by Barber, Tom
But he’d make sure to get his Sig back from Katic first.
The car arrived at Columbus Circle and held at the red light. After a few moments, it flicked green and they moved around the circular roundabout from the left. Archer watched the water splash in the fountain below the marble statue of Christopher Columbus as they slid around him and headed up Broadway. They were seven blocks away, and the driver headed up Broadway towards the Upper West Side, past the Lincoln Center to the left, past the Julliard School.
‘Drop us off on 70th,’ Archer told the driver. Katic turned to him as Archer saw the driver’s head nod.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘The cinema is on 67th.’
‘We’ll come in from the top. I want to see what we’re walking into.’
‘You don’t trust Siletti?’
He shook his head.
‘Tonight, I don’t trust anyone.’
They stopped on the corner of 70th and Broadway as requested and Katic paid the fare. The two of them stepped out, shutting the doors and the taxi sped off uptown, leaving them there alone.
The streets were relatively busy, not heaving, but there were quite a few pedestrians, headed to bars and the cinema or just outside enjoying the warm night air. Archer stepped up onto the sidewalk beside Katic and didn’t move. He stared down the street ahead, looking for anything unusual. It didn’t matter if Siletti was clean or dirty, he could still have called for back-up. Up ahead, he saw a big digital clock in red letters, mounted on a CNN building on the south side of Columbus Circle.
10:15 pm.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Katic.
She nodded.
‘Let’s go.’
They walked down slowly, side-by-side, checking for anything unusual. Any vans or people sitting in cars. Anyone nearby wearing an earpiece. Any sign of a trap or foul play.
‘Recognise any vehicles?’ Archer asked her.
She shook her head and turned to him.
‘Relax, Archer. We can trust Siletti. He’s one of the good guys.’
‘Even if he is, he might have called for back-up.’
‘That’s OK. We’ll go downtown and I can explain what the hell is going on.’
They crossed the street, twenty yards from the Loews cinema, ahead to their left. Archer looked up and saw the names and show-times of different movies scrolling across a digital black background in red lettering. All the summer blockbusters, still on show, the studios eager to squeeze every cent they could from the paying public before they pulled the movie reels from the cinemas and started packaging them into DVDs. The first door to the large dark foyer of the cinema appeared on their left. Archer quickly checked both ways up and down the street, then opened the door and letting Katic precede him, followed her inside.
Inside, it was dark and busy. There were people all over the place. A long queue had formed in front of the ticket desks, people waiting in line to purchase stubs for whatever movie they were seeing, whilst others were walking to the escalators near the two newcomers and stepping onto the metal steps, making their way upstairs and towards the concession stands and screens. The place felt like a disco or one of those laser tag places Archer had gone to as a kid, dark with occasional glowing lights piercing the gloom. Katic stepped into the north-west corner, Archer beside her. They were in a good spot, an exit either side of them, inconspicuous, not attracting any attention but with a good view of the place. Nevertheless Archer still felt on edge and uneasy. All of a sudden he was starting to regret handing his pistol to Katic.
He guessed who Siletti was the moment he saw him. He was a slim, wiry guy, tall, six two or three maybe. He was dressed in a suit that was a bit too big for him, with shirt and tie, and had a thin moustache over his upper lip and freshly slicked-back dark hair. Katic mentioned her team had been given the night off, so his attire seemed unusual, but maybe he had just dressed up before he left his place, anticipating a long night at Federal Plaza.
Archer’s suspicions that he was looking at an FBI agent were confirmed when he saw the man clock Katic across the room. He stepped through the line of people queuing for tickets, and made his way swiftly towards them. Concern was written all over his face. He glanced over at Archer in the darkness, and Archer saw his right hand was by his hip, close to a pistol that would be surely tucked under the suit jacket. Archer eased himself back a hair. If Siletti pulled it, Archer could probably grab the Sig from the back of Katic’s waistband before she reacted.
‘There you are,’ he said to Katic.
He glanced at Archer, hostile.
‘He’s on our side,’ Katic said, reading the look in his eyes. ‘Like I told you, he’s been working with Gerrard.’
‘No way,’ Siletti said, his hand still by his hip.
‘Yes way. Take your hand away from there. You pull your gun, I’ll pull mine and we’ll be stuck here wondering what to do next.’
Siletti stared at Archer for a long moment.
Archer stared straight back.
Eventually, Siletti turned his attention to Katic.
‘You’re in deep shit, Mina. Why the hell did you hitch a ride and not just take him in? And where the hell is the money?’
‘In a safe place. Look, I had to intervene. I think someone on our team has flipped.’
‘What?’
‘Someone’s flipped.’
He stepped closer to the corner, lowering his voice. Archer looked past him, seeing if anyone was watching, making doubly sure the guy had come alone.
‘Who?’ Siletti asked.
‘I don’t know. But think about it. Surely you’ve got your suspicions. Farrell and his crew have been one step ahead of us every time.’
‘Yeah, I know. But to say one of us is working with them? That’s pretty extreme.’ Siletti said.
‘Just hear me out. Look, I promise you I’m legit. And I can trust you, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘So it’s either O’Hara, Lock, Parker. Or Gerrard.’
‘Gerrard. Are you nuts?’ Siletti said, still not convinced. ‘He’s head of the Task Force. He’s an SSA. Guys like that don’t turn on their own. It’s unheard of.’
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’
‘Thursday. Why?’
‘We’ve been trying to call him for over a day now but we can’t get through. Whoever the leak is might have got to him first.’
Siletti shook his head.
‘You’re serious about all this?’
‘As a heart attack.’
He cursed and ran his hand back over his slick hair. Then he looked over at Archer.
‘Speaking of deep shit, I should take you in right now. You’re on the casebook of every cop and Federal agent in the city. I could land a promotion by bringing in your ass.’
‘Go ahead and try.’
‘He’s good,’ said Katic, interjecting as the two men stared at each other again. ‘I can vouch for him.’
Siletti kept looking at Archer, then turned back to Katic.
‘OK. So how much was in the car?’ he asked.
‘Close to a mil,’ Archer said.
In the darkness, Archer saw Siletti’s eyes widen.
‘Jesus Christ. So where is it? That’s stolen money. It needs to be returned straight away,’ he said. ‘Right now, you two count as thieves. Badge or not, Mina, you’ve still got almost a million stolen dollars in your possession. That’s as illegal as you can get.’
She nodded and looked at his suit.
‘Were you at the Plaza?’
He nodded.
‘So do you know what happened with Farrell and his crew?’
He nodded again. ‘The cops took them at the Garden. The operation’s over.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Let’s go get the money, head downtown and sort this all out.’
Katic looked at Archer for approval, encouraged.
‘C’mon, my car’s a couple blocks away,’ Siletti said.
They he
aded outside, pushing open the doors. Katic looked to Archer, reassured, but noticed he didn’t seem as upbeat. The trio headed up the street. Siletti drove a small Mercedes, and it was parked on the kerb, an FBI badge on the dashboard. He pulled a set of keys and the lights flashed as it clicked open.
‘Let’s go get the cash first,’ he said. ‘We need to get it in safe hands as soon as possible. Where did you stash it?’
Archer went to reply, but his phone suddenly rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the display. Private Number.
Oh shit. This could be Gerry.
He clicked Answer quickly, hopeful.
‘Hello?’
‘I’m going to kill you, you piece of shit,’ a voice said.
It wasn’t Gerry.
It was Farrell.
Katic and Siletti had opened their doors, but turned, watching Archer take the call. He hid his shock at hearing Farrell’s voice and smiled.
‘Oh hey, how are you?’ Archer said, warmly, his mind racing.
‘You’re a dead man.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You ditched us.’
‘Really?’ he said, still cordial, thinking hard.
‘Where are you?’ Farrell asked.
‘Around.’
‘Bring us the money and I’ll let you live.’
Archer smiled, as he looked at Katic. His mind was racing as fast as he’d driven from the Garden, Katic’s gun in his ribs.
‘OK. I’ll be in touch,’ he said. He ended the call.
‘Who was that?’ Katic asked.
‘Just a friend. Let’s go.’
Siletti looked at him for a moment, his face unreadable. Archer didn’t make eye contact.
He took another look at the man’s suit instead.
They all climbed into the car, shutting the doors.
And what happened next was fast and violent.
In the front passenger seat, Archer smashed his left forearm into Siletti’s face, then slammed his head forward against the wheel as hard as he could. He wasn’t ready for it and his head smashed into the wheel like they’d been in an accident, and he pulled back, gasping from the pain. Archer grabbed Siletti’s pistol from the holster on his hip, jamming into the man’s ribs, like Katic had done to him. It was an Heckler and Koch USP, not FBI issue, not his service weapon. He flicked off the safety catch and pushed it into the man’s side hard, grabbing him by the slick hair.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Katic yelled. She pulled her own pistol and put it on Archer. ‘Drop the gun!’
‘That was Farrell. They’re not locked up. He called me from the street.’
‘What?’
Archer looked at Siletti, who was covering his nose, blood leaking through his fingers and soaking his thin moustache.
‘He’s lying, Katic. They didn’t take down the thieves. They’re still out there. He’s the rat. Did you murder my father?’ Archer asked, jamming the gun into his ribs harder, causing him to gasp. Siletti’s nose was bleeding profusely, staining his shirt. ‘Was it you?’
‘You’re a dead man,’ he said. ‘We’re going to kill you.’
Archer punched him with his left fist, hard, spraying blood from Siletti’s nose onto the dashboard. Then Archer hesitated for a split-second.
He’d said We.
‘Who are you working with? Who else is in on it?’ he demanded.
‘What are you going to do, kill a Federal agent? You just assaulted me, asshole. You’re screwed.’
Archer paused, thinking, as Katic watched from the back, her Sig still aimed at Archer. He then jerked forward and grabbed Siletti’s tie, pulling it off roughly.
‘Keep a gun on him,’ he told Katic. She looked at him, confused. ‘Do it.’
She complied, and nestled her pistol in Siletti’s lower back.
‘Hands at 10 and 2,’ Archer said. Siletti swore at him and spat blood. Archer hit him again, hard, and reeling from the blow, Siletti complied, blood spilling from his nose. He grabbed the tie and wrapped Siletti’s hands up, tying them to the steering wheel and pulling the knots tight.
Next, he grabbed the keys and turned to Katic, who looked scared and confused.
‘We’re out of here.’
‘You can’t hide. We’ll find you,’ Siletti told him, spitting out blood.
Both of them froze and looked at him as they heard this. Archer hit him again, then he and Katic stepped out, slamming the doors. But before she did so, Katic holstered her pistol, and Archer pushed the magazine release catch on Siletti’s weapon and caught the mag as it dropped from the weapon. He pushed the top-slide, catching the bullet that popped out, and then tossed the unloaded pistol on the backseat, tucking the mag and spare round in his pocket. Stepping outside, Archer slammed the door and moved to the trunk of the car and slid the keys into the lock, Katic beside him, confused. He twisted and pulled it open and they both looked inside.
There were a number of items in the trunk. Items that alone wouldn’t have cause concern, but at that moment painted a terrible picture.
A roll of duct tape.
Ten or so red bricks.
A load of plastic bags.
And a power saw.
The sharp serrated blade of the saw was red with wet blood.
It had been used recently.
Beside him, Katic gasped. A taxi passed them on the right and Archer hailed it. The driver stopped, and looked through the open window.
‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘Anywhere,’ Archer said. The guy looked at him, then shrugged and nodded.
Archer and Katic climbed in quickly, and the vehicle sped off down the street and into the night.
FOURTEEN
‘What the hell is going on?’ Katic asked, as the taxi sped downtown. ‘Siletti’s the rat?’
‘He lied. About Farrell. Why would he do that? And you saw all the shit in the trunk. He was waiting for us to show him where the money was. Then he was going to kill us both, chop us up with the saw and probably dump the pieces in the sea, weighed down with the bricks. And my guess is Gerrard is already down there.’
‘What? Why?’
‘He was wearing Gerry’s suit.’
Katic looked at him, her eyes wide in disbelief, trying to process the situation.
‘Are you sure? How could you know that?’
‘Positive. Had the same stain on the right collar. I saw that stain go on there on Wednesday. He killed Gerrard tonight, probably within the hour. He got some of the mess on him. He didn’t have time to get home and change, so he swapped clothes with Gerrard instead. That’s why his hair was wet. He had to clean himself off.’
Katic thought for a moment. Realised she’d been played.
‘That son of a bitch. I trusted him.’
‘And it almost got you killed. I didn’t like that guy the moment I saw him. And he said we. He’s not the only one involved’
Katic didn’t respond. She shook her head slowly, her eyes unfocused, still trying to wrap her mind around it all. Archer pulled his phone and tried Gerrard again, more out of vain hope than anything else.
No one picked up.
Oh shit, Gerry, Archer thought, the image of Siletti executing him flashing into his mind.
‘Wait,’ Katic suddenly told the driver, regaining her clarity. ‘Stop here, please.’
The driver complied. They were just before Columbus Circle, on 60th and Broadway. Archer and Katic got out on the Park side, both shuffling out through Archer’s door. She paid the fare, and the taxi departed, and she rushed across the street, Archer following. As they stepped onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street, Archer took Siletti’s car keys, the magazine to the USP and the spare bullet, wiped them off with the lapel of his coat and dropped them all in a trash can as they passed it.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked her.
‘Siletti’s going to be looking for us,’ she said. ‘Especially you. He was right. You just assaulted a Federal agent, Arch
er, unprovoked. If we don’t find justifiable cause for that, you are going to be in a whole new world of problems.’
‘So where are we going?’ he asked again.
They had stopped outside a huge building on the west side of Columbus Circle. He glanced to his left and saw a silver-coloured giant globe mounted on marble block, then looked back up at the structure in front of them. He knew what it was. His father had taken him here for a slice of cake one Saturday afternoon almost twenty years ago. He looked straight ahead and saw the name of the place printed on the golden awning above the wide entrance.
Trump International Hotel and Tower.
‘Parker lives here,’ Katic said.
‘Parker? As in the guy from your team.’
‘The very same.’
Archer looked up at the building.
‘He lives here?’
Katic nodded. ‘He’s Siletti’s partner on the team. Let’s go up there and talk to him. Tell him what just happened. Perhaps Parker can tell us more and we can get some back-up. Three’s better than two, right?’
‘He might be in on it.’
She pointed up at the expensive hotel.
‘Do you really think he needs the money?’
The building was impressive from the street, but Archer was stunned as he walked into the lobby of the Trump hotel. It looked like a movie set or something out of a dream.
Inside the lobby and reception area, the polished walls and decorations were lined with golden metal, the floor and reception desk fashioned from immaculately cut marble, not a single speck of dirt in sight. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, opulent and beautiful, extravagantly luxurious. To the left was a seating area, couches and armchairs with embroidered cushions that all together would probably cost him a year’s salary. Neat bouquets of white flowers had been placed on the tables in front of the seating area and also on the marble desktop of the reception counter, their fresh smell scenting the air.
As he saw guests moving past him through to the exit or headed to the bar and restaurant up ahead, he suddenly became aware of how scruffy he looked in his overcoat, t-shirt and sneakers. He figured there could be cops or security lurking who might have access to the NYPD scanner, or maybe a report had gone out over the television networks breaking the news on the Garden heist, so he kept back and let Katic take the lead. His feelings of sartorial inadequacy were confirmed when he saw the expression on the face of the woman behind the reception desk. From her seat he saw her look him up and down, and she seemed distinctly unimpressed.