The Getaway (Sam Archer 2)

by Barber, Tom

  Katic approached the woman, flipping her badge and spoke in lowered tones with her, asking what floor and room Parker occupied. After a brief conversation, Katic thanked the woman and led Archer forward through the lobby to the elevators, moving over the polished marble floor. Katic pushed the button for the elevators and they waited, Archer looking around the place in awe.

  ‘I need to join the FBI,’ he said.

  ‘That’s highly unlikely, given our current predicament,’ she replied.

  He smiled as the elevator arrived. She was right. She turned and winked at him as the doors opened. They let an elderly couple out of the cart, then stepped inside, and Katic pushed the button for the 41st floor.

  After the elevator moved up the building and arrived on 41, they got off and Katic led them down the corridor. Up here it was equally impressive, lots of cream-coloured carpets and golden lighting lining the white walls.

  ’41 F,’ she told Archer quietly, as they moved over the smooth carpet, headed right from the elevator.

  Soon enough, they arrived outside the polished wooden door, 41 F printed on a golden oval-shaped tag on the door.

  Katic went to knock, but stopped.

  At the same time, she and Archer both looked down.

  The door was already open.

  It was slightly ajar, the lock resting against the metal frame. One simple push from the inside would lock it, but no one seemed to have done so. Without a word, Katic stepped back and pulled her pistol, flicking off the safety. She thought for a moment, then reached behind her back into her waistband and passed Archer back his Sig. He nodded appreciation and flicked off the safety catch, both of them holding the weapons double-handed. She looked at him, raising a finger to her lips. He nodded.

  Then she pushed the door back gently and they moved into the apartment.

  It was astonishingly opulent inside. It was a large suite, highly polished furniture and chairs on top of luscious cream carpet and flawless decoration. Through the windows, the view of the Park was spectacular, a sea of greenery alongside the looming building work structures of 59th Street to the right. The room seemed to have a golden glow, like everything else in the hotel, and it was silent. The two newcomers moved in silently, tip-toeing softly, their pistols moving everywhere their eyes went, avoiding touching anything and not making a sound. Katic didn’t call out Parker’s name.

  They didn’t know who else could be in here.

  Archer turned left. The door to the main bedroom was open. He moved inside, smooth and quiet, the 9mm Sig up, his finger tight on the trigger, his footfalls soft on the carpet. He saw the bed was made, undisturbed, pristine white sheets, duvet and pillows tucked and folded by house-keeping. Like the main room, the bedroom was empty. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Katic reappear. She shook her head, her pistol down by her side.

  No one was here.

  Inside the main bedroom, to the left of the bed was a door to a bathroom. It was closed. Archer crept forward and listened closely. He couldn’t hear anything the other side. No sound. No activity. He pulled up the corner of his coat to protect against fingerprints and grabbing the handle, gently twisted it. He pushed it open.

  And he found Parker.

  From where he was stood, Archer could see he was around his own age, mid-twenties, blond hair and tanned arms. He was slumped over the side of the bathtub, his arms and legs outside. Blood and brains were spattered all over the white walls, shower rail and on one side of the shower curtain.

  He could see what had happened.

  Someone had pushed him headfirst into the bathtub and shielding themselves with the curtain, shot him once in the back of the head. He could see the entry wound, a small maroon hole in the young man’s blond hair. It had to be a silenced pistol, otherwise the other guests would surely have heard something. He had been executed, his hands and feet duct-taped behind his back, another strip pulled over his mouth. The duct tape was grey. The same colour as the roll in the back of Siletti’s car.

  The murder had happened recently too.

  Blood was still sliding down the white tiles.

  Archer heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and turned. Katic was there, her hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at the lifeless young man. She moved back, sitting on the bed, unable to move her eyes from her dead colleague. Archer pulled the door shut gently with the lapel of his coat and moved over to sit beside her on the bed. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound, her brown eyes wide in disbelief.

  They sat there in silence for five minutes. Neither moved. Neither spoke. But Archer broke it eventually. He had to.

  ‘We need to go,’ he said.

  ‘We can’t just leave him here,’ Katic said, turning on him, anger in her voice and eyes. She was torn up, full of shock and grief. Archer was a stranger with no history with the guy, so he was thinking with more clarity. He didn’t blame her for what she felt. If it was the other way round and one of his friends, like Chalky, had been murdered, he would have reacted the exact same way.

  ‘We’ll call the cops from the street and tip them off. C’mon. Let’s get out of here. If anyone from the hotel staff walk in, that could cause us a lot of problems. Let’s go find somewhere, another hotel, hole up and think.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, pulling a tissue from her pocket and wiping her eyes. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘We can’t stay here.’

  ‘No, I mean I can’t hole up anywhere yet.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My daughter.’

  ‘You have a daughter?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘One of the other mom’s from school was looking after her.’ She checked her watch, sniffing, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Shit, I’m meant to be at home. She was due to get dropped off half an hour ago. I can’t leave her there by herself Archer. She’s only nine.’

  ‘Does anyone in the Bureau know where you live?’ Archer asked, his eyes wide.

  Katic thought about the question, starting to re-gather her composure.

  ‘Of course. It’s on the records.’

  Suddenly, she turned to Archer.

  She realised what he was thinking.

  ‘You think—’

  But she didn’t even finish the sentence.

  The two of them rose and ran for the door instead.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ the voice on the phone asked.

  Siletti swore as he stuffed gauze up his nose. He had managed to get help from the street, telling a concerned passer-by he’d just been mugged. The guy saw his nose and realising this wasn’t a bluff, loosened the tie from the steering wheel, releasing the other man’s hands. Siletti had then gone to the trunk and grabbed a first aid kit, slamming the rear shut and walking back to the front seat in a rage.

  ‘Katic is with him. He realised something was up and he got the drop on me. Asshole broke my nose.’ He swore in pain as he pushed the gauze up his nostril. ‘Farrell called him too. His crew made it out of the Garden and they’re gonna be searching for him. We could give them a call.’

  ‘Forget him. He’ll never co-operate with us again.’

  A silence followed.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ the other man said, struggling to control his temper. ‘Eight million people in this city, and you had the two of them actually in your car. Why the hell didn’t you waste them? They could be anywhere by now.’

  ‘I don’t need a reminder. I thought I had them.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘67th. Just north of Columbus.’

  ‘Did you take care of Lock and Parker?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re gone. They won’t be talking to anyone in D.C. Gave them both one to the back of the head. Used the HK, so it won’t land back on us. I chopped Lock up and dumped the bags in the sea, but I got Parker’s brains all over me when I shot him. Damn shower curtain didn’t work. I had to go and
change my clothes with the ones Gerrard was wearing before I met with Katic. I didn’t have time to get home.’

  ‘Not like he’s going to need them anymore,’ the other guy said.

  Siletti nodded.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Wait where you are,’ the other man said. ‘I’m headed your way. I think I know where the bitch and the English guy are headed. We’ll do it properly this time. We’ll get them to tell us where the money is, then shoot them and dump them both in the bay.’

  Siletti nodded, wincing as he finished splinting his nose.

  ‘Bring the shotguns,’ he said. ‘I’m gonna take my time with the British asshole. By the time I’m done, there’ll be nothing left of him to throw away.’

  ‘See you in five,’ the other man said.

  FIFTEEN

  Katic lived in a small place in the East Village, just off 1st Avenue on 13th Street. The journey from Columbus Circle took about fifteen minutes, the driver weaving his way skilfully across town, avoiding the traffic in and around Times Square. They’d asked the guy to get them there as soon as possible, and so far he was definitely earning his tip.

  On the back seat, Katic pulled her phone and called her home number.

  ‘Won’t the other mum be waiting with her?’ Archer asked.

  Katic shook her head, holding the phone to her ear. ‘The woman has a key. She lets Jessie back in and locks the door and leaves. I work unpredictable hours and I’m not paying her to babysit.’

  Thankfully, someone answered the call. But Archer was surprised. Katic didn’t start talking to her, or warn her, or tell her to hide. She just said one word.

  ‘Turtle.’

  That was it.

  One word, loudly and clearly.

  And with that, she hung up, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her suit.

  ‘Turtle? What was that?’ Archer asked.

  Katic ignored the question.

  ‘Can you drive faster, please?’ she asked the driver, as they moved fast down 2nd Avenue and past 20th Street.

  ‘We’re almost there, miss,’ the guy said politely. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how to do his job but he also didn’t want to sabotage his tip.

  Katic nodded, her leg jiggling as she released nervous energy. The streets flashed past outside the windows as they moved on downtown.

  18th.

  16th.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Archer?’ she asked him, anxious. The cab driver could hear what they were talking about, but she didn’t seem to care.

  ‘Siletti. Had to be.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘He’s tying up loose ends. Parker was his partner. Siletti’s covering his tracks. Maybe even the idea that Parker knew something was enough for what happened in the bathroom to happen.’

  She looked at him, her face pale. Archer chose to save the rest of the conversation for when they were out of earshot of the driver.

  Soon enough, they arrived on East 13th. The driver turned left, and headed across towards 1st Avenue. They hit a red at the end of the road, but it didn’t matter. Katic told him to pull up where they were and paid the fare. She and Archer stepped out, shutting the doors, and the taxi sped off, the driver happy with the tip they gave him.

  Katic went to walk forward, but Archer grabbed her arm and held her back. He stepped to the left, into the shadows, with her beside him.

  ‘Wait,’ he said.

  Her maternal instincts were screaming at her to just cross the street and get to her daughter as quickly as possible, but she held back. Just ahead of them, 1st Avenue was busy, people out enjoying the Saturday night. Across the street though, 13th looked quiet. Archer had his Sig back in his hand in the pocket of his coat, and Katic had her own pistol in the holster on her hip. The game had just changed. Any rules that were in place had just gone out the window. If they kept trying to play them, Katic knew it could be the two of them next who would be pushed face-down into the bathtub.

  Satisfied that no one was about, the pair of them crossed the street quickly and headed down 13th. Katic said she lived at Number 20, which was within a stone’s throw from the cross street and on the left side. The street looked pretty empty. Archer scanned the interior of any cars parked in the area, looking for anyone sitting inside, or anything that seemed unusual. But it looked clear. Besides, they’d be in and out in a couple of minutes. The sooner they got on with it, the sooner they would be safe and could hole up somewhere.

  Katic walked quickly up the steps and up to the door as Archer double-checked the street, watching a man walking his dog pass them by. She’d already pulled a key from her jacket and she slotted it into the lock, pushing the door open. Archer turned and ran up the steps, moving inside and closing the door behind them.

  Inside, out of sight of the street, Katic pulled her pistol from her holster, checking the safety was off. Archer lifted his Sig from his pocket.

  They both stood there in silence, waiting, listening, looking at each other. The building was old, lots of old wooden floorboards, and the two of them were standing next to the lines of letterboxes.

  Archer closed his eyes and listened.

  Nothing.

  ‘Which floor?’ Archer whispered.

  ‘Third.’

  They approached the stairwell and moved up the flights swiftly. Archer let Katic take the lead. Behind her, he was impressed. He’d already seen that she was tough, but the idea of anyone doing harm to her child seemed to have given her an added layer of resolve that made a protective mother the toughest fighter in the world. Her dynamic with Archer had subtly shifted too. She had gone from ordering and commanding him to engaging with him and they were now working as a pair. For the time being, they were partners. She needed his help as much as he needed hers.

  He needed to clear his name.

  And she needed to make it through the night alive with her girl.

  The stairwell was empty and they moved up the old set of stairs swiftly and silently, arriving on the third floor. Katic still had the wad of keys in her hand, and she grabbed one of the keys, letting the others fall away, holding them so they wouldn’t make any noise. She came to a stop outside Apartment 3D and slid the key silently into the lock, the floorboard under her foot creaking as she stepped on it. In the same instant, Archer pulled her to one side and against the wall in a flash, thinking instinctively. If anyone was inside, they would have heard the noise.

  The way he had moved her meant they were close, face-to-face, her back against the wall. He looked at her, putting his finger to his lips, and they both listened, tense. The two of them stared at each other up close for a moment that felt like a minute. Moving aside, Archer nodded and she twisted the key, opening the door. The two of them moved inside quickly, weapons up. The hallway was clear. Archer waited for a little girl to appear, rushing over to her mother.

  But she didn’t.

  Archer shut the door behind them quietly. They both stood there in silence, listening, pistols up, in the aim. Even if someone was inside somewhere, a homeowner could tell if the atmosphere was different somehow. Katic moved forward and swept the place quickly, Archer staying where he was by the door. She reappeared soon after, looking relieved. There was no one here. They were clear. Katic holstered her sidearm, nodding to Archer, who lowered his and tucked into his belt, hidden under the coat, the safety catch on.

  ‘Turtle,’ Katic suddenly called.

  Archer looked at her, then heard a rustling and scuffle from the room next door. The next moment, the door was pulled back and a girl in pink pyjamas appeared, running over to her mother. She swept her daughter up into her arms, giving her a strong hug and kiss and exhaling a long sigh of relief.

  ‘Turtle?’ Archer asked, watching the mother and child with a smile.

  ‘That’s our code word,’ Katic said, looking at her daughter proudly. ‘What do we do when I say turtle?’

  ‘We find a hiding place and curl up in a ball. Like a turtle,’ the girl
said, beaming, hugging her mother and giving her a kiss.

  Archer smiled. It was a good plan. Katic was well-prepared and he liked her even more for it. The two of them turned, and headed off to the bedroom, Katic telling her daughter they needed to pack up for a trip. Archer took the opportunity to walk into the living area and examine the apartment around him.

  It was cosy, new enough to still be well-maintained but old enough to have some atmosphere. The interior was lots of golden lights and wooden floorboards and comfy-looking furniture. Given the East Village’s history, he figured this single apartment was probably once home to maybe ten or twenty immigrants fresh from Poland or the Ukraine, long before the hipsters and artists arrived later in the 20th century. Maybe it had been an art studio once. It had that feeling of quiet focus. It was a nice place, just about as good an apartment a mother raising a child in New York City with a monthly Bureau pay-check could afford.

  Aside from the living area, there seemed to be two bedrooms and a bathroom. As Katic rustled away in the girl’s room, packing some clothes, Archer walked forward and looked closer at the decorations and ornaments in the living room. Plenty of books, which showed Katic was a reader. All kinds too. He saw Shakespeare, Faust, Virgil. The classics. Then some fiction to balance it out. Clancy, Connelly, Child. No chick-lit. Education and thrillers, knowledge and adrenaline.

  Below the books, he saw a picture frame holding a photograph of Katic with a man and the child. The father. He had to be. His daughter had his smile. He was young, mid-twenties, around Archer’s age and looked like a nice guy. The three of them were together on a playground, smiling at the camera, the brown and golden leaves on the trees and on the ground around them showing it was autumn, or fall as the Americans called it. Archer glanced around, but there were no traces in the apartment of the man in the photo. He didn’t know what had happened, but he guessed that smile on his face had faded at some point since.