Return Fire (Sam Archer )

by Tom Barber

  ‘What about you?’ Josh asked.

  ‘I’d had enough of conflict for one lifetime.’ He motioned at his arms and face, at the disfigured skin. ‘No adrenaline rush is worth this.’

  He paused again. Across the room, Marquez shook her head and swore, frustrated.

  ‘So how the hell does this connect together?’ she said. ‘Did someone put a contract on Alice? And if so, why didn’t Dash just kill her at the villa when he had the chance? Why come after us?’

  She saw the look on Bernhardt’s face.

  ‘What?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘It might not be something you want to hear.’

  ‘Go on,’ Archer said quietly. ‘Speak.’

  ‘I know Dash. I know the kind of men he’ll have hired.’

  He glanced at Archer.

  ‘But you’ve heard nothing from him? No ransom demands or threats?’

  ‘None. Just a series of attacks.’

  ‘Then maybe she’s not the actual target; one of you is.’

  The room suddenly went silent.

  ‘And if that’s so, I’d say it’s almost a certainty that your colleague is already dead.’

  At that moment nine miles south of the ARU HQ, Grange entered a UPS collection point with a package under his arm and a heavy black holdall slung over his shoulder, having come straight from the safe-house under fresh orders from Dash and their employer.

  The place was closing very shortly, but there was no queue and he walked straight towards an open booth. There was a man sitting behind the desk and he smiled at the Canadian, who didn’t return it as he slid the square box onto the counter.

  ‘How can I help you sir?’ he asked.

  ‘A colleague of mine booked Express Delivery by phone earlier,’ Grange said. ‘As requested, she wants this parcel to be delivered by 9pm.’

  ‘Do you have the booking details?’

  Grange gave them to the employee, who checked the computer.

  ‘That’s fine, sir. Please confirm the delivery address.’

  ‘The Armed Response Unit,’ he replied, the square brown parcel on the desk under his arm sealed tight. ‘It’s a police station across town.’

  THIRTY TWO

  Inside the interrogation room at the ARU HQ, several pockets of conversation had quietly formed after Bernhardt’s explanation about his past with Dash. Marquez was talking with him at the desk, clarifying certain details; Nikki and Josh had both stepped outside for a moment, Josh calling his wife to let her know he was OK just in case news reports from the UK had made any of the US bulletins and Nikki wanting to see if she could get her personal landline up and running again upstairs in Operations, despite the instructions from the Fire Chief.

  Archer and Chalky were standing beside the mirrored viewing window; leaning against the glass with his back to the door, Archer noticed with relief that Chalky seemed much more with it than he had earlier. His navy blue polo shirt and jeans were stained with smoke and patches of dried blood, but nevertheless he was looking a lot better and appeared to be back in the game. He still had his Glock in his hip holster but was now wearing a tac vest at Archer’s request, as was Marquez.

  Until this was resolved, he wanted anyone who might go outside wearing one of the bulletproof garments.

  ‘How’s the head?’ Archer asked.

  ‘Hurts like a bitch.’

  Archer smiled. ‘Good thing there’s nothing in there to damage then.’

  Chalky gave him a look; there was a pause and his expression changed. Archer knew what he was thinking.

  ‘I hate to say it but he had a point,’ Chalky said, folding his arms and nodding at Bernhardt. ‘Your girl’s been missing for almost a day, yet all these attacks on us are still happening.’

  ‘You think one of us is actually the target?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

  Archer frowned. ‘But if it’s one of us, then why not go after that person individually? With all these weapons and tactics, Dash and his team most likely could have succeeded without going to all this effort.’

  ‘Could it be all of us?’ Chalky suggested.

  Archer paused. ‘Both Shepherd’s NYPD team and the ARU?’

  Chalky nodded.

  ‘But why?’

  Before Chalky could answer, Archer saw his friend’s attention shift to something behind him; Archer turned as Nikki slipped back into the room.

  ‘Landline’s back,’ she said. ‘And I just spoke to the hospitals.’

  ‘How’s everyone doing?’ Chalky asked.

  ‘Fox is in surgery. Porter and the rest of the task force are already out and are now in the Critical Care Unit. All of them are doing OK. So far, Mason and Spitz are the only two fatalities.’

  ‘What about Shepherd?’ Marquez asked from across the room, halting her conversation with Bernhardt, having overheard Nikki’s report.

  ‘He’s banged up but he should be OK, same as Cobb. The task force guys are at The Royal Marsden. Cobb, Shepherd, Fox and the analysts are at two other hospitals. Too many of them for one place to handle.’

  ‘Guarded?’ Archer asked.

  Nikki nodded. ‘Firearms teams on every entrance and ward. No one is getting near any of them.’

  She paused.

  ‘I also spoke to the sergeant now on site at Beckett’s apartment. The boys weren’t there. CCTV cameras show them being taken away earlier in the day by two men driving a black Ford. Met analysts are trying to locate them but aren’t having any luck drawing the plates. I’ll see where they’re currently at.’

  She walked across the room, Marquez rising and offering her seat. Nikki thanked her, then sat down in front of her laptop, using her good hand to get to work and peering closely at the screen as she tapped away.

  ‘So whatever the motive is for all these attacks, our objectives remain the same,’ Chalky said, as the separate conversations in the room merged into one. ‘Number one is finding Vargas as well as Beckett’s two boys.’

  ‘And number two is to identify and track down all the men doing this,’ Nikki said. ‘Dash’s new team.’

  ‘Same thing,’ Archer said. ‘We find those three, we’ll find their captors. And these guys will have a command post somewhere; that’s probably where they’ll be holding the hostages.’

  ‘So let’s start working up an ID list,’ Nikki said. ‘We’ve established at least seven men for sure as you guys were jumped about a minute apart.’

  ‘There must be more,’ Marquez said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Wherever they are, Beckett’s two boys will need someone watching them.’

  ‘And Vargas,’ Archer said.

  Marquez hesitated. ‘If she’s even here, Arch. It’s been over twenty hours since someone last saw her. She could be anywhere.’

  She faltered at the end of the sentence, catching herself, but the unspoken words or dead hung in the room, especially after Bernhardt’s comment earlier.

  There was a pause.

  ‘The men who attacked you weren’t wearing masks, were they?’ Nikki asked Archer and Bernhardt. They shook their heads. ‘Good. I’ll get on the cameras and start trying to pull some identities.’

  ‘That might be harder than you think,’ Bernhardt said. ‘I know Dash. The kind of company he keeps aren’t exactly the kind of men you’ll have police files on.’

  ‘You never know. And right now, it’s all we’ve got.’

  As she set to work, Archer suddenly realised Josh still hadn’t returned.

  ‘Keep at it, Nik,’ he said, stepping outside of the interrogation cell and going to look for his NYPD partner to make sure he was OK.

  Across the city, Dash, Piccadilly and Portland were sitting inside the replacement car they’d stolen in Tottenham and reloading their weapons as they laid low inside another four storey car park. The Met would definitely already have the plates of this stolen vehicle by now and be looking for it, but they were staying put until Grange arrived with new plates.<
br />
  He’d just called to confirm he was on his way, having delivered the package to the courier’s service from their employer. Once he arrived they could switch the plates and then move around the city again without the risk of being apprehended.

  The night was young.

  And they still had plenty of work to do.

  Considering what had just happened, the three men were surprisingly upbeat. Things hadn’t worked out the way they’d planned in Tottenham, but they’d still worked out. Taken back to the police team’s base, Bernhardt would no doubt be telling them all about his past and interactions with Dash in Afghanistan, but that wasn’t an issue.

  In the front passenger seat, Dash slapped a fresh clip into his AR-15 and pulled back the cocking handle, loading a round into the weapon as he glanced at his cell phone resting on his lap. Including himself, there were twelve men on his team, eleven now Finchley was gone. Over the past year or so, Dash had recruited them all; he was the leader, Piccadilly an old acquaintance and his second-in-command, Camden an old colleague too. The two Americans, Notting and Regent, had come as a pair, the same as Grange and Stockwell, two Canadian ex-army snipers. Portland, Finchley and Aldgate had come as a group, their backgrounds just as murky as the others, and Wood and Covent had come individually, ex British Army soldiers, both dishonourably discharged.

  Each man had years of experience in combat and were willing to do anything for the right amount of money, the qualities Dash had most been looking for. The temporary call-signs they’d adopted today were standard practice to protect their identities, born from long-ingrained habits and a desire for anonymity that had helped keep them all alive; at some point, the police would be all over the phone calls between the group and Dash didn’t want to give away any of their real names over the phone.

  He smiled. His real name wasn’t even Dashnan Sahar.

  The police would most likely figure they’d be onto him by now, but they weren’t even close.

  Looking down at his hands, he saw that the gelatinous skin on the gap between his thumb and forefinger was red from handling the assault rifle. He’d been on strong pain-killers ever since he’d been burned last year but in the chaos of today, had forgotten to take a dose and now had a thumping headache from his broken nose as well as the usual aches that were starting to kick in. After the incident on the Afghan hillside, he’d been in almost constant, unrelenting pain and although he’d learned to live with it, the agony fed an ever-present anger in him, the embers of which had always been smouldering just beneath the surface. It was a family trait.

  He’d been checked out of the hospital one night in April last year and when he finally got back to his feet a few weeks later, his intentions had changed. In the past, he’d been selective about the contracts he took, but since his betrayal by the CIA, everyone had been fair game and he’d put all his energies into gathering a team with a similar disregard for whom they were working.

  Despite their efforts however, this operation hadn’t gone anywhere near as planned.

  That meant their work tonight was only just getting started.

  As he considered their current status, he saw Grange suddenly appear through the doors of the shopping centre carrying a thick black holdall. The man’s real name was Vincent Baer, former Master Corporal in the Canadian Royal 22nd Infantry. Baer was good; Dash was surprised that he and his partner Stockwell, aka former Master Corporal Nicolas Gagnon, had failed in Hendon. In the contracting world the two men had excellent reputations, and Dash had approached them in Kabul in June last year when he was putting together his new team.

  Leaving his weapon in the car, Dash stepped out to meet the sniper, glancing around quickly; several shoppers were walking towards their vehicles, but weren’t paying them any attention.

  ‘The package?’ he asked.

  ‘On its way,’ Grange replied.

  ‘The plates?’

  Grange patted the bag. He glanced up at a camera mounted on the wall above them, but Dash shook his head.

  ‘Already down. Let’s do it.’

  They waited for two cars pulling out of their parking bays further down the level to leave. Then the pair walked to the back of the stolen vehicle and kneeling down, unzipped the bag. It contained a Phillips screwdriver, adhesive tape, two sets of licence plates, a pistol, a stripped down assault rifle and a batch of fully-loaded spare magazines. As Grange pulled out a fresh licence plate, Dash grabbed the screwdriver and after flipping off the protective caps started unwinding the screws on the rear plate.

  Whilst doing so, he glanced at his watch and realised Notting and Regent would already be in place to follow their fresh orders from their employer given the new intel they’d just received.

  The plan she’d outlined over the phone was clever, her usual style.

  And it was time for some more of the ARU and NYPD people to die.

  THIRTY THREE

  Archer found Josh down the corridor in the locker room, sitting on a bench beside the gun cage tending to a wound on his shin. He was holding some gauze against it, the white bandage stained red, and Archer stepped forward in concern when he saw what his partner was doing.

  ‘You’re hurt?’

  ‘Just a ricochet,’ Josh replied, lifting the bandage and showing Archer a superficial wound. ‘Son of a bitch grazed me. It’s OK.’

  As Josh reapplied the gauze, Archer watched him for a moment, this end of the corridor quiet. He saw that someone had moved the NYPD team’s bags in here from the cars outside. Placing his empty MP5 back on a rack in the gun-cage, Archer unzipped his tac vest, pulled it off and then changed t-shirts, replacing his dirty black one with a fresh white one from his holdall. When it was in place he then slipped the ARU vest back on over the top, zipping it up and all the time lost in thought, certain uncomfortable images reappearing in his mind now he had quiet and time to think.

  Across the room Josh watched him. ‘You OK?’

  Readjusting his earpiece and strap mic, Archer nodded ruefully, unable to raise a smile.

  ‘Yeah. I guess.’

  ‘Forget what Bernhardt said. Vargas is still alive. She’s more use to them alive than dead. And we’ll find her. These men can’t keep surprising us.’

  ‘They’re doing a pretty good job of it at the moment.’

  There was a pause. His t-shirt replaced, Archer took a seat on a bench against the wall opposite his partner, keeping his thoughts to himself. Josh watched him in silence, knowing when something else was bothering him, and waited for him to speak.

  ‘The last time she and I talked, we had a fight,’ Archer said eventually.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Her daughter.’

  He paused.

  ‘The kid’s suffering. I think she needs help. Vargas doesn’t agree; she thinks it could make it worse.’

  Josh nodded. ‘Did you try to apologise?’

  Archer shook his head. ‘That’s the thing; I didn’t. And she might already be dead.’

  Pause.

  ‘You know what the best thing about you is?’ Josh said, breaking the silence.

  Archer looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘You never give up. You could be fighting one man, ten men or an entire army, you’ll never back down. You never surrender. You saved her life in that building; that’s a huge thing. Not many people would have kept going against those kinds of odds.’

  He paused.

  ‘But you know what the worst thing about you is? You never give up. You’re stubborn. And so is she. That’s why neither of you have apologised. Unstoppable force and immovable object.’

  Archer didn’t reply; Josh lifted away the gauze he was holding to his leg. The wound on his shin seemed to have stopped bleeding and he placed the bloodied bandage to one side. He leaned back on the bench, looking down at the wound.

  ‘I did the same thing once.’

  ‘Held your ground?’

  Josh nodded. ‘With my brother. I was stubborn as shit. And I paid for it.
’

  Archer frowned, cocking his head, genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother?’

  ‘His name was Nathan. He was younger than me; three years. We had a big fight, back when I was a teenager. Nineteen years old, but already thinking I’d figured everything out. I wouldn’t back down and neither would he. We both said some bad things; really bad. I left that night and went to North Carolina with some of my friends and wouldn’t answer my phone. He tried to call me a couple of times; even left a message but I wouldn’t listen to it.’

  He swallowed.

  ‘Later that night, he went out with his girlfriend to a concert and they got jumped on the way home by some gang members wanting their money. Apparently Nate tried to fight back, so they shot him four times.’

  He paused.

  ‘He was still alive in the ambulance, but never made it to the hospital. Lost too much blood. And he bled to death thinking that I hated him.’

  Archer didn’t move, staring at his NYPD partner.

  ‘He died with us on terrible terms, something that he tried to fix but which I refused to. And I have to live with that for the rest of my life.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Shit, I thought I was a tough guy, that real men don’t back down ever, but once he was gone I wondered how I could ever have been that stupid.’

  He paused.

  ‘Sometimes backing down’s the right thing to do.’

  Archer didn’t reply. Josh looked over at his detective partner.

  ‘Wherever she is, Alice is still alive; I’m sure of it. And I don’t care how tough or well-trained these men are, we’re going to take them down one by one until we find her.’

  He fixed Archer’s gaze, his face determined.

  ‘But right now, we don’t back down.’

  Archer glanced at him and nodded. ‘No. We don’t.’

  Another brief silence fell between the two men, Archer absorbing Josh’s words. But before either could speak again, they suddenly heard the door down the corridor smash open.