by Tom Barber
FORTY FOUR
The round hit Bernhardt in the forehead, killing him instantly as the back of his head blew apart.
Almost on his feet before the ex-soldier hit the floor, Archer ran over to Nikki, who was slumped on her side and clutching her thigh in pain, blood pooling out from the gunshot wound. Putting his Glock down, Archer clamped his right hand over the entry point, feeling the underside of her thigh for an exit wound. There was nothing there and blood wasn’t pulsing out which meant the bullet was still inside but her femoral artery hadn’t been hit.
Holding her thigh, blood wetting his hands, he searched for something he could use to bandage or tourniquet the wound. One of the female analysts had left a cardigan, which was now lying among the debris on the floor. The garment was singed and dirty, but it was better than nothing; he ran over, grabbing it then returned and wrapped it above the wound tightly, using it as a tourniquet.
‘Stay awake, Nik,’ he said, looking her in the eye. ‘Don’t fall asleep.’
Behind him, Lipton had struggled back to his feet. Turning, Archer saw the guard move over, stopping on the way to kick Bernhardt’s Glock away from his motionless hand, clutching his left arm with his right hand and blood staining his fingers.
‘Jesus Christ; thanks, Lip,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’
‘Heard a gunshot; thought I’d better come investigate.’
Archer looked at his arm. ‘How bad is it?’
‘I’m OK,’ he said, checking the wound on his arm, his palm stained with blood. ‘He just clipped me. Son of a bitch.’
‘We need an ambulance and armed back-up right now!’ Archer said quickly, looking at Bernhardt and remembering what he’d said. ‘Some of his friends are coming for us.’
Lipton nodded then turned and moved quickly back the way he’d just come, clutching his arm as he headed for the stairs to make the call. As he left, Archer turned back to Nikki, who was saying something quietly.
‘What?’ he asked, listening closely.
‘Call…her back,’ she said quietly.
‘Huh?’
She looked over at Bernhardt’s body. ‘Call her back. Use…his phone. We…can trace.’
Archer stared at her for a moment, then he realised what she was saying. Rising, he retrieved Bernhardt’s Samsung from his pocket, then picked up Nikki’s laptop and ripped out the connection from the land-line, carrying both computer and cable back towards Nikki.
‘Will it fit?’ he asked, kneeling beside her.
She nodded and he connected the cell to the laptop. As it synced with the software, she slowly reached over and starting typing on the keypad, Archer checking over his shoulder as she tapped away and listening hard for the sound of any cars.
The attempted trace they’d performed moments ago showed up on the screen, stuck on 00:23.
‘Wait; this is a different call,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, wincing in pain. ‘Same number that called us. It’ll…close out.’
He took Bernhardt’s phone with a blood-smeared left hand, scrolled until he recognised the same number that had flashed up on the land-line display and pushed Call, holding the phone to his ear.
It rang several times, Archer looking over his shoulder as it did so, willing someone to answer.
Suddenly, he heard something in the distance.
The roar of car engines.
And they were approaching fast.
The ringing suddenly stopped, as someone answered; looking down, Archer saw the trace immediately continue.
00:22.
00:21.
‘Is it done?’ the woman asked.
Archer waited.
00:19.
00:18.
‘Camden, is it done?’
‘She’s dead,’ Archer said, doing his best to imitate the dead man’s voice.
As he spoke, he could clearly hear the sound of cars getting closer.
They were almost here.
Grabbing his pistol, Archer willed the trace down.
00:16.
00:15.
‘What about the golden boy?’
‘He’s still alive,’ Archer said, looking at Bernhardt’s corpse. ‘But wait a moment.’
Suddenly, there was the sound of tyres screeching to a halt as someone pulled into the car park outside.
C’mon! he silently shouted at the computer screen, the trace not yet finished, the numbers ticking down agonisingly slowly.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I hear something.’
00:13.
00:12.
He heard car doors open and slam, and footsteps running across the car park.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I think someone else just arrived.’
‘It’ll be the others. Bring Archer to me.’
‘Right now?’
‘No, next week. Of course right now.’
The running footsteps entered the building, continuing down the lower corridor, heading to the interrogation cell or the gun-cage.
They were here.
00:07.
00:06.
C’mon, Archer screamed in his head, willing the trace to go through as he looked over his shoulder.
C’mon!
‘I need a car,’ Archer said, improvising fast. ‘I’m stuck at their station.’
He cursed himself, realising that in concentrating on the arrival below he’d spoken in his own voice.
There was a pause.
‘You’re not Camden.’
Pause.
‘That’s you, Archer, isn’t it?’
Archer heard footsteps running up the stairs.
‘I was going to kill your girlfriend in front of you, but I’m just going to kill her right now instead.’
Archer froze.
Vargas was wherever this woman was.
00:04.
00:03.
‘And my men will bring you back. Even if Bernhardt couldn’t. So know that your girlfriend is about to die, Archer. And there isn’t a thing you can do to save her. How does that feel?’
00:01.
And the call went dead.
Staring at the phone, Archer heard the sound of running feet coming down the corridor and spun immediately with his Glock, ready to fire.
Chalky and Marquez suddenly ran into view. Both of them were bleeding from cuts to their head and arms and were carrying their MP5s, reloading the weapons quickly with fresh magazines. As they raced onto the level, both of them stopped dead when they saw Bernhardt’s body laid out on the floor and Nikki leaning against the wall beside Archer, bleeding out from the wound to her thigh.
‘What the hell happened?’ Chalky asked as Marquez ran into the Briefing Room, checking the car park outside.
‘He screwed us,’ Archer said. ‘He was one of them!’
Lipton suddenly reappeared, staggering slightly now as the pain kicked in and clutching his left arm. ‘Back-up’s on the way.’
Before any of them could reply, there was the screech of cars pulling into the car park.
‘They’re here!’ Marquez shouted from the Briefing Room, raising her MP5 to her shoulder.
As Lipton slumped back near Nikki, Archer and Chalky immediately ran forward into the half-destroyed Briefing Room. As they joined Marquez and looked through the gaps where the outside wall used to be, they saw two cars had pulled up below, driving straight through the open barrier now Wilson was gone.
The five gunmen were already out of the cars and had seen the trio on the 1st floor, aiming four AR 15 assault rifles and a Benelli shotgun up at them.
‘Down!’ Archer shouted, as the men below opened fire.
Across the city in the 12th floor of the office building, the fifty seven year old woman stared at the phone in her hand. Then she quickly called Dash.
The moment he answered, the sound of close-quarter gunfire filled the receiver, the woman holding it back a half-inch from her ear.
‘Holloway?’ she said. ‘Where are you?’
‘Their HQ! His friend and the Latina girl made it back.’
‘Enough mistakes!’ she screamed. ‘Kill them! Kill all of them!’
Hanging up before he could respond, livid with rage, she rang another number, calling someone four floors above.
‘Aldgate? Are you with the woman?’ she asked as he answered.
‘She’s right here.’
‘Cut her throat!’
FORTY FIVE
At the ARU HQ, the fire-fight between Archer, Chalky and Marquez and the five gunmen in the car park was brutally intense. The three police officers had the higher ground but they were outnumbered and were taking a ferocious onslaught. Neither side was giving an inch, and after a day of surprises and hit and run attacks, the two opposing teams were now confronting each other head on.
This was it.
And someone was going to lose.
After firing off a few more rounds from his Glock at their attackers, Archer turned and ran back into the Operations area as Marquez and Chalky maintained their rate of fire with their MP5s. Well back in the room, protected from the gunfire, Nikki was still propped against the wall where Archer had left her, bleeding from the gunshot wound to her thigh but gritting her teeth as she managed to tap the keys on her laptop, Lipton slumped down against the wall ten feet away and holding his arm.
‘Did the trace work?’ Archer asked as he knelt beside Nikki, far enough away from the Briefing Room that she could just hear him over the noise of the gunfire.
She nodded, looking at her screen.
He twisted it round towards him and saw a red circle drawn in tightly on the map.
‘451… South Bank,’ she said quietly.
As the gunfight behind them raged on, he went onto street view and quickly searched for the address, the anonymous woman’s statement that she was going to kill Vargas giving his actions a new urgency.
‘Got it!’
‘What…is it? Nikki asked weakly.
‘An office building.’
‘Then that’s where she’ll be.’
Archer stared at the image of the tall building where the call had come from.
Exactly the kind of place that had been giving him such terrifying nightmares ever since that night in Harlem.
The woman had said she was going to kill Vargas immediately.
That meant they both had to be inside.
Inside a mid-level office overlooking the Thames on the 16th floor of 451 South Bank, the large Australian mercenary watching Alice Vargas on the floor beside him put the phone back in his pocket and leaned back in his chair, savouring the moment. He’d felt his arousal build all day thinking about what he was going to do to the detective before he killed her and he’d just been given the green light from the boss.
His call-sign was Aldgate, but his real name was Corporal Craig Wheeler, a former Australian army soldier; he’d been dishonourably discharged a few years ago but like an iceberg, the officers who’d been involved in his court martial only knew about what they’d seen on the surface. Wheeler thrived on theft, intimidation and rape, but had messed up four years ago; he and two other men, Finchley and Portland, had gang raped a female private. Despite the threats they’d made if she told anyone what happened, they’d chosen the wrong victim and the bitch had gone to the Military Police, getting him and the other two arrested. After serving four years in military prison and then kicked out of the army, the three men had become soldiers of fortune, working as a trio and selling their skills to whoever paid the highest price.
Last year he, O’Connor and Weaver had been fighting for the Taliban against the US and UK forces, but they’d been recruited by Dash to join his new team and had since become wealthy men. Dash’s squad had been hired by a variety of international organisations, their speciality carrying out tasks which other contracting firms wouldn’t touch for various reasons, mostly ethical, and they were good at what they did. Wheeler was a perfect member; he didn’t possess so much as an ounce of human compassion; he couldn’t care less about anyone other than himself and never had.
Leaning back in his chair, he smiled. This particular operation was the kind of thing that he dreamed about. It had been put on the table six weeks ago; the woman currently down on the 12th floor offering Dash and his men fifty grand a head in US dollars for the gig which they’d accepted without hesitation. Her orders had been simple and specific.
She wanted some cop called Sam Archer’s NYPD team lured here and then destroyed, along with every member of the Armed Response Unit, some counter-terrorist police team formed in the last few years. However, there was a stipulation.
This asshole Archer was to be saved till last.
As Dash had relayed the operational brief, Wheeler hadn’t asked why; he couldn’t care less. He’d be getting paid well for the gig and that was all that mattered. He’d had a great day, doing nothing but sitting around here in the office on the 16th floor with his feet up as he watched the detective on Dash’s orders, all whilst the others had been running around town trying to take out the counter-terrorist police force and getting shot at in return.
Tilting back in his chair, he looked down at the dark-haired woman on the floor, 3rd Grade NYPD Detective Alice Vargas, who was staring at him with wide, fearful brown eyes.
She was lying lengthways, her feet closest to him, her hands bound behind her back, her feet wrapped with duct tape, a strip over her mouth and a stain of dried blood running down the side of her face. She was still dressed in the grey shorts and top they’d kidnapped her in, revealing lots of tanned skin that Wheeler had been lusting after all day.
He’d been under strict orders not to touch her until told to do so; usually, that wouldn’t have stopped him but he hadn’t dared disobey this particular boss.
However, his patience had finally paid off.
On the ARU HQ’s 1st floor, Marquez and Chalky were unleashing a ferocious barrage on the men below but hadn’t managed to put any of them down. Given their military training, their attackers were slick and knew what they were doing, staying low and not offering any real opportunity to get hit.
Marquez was down to the last mag for her MP5 and Chalky was already out, emptying his Glock down at the enemy. The men had parked on either side of the car park, the guy with the shotgun positioned behind the Audi on the right and the four others with assault rifles behind the car on the left. Their fire was violent and constant, bullets and shotgun shells pounding into the already-damaged Briefing Room, an onslaught which wasn’t showing any signs of easing despite the men surely knowing police back-up could arrive at any moment.
Clearly, they’d had enough of the subtle approach.
Running forward to join Chalky and Marquez again, Archer motioned at them to pull back. As they moved, all three ducked as another blast hit the ceiling just above their heads and showered them with plaster.
‘Vargas is in an office building across the city!’ Archer shouted over the mercenaries’ gunfire, the three of them crouching on the floor. ‘I need to get over there right now!’
‘You can’t get out that way!’ Marquez replied, jerking her head towards the car park whilst quickly reloading her MP5. ‘They’ll cut you to pieces!’
‘What about the chopper?’ Chalky said, bleeding from a cut to the side of his head.
‘I thought of that, but Mason and Fox are the only ones who can fly it, Chalk!’ Archer replied, as Marquez rose and moved forward, opening fire on the two cars below and keeping their attackers at bay. ‘One’s dead, the other’s out cold in hospital!’
‘I qualified four months ago, Arch!’
Archer paused. ‘You did?’
Chalky nodded, looking over his shoulder. ‘But what about Nikki?’
‘She and Lip can come with us.’
‘She’s too badly hurt to move!’
Archer looked back at the gunshot lead analyst in Operations and swore as Marquez fired on the mercenaries ag
ain, emptying an entire clip, the shell casings spraying out of the weapon. Chalky was right; Nikki wasn’t going anywhere.
‘I’ll stay,’ Marquez said, dropping back down and reloading with her final clip.
‘Alone?’ Chalky said. ‘No way!’
‘You said back-up’s on its way,’ she said, ducking as the ceiling took more gunfire. ‘I can hold them off until it gets here!’
The two men looked at her.
‘Go!’ Marquez shouted, rising and firing a three round burst into the car park again. ‘Just get me some more ammo!’
Archer and Chalky looked at her for a moment, then turned and ran out of the room and towards the stairs, Archer going down as Chalky headed in the opposite direction, heading straight for the roof.
As Archer hit the bottom of the stairs and sprinted down the lower corridor towards the gun-cage, the sounds of gunfire echoing down the hallway, he heard the anonymous woman’s words echo in his mind.
Know that your girlfriend is about to die, Archer.
And there isn’t a thing you can do to save her.
FORTY SIX
Lying on the office floor inside the tall building across the city, Alice Vargas looked up at the large man guarding her and knew her time was up.
She’d been here in the room all day, bound with the same duct tape from when she’d been abducted in the villa bedroom. After she’d closed her eyes and just been drifting back to sleep, a meaty hand had suddenly clamped over her mouth. She’d fought like crazy, thrashing and managing to break one guy’s nose with her elbow, but two others had quickly restrained and gagged her, one of them hitting her over the head to daze her and stop her struggling.
After they’d subdued her and dragged her off the bed, the last thing she’d seen before they injected her with something was the man with the broken nose opening two vials of blood, pouring the contents onto the bed.
Then everything had gone black.
She’d woken up here hours ago, in some kind of office building. She’d been lying on the floor for hours, the same man watching her; she was still dressed in the grey shorts and crop top she’d slept in, and had felt his lecherous, sleazy eyes on her all day. They hadn’t given her any food or water, and her whole body ached with fatigue.