[Sam Archer 08.0] Last Breath

by Tom Barber

  The call had come as a surprise to Archer, who’d been a London Met police officer at the time; he’d had no idea his sister had got married, the two of them having lost touch since she left for Yale. However, he’d appreciated the gesture from Jack and from that first meeting the two men had become friends, despite the sometimes long gaps in their communication. He was also respectful; Jack knew Sam and Sarah had a complicated history but he’d never asked any questions and his brother-in-law appreciated that. Two men who came from different backgrounds, working in different fields but who shared the same values. Archer liked him a lot.

  ‘Shit, when was the last time I saw you?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Must be four or five years ago. I was still in the UK.’

  ‘You were talking about applying for that new police team, I remember. The ARU?’

  Archer nodded. ‘I got in.’

  Jack drew to a halt at a red light. ‘We’ve got a lot to catch up on. Sarah and I couldn’t believe it when we heard you’d joined the NYPD.’

  Archer smiled. ‘Surprises quite a few people.’

  ‘How is it?’

  Archer thought back to the roller-coaster of the past twenty three months; viral bombs, neo-Nazi meth cookers, corrupt cops, gang wars, mercenaries out for revenge. ‘Pretty eventful.’

  ‘By the way, you don’t have to stay for only one night, you know. We’d love for you to stick around. Get to know the girls a bit better.’

  ‘Sorry. Next time I’ll come for longer. My flight leaves from Dulles tomorrow at 7pm. Six hours to St Lucia.’

  ‘Going on your own?’

  ‘My girlfriend and her daughter are already there.’

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘Kid’s called Isabel. Alice Vargas is my lady. She’s a cop too. Counter-Terrorism.’

  ‘Same team as you?’ Archer nodded. Jack grinned. ‘I see. Taking work home with you.’

  ‘You’re one to talk, lawyer boy.’

  As Jack laughed, Archer looked out of the window at the sweltering city, the car moving down the wide streets, the buildings much lower than he was used to, the air thick and humid.

  ‘How are Ally and Maia?’

  ‘Good. Last day of the school year today. They’re in a play tonight at Reagan, their Junior High school. Ally’s been asking after you ever since she heard you were coming to visit. She’s desperate for you to come to the show.’ Jack grinned. ‘I recommend you do. She’s as tenacious as her mother. She’ll keep on at you until you say yes.’

  Archer smiled briefly but didn’t reply for a moment, his sister’s name instantly changing the atmosphere in the car.

  ‘How is Sarah?’

  ‘She’s closing up a case across town. She’ll be done later.’

  Jack paused.

  ‘She’s excited to see you too.’

  As the car continued to make its way through the city, a silence falling between the two men, Archer saw a pair of Metro PD officers in protective gear standing on the sidewalk, one of them talking into his radio. Like the double-shift of cops back at Union Station, pretty much D.C.’s entire police force would be out on the street tonight given the current situation.

  He also noticed that pedestrians were moving faster than they normally did, apparently keen to get off the street.

  ‘You been watching the news?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Caught glimpses.’

  ‘Other side of the River is a complete mess. Looks like there could be widespread rioting down there tonight.’

  ‘Not good.’

  ‘News reports are saying the FBI still haven’t found the man they’re looking for. They think he might be hiding out in Wards 7 or 8 somewhere.’

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card holder, passing it to Archer.

  ‘My new office is right on the edge of it.’

  Withdrawing a card, Archer looked at the name and address printed on it. ‘I thought all the law firms were based in the centre of the city?’

  ‘Southeast’s getting cleaned up and gentrified. We’ve set up a pro-bono service there and I’m overseeing the transition. We only just opened up.’

  ‘Great timing. Just don’t go down there tonight.’

  ‘I’ve got to go over there right now, once I’ve dropped you off.’

  Archer looked at him. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I’ve got a client to meet who’s due in court tomorrow.’ He glanced at his brother-in-law and saw the concern on his face. ‘I’ll be OK, Sam, don’t worry. Those streets aren’t where the trouble is focused right now and I know my way around.’ He nodded at the radio. ‘And listening to that, it sounds as if almost every FBI agent and cop in the city is down there.’

  Archer didn’t reply. Tucking the business card into his jeans pocket, he looked out of the window again as Jack turned into a side street in Georgetown, pulling into an empty space and switching off the engine.

  ‘We’re here.’

  Pulling his bag off the back seat, Archer got out of the car and followed his brother-in-law up the steps to one of the row-houses. In the late afternoon sun, the entire block looked like a postcard, the light bringing out the red of the brickwork and highlighting the clean paved streets. It was quiet.

  Reaching the top step, Jack opened the door and led Archer inside. The house was cool from air conditioning and looked bigger than it did from the street, wooden floors giving the place an open, airy feel. The interior was tastefully furnished but it definitely wasn’t a show home; despite being stylish, it looked comfortable and lived-in.

  As he looked around Archer exhaled.

  Finally here, he thought.

  ‘Leave your bag there,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll take it upstairs in a minute.’

  Lowering the holdall to the floor, Archer followed Jack into the kitchen and saw through the window ahead of him two girls playing out back and having a great time. They were taking it in turns to go down a small slide, a paddling pool beside them. From photos Jack had emailed him in the past, he reckoned the girl currently at the top of the slide was Maia, which meant it was Ally on the grass saying something to her sister.

  A middle-aged lady was leaning over the fence and waved at Jack as soon as she spotted him through the window, presumably keeping an eye on the girls while Jack had picked Archer up. Knocking on the window, Jack tapped his watch then motioned for them to come inside, the girls’ shoulders sagging as their fun ended and they said goodbye to the neighbour.

  ‘Thought they were meant to be at school?’ Archer said. ‘Last day and all.’

  ‘They were given the afternoon off to practice their lines and prepare for the show,’ Jack said. ‘Leave for twenty minutes and this is what happens.’

  Before Archer could reply, the back door opened and the two girls ran into the house. Archer had seen pictures of his nieces but had never met them. At seven years old, Maia was the younger of the two and looked like Jack, dark curls framing wide green eyes. Beside her, Ally was just over two years older and a miniature version of her mother, the same face, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Archer tried to hide his surprise at the likeness.

  With both girls looking at him curiously, he glanced at Jack for support but his brother-in-law had already left the room. Archer heard his footsteps on the stairs, presumably taking his bag up to the guest bedroom.

  ‘Hello,’ Ally said, looking up at him. Beside her Maia stayed quiet, clearly shy; her eyes were focused on the gun in the holster clipped to Archer’s right hip. In return, he suddenly felt nervous; chasing down armed criminals and suspected terrorists, no problem. Facing the scrutiny of his sister’s two daughters was another matter.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m Sam.’

  ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Ally. That’s Maia.’

  ‘I know.’ He looked at Maia. ‘Are you looking forward to your birthday?’

  ‘Yes. I’m going to be eight.’

  ‘I’m ten,’ Ally said.

  ‘I heard yo
u’re both in a play tonight,’ Archer said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Maia said.

  ‘Daddy told us about you,’ Ally followed. ‘You live in New York. You moved there last year.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘New York is close.’

  ‘It is. Sort of.’

  ‘Closer than England.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So why haven’t you been to see us before now?’

  ‘Ally, leave him alone,’ Jack said, re-joining them much to Archer’s relief. ‘We’re leaving, girls. You’ve got a dress rehearsal and I need to go to the office before the play.’

  ‘Are you coming to the school tonight?’ Ally asked Archer, focusing her direct gaze on him again.

  He nodded. ‘Looking forward to it.’

  As Jack led the pair to the door and opened up, he looked back at Archer. ‘Sorry for the interrogation. They’ve heard a lot about you.’

  Archer smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve had worse.’

  ‘I won’t be too long. I’ll drop them off, head to the office, take care of my client then come straight back. Make yourself at home. There’s food and beer in the fridge. Your room is upstairs on the right. Can’t miss it.’

  Reaching into his pocket, Jack pulled out a key and tossed it over.

  ‘Spare, in case you want to take a walk.’

  Archer nodded, pocketing it. However, his expression was still serious.

  ‘Be careful down there, Jack. I mean it. Rioting isn’t predictable and can spread fast. I’ve seen it first-hand.’

  ‘Will do. I’ll see you later.’

  And with that, he and his two daughters left.

  Archer heard the muffled sound of three car doors slamming then an engine firing; the noise faded then disappeared altogether, the house now completely silent.

  Alone for the first time since he’d arrived, Archer kept his eyes on the door.

  Then his body language changed.

  Quickly checking his watch, he saw it was coming up to 5pm. He needed to wait a few minutes to make sure Jack and the girls hadn’t forgotten anything before he made a move. Seeing the TV control on a chair, he picked it up and switched on the television, quickly flicking through the channels until he landed on CNN.

  The volume was low and he kept it that way.

  The live images showed protestors all over the streets in the very area Jack was headed, Wards 7 and 8, a line of riot-control police trying to keep them back. The news report was showing the obvious difficulty the police were having maintaining any sort of order as they came under fire from scores of rioters hurling missiles, kicking in car doors and smashing up property around them.

  ‘Metro are deploying every unit they have trained to deal with this kind of situation, but it clearly isn’t easing off yet,’ the anchor’s voice said. ‘In fact, it looks like it’s getting worse. We’re going to stay with these images and keep you updated both on the disorder as well as the manhunt situation.’

  Archer watched in silence. The deaths of three people across the United States in the last forty eight hours wouldn’t normally be a cause for inner-city trouble, but when it was reported that one victim was Latina, two were African American and the killer was an NYPD cop who’d managed to escape arrest the situation had exploded, public disorder sparking in New York, Washington, Baltimore and even in L.A on the other side of the country, thousands of miles from where the murders had taken place.

  The intensity and speed of the rioting had taken everyone by surprise, particularly here in D.C, where one of the victims had been born and raised and where the lead suspect had been sighted four hours ago. Archer watched as some aerial shots were shown of stores being looted, cars trashed and set on fire, and heard Jack’s voice in his head from a few minutes ago.

  They’re saying the guy might be hiding out in Wards 7 or 8 somewhere.

  Pulling his cell phone, Archer dialled a number, continuing to watch the images as they changed, the screen splitting into four tiles to show the violence currently taking place in different places. On the D.C. tile, he watched as four masked men in hoods and makeshift masks trashed an abandoned Metro PD cruiser, one of them throwing a bottle with a flaming rag through one of the smashed windows and running back as fire erupted from the vehicle, the Crown Victoria burning and making the air around it shimmer like a mirage.

  ‘It’s Archer,’ he said, the call connecting. ‘I made it.’

  ‘Did you get across the River yet?’ his Counter-Terrorism Bureau sergeant Matt Shepherd asked, back in New York at their HQ.

  ‘About to go,’ he said, looking at the violent images. ‘Any leads on the suspect?’

  ‘Nothing. Get in, do what you need to do, then get out of there as fast as you can, Arch. The rioting’s getting worse by the minute.’

  ‘I’m watching.’

  ‘Apparently rival gangs are forming alliances to go after cops. Make sure no-one sees your badge.’

  Archer watched a car burn on the screen, smoke billowing up towards the chopper filming it. Then glancing at the time in the corner of the screen, he suddenly realised something and swore. ‘I need to go.’

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Yeah, you could say that. I’ll keep you posted.’

  Ending the call, Archer swore again, thinking back to the train he’d arrived on forty five minutes ago. When he’d been dragged off by the Amtrak officers, they’d retrieved his holdall but not the bags containing the presents he’d brought with him for Maia’s birthday tomorrow. If they hadn’t already been stolen, they were now most likely on their way back to New York or being treated as suspicious items. Showing up for his niece’s birthday tomorrow without a gift wouldn’t exactly build good niece-uncle relations or increase his standing with Sarah.

  Checking his watch again, he realised he was now really against the clock, two tasks to complete with barely any enough time for either.

  Time to go.

  Changing the channel back to where he’d found it then switching off the television, he walked quickly into the hall and went straight to the door. As he opened up, he saw a set of car keys hanging on a hook beside him, connected to a silver H over a red background, and recalled seeing a black Honda parked outside in the drive. Sarah’s car; she must have been getting picked up and driven to work.

  Taking the keys off the hook, he unlocked the front door and left.

  June 14th was the last day of the academic year for all high schools in the city and looking around the hallways of Woodrow Wilson High, you’d know it. It was coming to the end of recess and there was a definite party atmosphere in the air, seniors approaching their final class ever at the school, kids in the years below knowing a long vacation was just one period away.

  In the main corridor, students were using up every second of the break, clustered around in groups. The seniors were discussing a party that was happening later tonight and working out how they could get hold of a beer keg and some liquor, while younger students talked loudly, laughing and goofing around as others just hung out with their friends or avoided the seniors’ attention, who had a tradition of targeting the younger students for pranks as their time at school ended.

  Cutting through the noise, the shrill bell for last period rang out, conversations given a prompt to get wrapped up as students started to move, whoops and whistles filling the halls as the kids walked to their last classes, ushered along by several teachers.

  The mass of people in the corridor thinned out, until there were only a handful left.

  Then it was empty.

  At the far end of the hallway, a fourteen year old boy suddenly burst through the main doors, breathing heavily, sweat darkening the neck of his grey t-shirt. Dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt over the sweaty tee, he was African American and gangly, over six feet already at fourteen years old and slightly uncoordinated, not yet accustomed to his recent rapid growth spurt.

  Checking the time on his wristwatch, the boy raced down th
e corridor towards the library; stopping six feet from the entrance, he pulled something from under his shirt.

  A 9mm handgun.

  Awkwardly racking the top-slide on the black pistol, he rushed over to the door to the library and pushed it open.

  He wasn’t too late.

  He was just in time.

  THREE

  On the 2nd floor of a shopping mall on the southern edge of Georgetown, Archer quickly walked out of a department store, carrying a bag of presents, a sealed roll of wrapping paper, some sticky tape and tags. He’d found the place online using Google and the map software on his phone, which was going to help him considerably with where he had to go next.

  This part of the city wasn’t affected by any rioting and the mall was busy with a lazy early-summer energy, shoppers wandering in and out of stores looking at merchandise, others enjoying ice-cream cones or just window shopping, the building cold from air conditioning working overtime. The calm, unhurried atmosphere was in stark contrast to what was taking place only a few miles south across the Anacostia River, literally a tale of two cities.

  Taking a seat at a metal table Archer dumped his purchases in front of him and opened the roll of paper, quickly wrapping Maia’s replacement presents. He’d bought Ally something too so she didn’t feel left out and wrapped that as best he could, his skills leaving a lot to be desired. As he started to write Ally’s tag, he suddenly felt a buzzing in his pocket and guessed it was Shepherd probably getting impatient and wanting an update, which he wasn’t able to provide yet.

  Pulling out his cell phone, he saw a different name on the display from the one he’d been expecting.

  ‘What are you doing calling?’ he asked Vargas, scribbling his message on the tag. ‘You’re supposed to be drinking a cocktail on the beach.’

  ‘Did you get into a fight on the train?’

  Archer stopped writing. ‘How’d you know that?’