by Tom Barber
The light went green.
‘Got it!’
Turning, Ledger immediately headed for the back door of the property as Archer turned the phone off, killing any signal. Delaying to quickly check the sniper over, he removed a grenade from the man’s belt, which was definitely not police issue. Picking up the man’s suppressed scoped assault rifle and pushing the grenade into his pocket carefully, Archer ran after Ledger, the sniper behind them now fighting hard to get out his binds.
Hearing an engine start up, he looked through the broken window at the back of the building and saw a black van take off down the street.
Speeding back to where they’d left Thorne, Deerman and Tarketti pulled up outside the apartment block, Riley following close behind in a second Metro squad car, Burnett directing them after picking up a fresh cell phone signal: Angela Barrera’s.
‘In there!’ Deerman said, following Burnett’s directions, then seeing Thorne inside the store.
‘What the hell happened?’ Riley asked, ripping the strip of duct tape from Thorne’s mouth.
‘Archer blindsided me,’ he spat. Seeing his earpiece and mic were gone, Tarketti reached into his pocket and passed him fresh ones; Thorne stuffed the earpiece into his ear. ‘They got my prints.’
‘Where’d they go?’ Deerman asked.
‘They took off in a black van,’ Thorne said. ‘Burnett you hear that?’
‘I’ve got it! It’s heading west.’
Quickly releasing their colleague, the four men sprinted towards their two Metro cop cars. Thorne jumped into the front of the first and pulled the shotgun stowed between the seats from its holster as Deerman swung the car round and took off down the street, the others following, all heading in the direction the black van had taken.
Reaching the end of the road, Deerman turned right then left again, following Burnett’s instructions. He turned another sharp right, then braked hard.
Two blocks down, the black van had crashed into a lamp-post and was already surrounded by dark Crown Victorias, six ATF agents wearing bulletproof vests approaching the vehicle with weapons drawn.
The four men watched as two of the agents aimed their weapons at the front of the van while others had the rear of the van covered.
‘Drop the cops on my call,’ Thorne said quietly, pumping a shell into the shotgun, Deerman aiming with his rifle, all four men opening their doors and sliding out of the cars quietly, aiming at the Federal agents. ‘They can’t take them.’
The rear doors were opened, the ATF agents aiming their guns into the interior.
But Thorne didn’t give the order.
The back of the van was empty.
THIRTY ONE
Like fire burning its way through a dry crop field, Barry Farms had been systematically trashed during the riots over the last few hours. It meant the block where Archer’s phone had been found was pretty much empty, some properties abandoned long ago which had been of no interest to the looters, others freshly burned out or torn apart in the wave of destruction.
One of the forgotten locations was a small two-up, two-down house two blocks from where Archer had left his phone, boarded up and derelict. The back door to this property faced directly onto the sidewalk next to a two-lane street running through the neighbourhood, the Anacostia subway entrance almost within spitting distance.
The house was also where Angela and Jesse had been ordered to hide.
Sprinting back down the sidewalk alongside the two-lane street, having leapt out of the van moments before deliberately crashing it into a lamppost, getting away just before the FBI turned up, Archer joined the other three in the house, who were standing in front of her I-Pad she’d rested on an old dusty table.
‘Ledger said you got it?’ Jesse asked.
‘We got it!’ Archer said, quickly hooking up Angela’s phone to the I-Pad and turned it on.
‘Hurry!’ Ledger said, moving over to stand guard by the front door.
The phone seemed to take forever to power up. Typing fast on the I-Pad, Archer opened up the National Crime Information Centre and Fingerprint Identification databases, using his NYPD access number and password to log in. With servers based at Clarksburg, West Virginia, the NCIC and FI caches had 96 million prints stored on file, not just those of criminals, but of anyone who’d ever legally entered the United States. This was going to be their best shot at finding out who these men really were.
He uploaded the prints to the software and hit Enter, turning Angela’s phone off the second the prints were received.
Across the neighbourhood, the four men in two Metro squad cars were already speeding back the way they’d come. The crashed black van had created a distraction for the arriving Federal agents engaged in the manhunt, obviously intended to buy Archer and Ledger some time, but even so it wouldn’t be long before the Feds would be swarming all over the street.
‘They used another phone to get my prints,’ Thorne said.
‘It was that bitch reporter’s,’ Burnett said. ‘Angela Barrera’s. I’ve just picked up the signal again!’
‘Where?’
‘Two blocks from where Archer’s came from.’
‘Got him,’ Archer said, seeing the information had come from Fingerprint Identification, not the NCIC which meant the guy didn’t have a criminal record.
Puzzled, he looked at the screen as a headshot photo of a man appeared.
It wasn’t the same person they’d just left tied to a chair.
‘Carl James Thorne,’ he read as Angela and Jesse peered over his shoulder. ‘Thirty five years old, born St Louis, Missouri. Ex US Marine captain, currently an advisor for the National Security Agency at Ford Meade, married with two children.’
‘NSA,’ Jesse said, looking at Angela. ‘You were right!’
‘But that’s not the guy,’ Archer said. ‘Looks nothing like him.’
‘Fingerprints don’t lie,’ Angela said. ‘It must be him.’
Archer clicked into the colleagues’ tag and quickly checked the files of several more men.
‘Paul Deerman, Dell Riley and Frank Tarketti,’ he read. ‘Thirty one, thirty two and thirty four years old. Deerman and Riley ex-Delta Force, Tarketti a former SEAL, all with the Agency for the past five years.’
He looked at the photos of three men whom he didn’t recognise. None of them were the two who’d shown up at Ledger’s hideout in Buena Vista earlier. Deerman was dark-haired and stern-faced, Riley blond, Tarketti with a buzz-cut and square, uncompromising face.
All analysts working at Fort Meade.
‘Analysts my ass,’ Angela said, looking at Archer. ‘These men are field operatives. But I told you they’re NSA.’
‘We’re out of here,’ Ledger said, grabbing Jesse with his good hand and pulling him towards the back door. ‘Let’s go!’
Angela quickly followed but Archer remained where he was, studying the faces on the screen. He’d clearly seen three of the guys hunting them earlier and none of the photos of the men in these files matched up.
But he looked up when he heard a squeal of tyres outside and knew he was about to get another chance to take a look.
He’d placed the rifle he’d taken from the sniper on the table beside him; diving to the floor, he grabbed the weapon on the way down just as a burst of suppressed automatic gunfire raked the room, destroying the I-pad and spraying debris into the air. Ledger had already pushed the other two out of the back door into the street before turning and firing back, his shots unsilenced and echoing in the night.
However, his pistol suddenly clicked dry and he ducked back to reload, rifle fire ripping into the wall and doorframe around him, the delay giving the four men the advantage and control of the room.
Entering the lower floor of the house, the four operatives moved forward, Archer trapped in the room to their right. Glancing at the others, Thorne saw Deerman mouth two words at him.
Nodding, he took a step forward but stopped dead when the ring pin to a grenade lan
ded at his feet.
A moment later, Archer appeared, holding the M61 grenade he’d lifted from Thorne earlier, his curled fist keeping the lever from springing off and triggering the explosion which would follow almost immediately.
All four assault rifles tracked him silently, the sudden silence in marked contrast to the noise and activity moments before.
Archer held the frag in front of him, the sound of approaching police sirens adding to the tension.
No-one spoke.
His feet crunching on broken glass and pieces of plaster, Archer edged slowly backwards towards the back door, seeing the eyes of each man following his every move behind the sights, their desire to survive outweighing their desire to kill him.
‘Wherever you go, we’ll find you,’ Thorne said in a low voice.
Archer reached the doorframe, right at the limit of the grenade’s blast radius. He didn’t take his eyes off the four men in front of him, knowing they’d be calculating the distance just as he was.
And the sound of a cop car sliding into the street behind them suddenly ended the standoff.
Archer snapped out of sight just as one of the men fired.
But thrown from his hand, the grenade rolled across the floor.
Ledger, Angela and Jesse were already halfway across the two-lane street as Archer raced towards them. A moment later an explosion erupted from the house; Archer staggered slightly but kept his balance and quickly caught up with the others, all four running across the street as police arrived at the front of the old house. Barry Farms was suddenly the focal point of the manhunt.
Just as they reached the other side of the road, a group of men suddenly emerged from a side street a block away. Fifteen of them at least, wearing bandannas or masks across their faces, carrying an assortment of weapons, pausing momentarily as they spotted the four running across the street.
‘Subway!’ Archer shouted, the other three following him into the Anacostia subway station as the hyped-up gang shouted threats and immediately gave chase.
Anticipating Archer’s move, the four NSA operatives had reacted fast. Seconds after the explosion, they rolled out from the room where they’d hurled themselves, pushing themselves to their feet, their hearing temporarily gone.
Moving through the smoke towards the back door, Thorne snapped out into the street to see a group of men in bandannas sprinting towards the subway exit.
‘Anacostia gang are following them,’ Burnett suddenly said through their earpieces. ‘They catch them, this thing’s over.’
As cars continued to arrive on the street outside the front of the house, the four men looked at each other.
‘We need the cars!’ Deerman said.
‘We just need one,’ Thorne replied, looking at Riley and Tarketti. ‘Take ours; it’s got all the equipment in the trunk. Follow the subway line.’
‘Which way?’
‘We’ll let you know,’ Thorne said, tossing him the keys to his own squad car. ‘Just get out of here.’
As Thorne and Deerman took off after Ledger, Archer and the others, Riley and Tarketti turned and stowed their rifles by the door, keeping them out of sight from the Federal agents who were approaching the front door, vests over their shirts, pistols drawn.
Seeing the two men in Metro PD uniform, they lowered their side-arms.
‘What the hell happened?’ one of them asked.
‘We got ambushed,’ Tarketti said, holding onto the wall with one hand and pointing with the other in the direction Archer’s original cell signal had come from. ‘They threw a grenade and headed that way.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
As the officers immediately jumped back into their vehicles and took off in the direction Tarketti had indicated, he and Riley moved fast. They climbed into Thorne’s squad car and drove off, soon lost in the mass of law-enforcement vehicles descending on the neighbourhood.
THIRTY TWO
D.C’s subway system, the Metro rail, has six lines, each named after a colour. Ward 8’s service was the Green Line and as he ran after the others into the station, Archer saw the place was empty, the service temporarily shut down due to the hunt for Ledger and rioting. It’d gone against all his instincts to run into a confined space like this, but they didn’t have any alternative.
‘How far are we from the next stop?’ Archer called to Jesse, quickly catching the others up and hearing shouts from the gang as they followed them into the station.
‘We either go deeper into Southwest or go under the River to Navy Yard and Ward 6!’
‘How far is the Navy Yard?’
‘Shit, I don’t know. A mile; at least!’
Swearing, Archer checked behind them as he jumped over the unmanned barriers. Taking the lead, he ran down the stairs before emerging onto the empty platform, quickly followed by Angela, Ledger and Jesse.
There were no trains at the platform and nowhere to hide, the entire space open and quiet. Looking back at the way they’d come, Archer heard the hollering and shouting getting closer.
They were trapped.
Behind the gang members, Thorne and Deerman were following but keeping well back, the Metro PD uniforms bound to attract the hyped-up street gang’s attention if they were seen.
‘Kill the subway cameras!’ Thorne ordered Burnett.
‘Already done it!’
Arriving at the top of some stairs that led down onto a platform, they worked their way down, flattening themselves against the wall. Taking point, Deerman edged out then turned and nodded to Thorne. It was clear.
The NSA pair moved out onto the platform, their weapons in their shoulders. There was no-one there; the place was completely empty, just four dark tunnels.
‘Which one?’ Deerman asked.
The echo of gunshots suddenly came from the tunnel leading to the river and Ward 6.
That gave him the answer.
Inside the tunnel, Archer was leading Angela, Ledger and Jesse down the middle of the track as fast as he dared, the gang chasing them having just opened fire, the shots ricocheting off the walls and smashing out brickwork beside them. The temptation to go faster was strong, but Archer knew the danger of the live third rail beside them, hoping the difficulty of hitting a moving target in semi-darkness would work in their favour.
As she followed Archer, Angela suddenly stumbled, her brief cry of alarm alerting him; he snapped round and caught her just before she fell on the third rail, 750 volts humming through the line. The slats and trash scattered everywhere made the ground uneven and visibility was poor, the only light provided by dim bulbs, in stark contrast to the well-lit station they’d just left behind.
‘Hurry!’ Archer said, glancing back down the hot, dark tunnel, the shouts and whoops from the gang echoing eerily as they chased them down.
And they were gaining on them.
Back on the street, pretty much every member of law-enforcement in the Ward was now arriving at the block where they’d traced the phone signal, news teams hot on their heels, following up reports of gunshots and an explosion.
‘Who the hell was shooting at who?’ an ATF agent asked, reaching the back door of an abandoned house damaged from an explosion.
‘Witness in a car on the street is saying he saw people run into the subway!’ a Metro detective called over. ‘Two men, a woman and a kid being chased by a gang.’
‘I thought the system’s been shut down?’ the ATF agent said.
‘It has, apart from a couple of service trains. They can’t go anywhere unless they hit the tunnels.’
As an FBI helicopter arrived overhead looking for any sign of the fugitives, the ATF agent pulled out his cell phone and called his superior.
‘Sir, Ledger and the people with him ran into the Metro, followed by a gang. We can follow from the Anacostia side but we need people at the Navy Yard and behind us in Southwest ready to intercept. We’ve got no idea which way they’re headed.’
‘Copy that.’
The foursome were
continuing their race down the tracks, but the group behind them were gaining.
Then Archer suddenly slowed.
Forced to slow too, Ledger turned and fired at the gang behind them before looking at Archer.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Ledger hissed. ‘Archer, move your ass!’
But Archer didn’t move. Ledger looked at him in frustration, ready to step forward when he noticed his fellow cop was looking at the rails beside them.
Ledger focused his hearing, and then he knew why Archer had stopped.
The rails were starting to rattle and vibrate.
Around them, paper cups, scraps of old newspaper and other detritus started to whip up into the air from the increasing draught.
Simultaneously, they all realised what was happening.
Just as a light appeared in the distance.
‘Oh my god!’ Angela said in horror.
As the rattling of the rails increased and the wind continued to pick up, Archer looked around them desperately searching for a service door, manhole cover, anything to get out of the train’s path, but there was nothing. They were still too far from the Navy Yard to start running; it would be pointless.
Ahead of them was nothing but darkness, no sign of a platform, nowhere to hide.
Down the tunnel, members of the gang chasing them had turned and were also staring behind them. Looking down as the train thundered towards them, Archer suddenly noticed some small intermittent spaces set low underneath the narrow concrete shelf running along the wall.
If they lay flat, there was a chance they could squeeze into them.
‘In the gaps!’ he shouted, grabbing Angela and pushing her down towards one of the spaces, Jesse immediately scrambling into the next one. Ledger was quick to follow, sucking his breath in hard as he forced his wounded shoulder into the narrow gap. Archer hitched up the rifle he’d taken from the sniper and fired at the gang members who’d resumed their chase, sprinting down on them again. He hit one but the guy only staggered and then continued running forward, the shot not accurate enough to put him down.