when she gets home from work.’

  Behind the wheel, Archer didn’t reply, focusing on the journey and relieved to see the ARU HQ finally come into view. The barrier was back down, two Met police cars parked either side and their occupants talking to Wilson, who was standing just outside his hut in his tac vest and with an MP5 in his hands. They all turned and visibly tensed when they saw the damaged Toyota approaching, but when the car pulled to a halt Wilson saw Archer behind the wheel and moved back to his hut to open the barrier, reassuring the Met officers at the same time.

  As Archer drove into the car park, he saw that all the ambulances and fire teams had departed, leaving behind the burnt-o
ut, blackened shell of the upper half of the building, the mostly destroyed wall revealing the interior of the level from down below. He also noticed in a parking space on the left that Josh and Fox’s ARU BMW had returned, parked up front by the building; like himself, they’d also clearly run into some trouble. It was sitting beside two other black BMWs that were undamaged, the task force cars that must have been returned from the council estate in Brixton where Porter and the guys had been ambushed.

  The two intact BMWs highlighted the damage the third one had taken; it had been shot to pieces, the lights smashed and all the windows blown out, as if it had been put through a meat-grinder of gunfire.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Archer said quietly, more to himself than Bernhardt, as he pulled into a space and looked at the wrecked vehicle. ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,’ Bernhardt replied, leaning to the side and staring up at the destroyed 1st floor of the ARU HQ through the window. ‘You’re having a bad day.’

  Once they parked, the two men stepped out of the Toyota and headed for the entrance, Archer bringing his empty MP5 with him and walking backwards for a few steps as he made a mental note of the Toyota’s licence plate. The ambulances and fire crews might have departed since he’d been gone but the concrete was still stained with blood and littered with fragments of broken glass which crunched under their feet as they walked.

  As they headed into the building, Archer saw Lipton was back at his desk, still in his tac vest and with his MP5 no doubt in the booth with him; the ARU guard nodded at the two men from the other side of his Perspex as they approached the screen.

  ‘Good to see you back,’ Lipton said, pushing a button and letting them in.

  Archer nodded his thanks, taking the lead, and continued down the lower corridor until he entered the interrogation cell, Bernhardt right behind him.

  Nikki, Chalky, Marquez and Josh were all inside talking; apart from Marquez they all looked pretty beaten up. Nikki’s arm was in a sling, Chalky had the wound to his head and Josh looked as if he’d been put through the mixer too; he had small nicks and tears in his clothes as well as on his arms and face, blood also staining the left sleeve of his white polo shirt and one leg of his jeans.

  They all turned as the two men entered, their quiet conversation coming to an abrupt stop.

  ‘You made it,’ Josh said, relieved. ‘Trouble?’

  Archer nodded. ‘There’s an understatement.’

  Pausing, he looked around the room.

  ‘Where’s Fox?’

  ‘Hospital,’ Josh said. ‘He took one to the body.’

  ‘Shit. How bad?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Nikki said. ‘He’s going into surgery any minute. But now we’re down to five.’

  ‘What happened, Arch?’ Chalky asked, looking at his friend and the newcomer beside him.

  ‘Three guys ambushed us at the house. Did everything they could to take us out; one of them was our man Dash.’

  He focused on Josh.

  ‘Similar treatment?’

  He nodded. ‘Four of them came after us. Ambushed and boxed us in. We got off lucky, which is saying something considering Fox was hit. We should be dead right now.’

  ‘Any sign of Beckett’s kids?’

  ‘We couldn’t even get into the apartment. Some asshole was waiting in there with a shotgun. He blew the entire door apart.’

  Archer thought for a moment. ‘So that’s seven men at least that we’re dealing with.’

  As he said it, the group’s attention shifted to Bernhardt, who was standing silently beside Archer.

  ‘This is Michael Bernhardt,’ Archer said, the former soldier nodding to the group.

  Chalky rose from his seat, offering him the chair. ‘Please.’

  Hesitating for a moment, Bernhardt then obliged, limping forward and taking a seat.

  ‘Also, I had to use another car to get us out of there, Nik,’ Archer said, checking the safety on his MP5 and then hooking the sling over his shoulder. ‘We need to call the owner and let them know.’

  ‘Plates?’

  He gave them to her, and she tapped them into her computer. ‘I’ll get someone from the Met to drive it back.’

  ‘It might need a trip to the repair shop first,’ Archer said, glancing at Bernhardt.

  ‘But you left in Cobb’s Mercedes,’ Nikki said. ‘What happened to it?’

  Archer remembered the moment the car exploded in Tottenham, a fifty-thousand pound fireball, and swallowed.

  ‘That might need a bit of work too.’

  TWENTY NINE

  Before Bernhardt could explain any of his history with Dash, he needed to know the current situation and it took five minutes or so to brief him and bring him up to date. During the explanation, the five remaining police personnel took up various positions around the room, Nikki sitting at the desk, Chalky joining Archer by the mirror wall, Marquez standing to their left and Josh to their right.

  Nikki gave the former Para sergeant the basics, then Archer added the details from the NYPD group’s point of view.

  Once he arrived at the gunfight they’d both barely just survived, he paused.

  ‘And now, here we are.’

  ‘So they kidnapped your colleague in Spain,’ Bernhardt said. ‘Detective Vargas. But now you think they’re not traffickers, correct?’

  Nikki nodded. ‘Stanovich was used to lure us to a property in Brixton, and Payan was employed as a distraction to mop up the rest of us. To ensure it was a clean sweep, the real perpetrators strapped the TNT onto Beckett in an attempt to wipe out anyone left here.’

  Bernhardt whistled. ‘Shit. These people sure as hell don’t like you.’

  Nikki looked over at Archer. ‘How did they operate on the street?’

  ‘Slick as hell. They boxed us in, stayed calm; used a stun grenade when they breached the house. One of them held off the police on his own whilst the other two came after us. They were using assault rifles too; AR-15s I think.’

  ‘Same as two of our guys,’ Josh said. ‘And the other pair had semi-auto shotguns; Benellis.’

  ‘They had more than that,’ Nikki said, indicating to her laptop. ‘I’m looking at the Met log. Seven of the officers who arrived as back-up for you guys in Tottenham have been injured. Apparently they were fired on with an anti-tank rocket.’

  ‘What?’

  She nodded. ‘An M90 anti-tank weapon, straight into a Firearms Unit police car; took it out and the one next to it. Officers arriving at the scene shortly afterwards found the discarded launcher and every cop already there wounded.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘M40A5 rifles, AR-15s, Benelli shotguns, TNT and M90 rocket launchers,’ Chalky said. ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘But what the hell are they after?’ Josh said. ‘Why go to all this trouble to try and kill us?’

  ‘Did you recognise any of the men who ambushed you?’ Nikki asked Josh and Archer.

  ‘Never seen any of them before,’ Josh said.

  Archer nodded in agreement. ‘Me neither. Well, apart from Dash, and that was only from an hour ago when we pulled his ID.’

  He turned to Bernhardt, who was listening in silence.

  ‘Dash; your old friend.’

  ‘How did you know he was involved before he came for us?’ Bernhardt asked.

  ‘His blood was at the scene of the abduction in Spain. And our files say you two were checked into hospital together in Kabul. That’s why I came to get you.’

  Bernhardt nodded, smiling ruefully. ‘Yeah, that all rings a bell.’

  ‘So you know him?’ Chalky asked.

  ‘I knew him. Past tense.’

  ‘We need to know everything you can tell us,’ Marquez said. ‘How did you both end up injured?’

  Bernhardt paused.

  ‘What you say is important,’ Josh said, noting the hesitation. ‘Right now we know next to nothing about this guy.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry
. I’ll tell you,’ Bernhardt said. ‘That son of a bitch just tried to kill me. I’m trying to figure out the best place to start.’

  Across London, the fifty seven year old woman who’d employed Dash’s team stepped out of the unfinished office on the 12th floor of the office building, having just removed her blood-spattered overalls and leaving a disturbing scene in the room behind her.

  Now she was the employer of eleven men, but the loss was worth it. She hadn’t hired these men to make mistakes and what she’d done to Finchley would focus the others. As she peeled off her mask, she smiled.

  At least that was one less she’d have to pay.

  Re-entering the main office to her right and tossing the mask to one side, she wiped her brow with a cloth and it came away smeared with red; despite the protective clothing she’d been wearing, flecks of the dead Australian’s blood had sprayed onto her forehead, some of it also wetting her hair. She’d been right about doubting that the man could beat the Russian soldier’s record.

  He’d only made it to just below the knee.

  Pulling the door closed behind her, she saw that her cell phone was flashing on the desk, not making a sound given that it was set to silent. Wiping her hands on the cloth, she tossed it to one side, walked forward and picked up the phone, seeing it was Dash. He’d gone to Bernhardt’s house with Piccadilly and Portland; it was almost certain by now that the police would have pulled his ID from his blood and Dash had guessed that the remaining ARU and NYPD detectives would try to bring Bernhardt in immediately as he’d be their only lead.

  She took the call. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have some news,’ Dash said. ‘One of them showed up, just as we arrived.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The detective’s boyfriend.’

  The woman felt a jolt in her gut. ‘And?’

  Pause.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He got away. He took Bernhardt with him; they must be back at their station.’

  She closed her eyes. Her hand clenched tight on the phone.

  ‘He took Bernhardt too?’