by Tom Barber
Green Light
By
Tom Barber
*****
Green Light
Copyright: Tom Barber
Published: 3rd September 2014
The right of Tom Barber to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by he in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Sam Archer thriller series
by
Tom Barber
NINE LIVES
26 year old Sam Archer has just been selected to join a new counter-terrorist squad, the Armed Response Unit. And they have their first case. A team of suicide bombers are planning to attack London on New Year’s Eve. The problem?
No one knows where any of them are.
THE GETAWAY
Archer is in New York City for a funeral. After the service, an old familiar face approaches him with a proposition. A team of bank robbers are tearing the city apart, robbing it for millions.
The FBI agent needs Archer to go undercover and try to stop them.
BLACKOUT
Three men have been killed in the UK and USA in one morning. The deaths take place thousands of miles apart, yet are connected by an event fifteen years ago. Before long, Archer and the ARU are drawn into the violent fray. And there’s a problem.
One of their own men is on the extermination list.
SILENT NIGHT
A dead body is found in Central Park, a man who was killed by a deadly virus. Someone out there has more of the substance and is planning to use it. Archer must find where this virus came from and secure it before any more is released.
But he is already too late.
ONE WAY
On his way home, Archer saves a team of US Marshals from a violent ambush in the middle of the Upper West Side. The group are forced to take cover in a tenement block in Harlem. But there are more killers on the way to finish the job.
And Archer feels there’s something about the group of Marshals that isn’t quite right.
RETURN FIRE
Four months after they first encountered one another, Sam Archer and Alice Vargas are both working in the NYPD Counter-Terrorism Bureau and also living together. But a week after Vargas leaves for a trip to Europe, Archer gets a knock on his front door.
Apparently Vargas has completely disappeared.
And it appears she’s been abducted.
GREEN LIGHT
A nineteen year old woman is gunned down in a Queens car park, the latest victim in a brutal gang turf war that goes back almost a century. Suspended from duty, his badge and gun confiscated, Archer is nevertheless drawn into the fray as he seeks justice for the girl. People are going missing, all over New York.
And soon, so does he.
Also:
CONDITION BLACK (A novella)
In the year 2113, a US 101st Airborne soldier wakes up after crash landing on a moon somewhere in space. All but two of his squad are dead. He has no idea where he is, or who shot him down.
But he quickly learns that some nightmares don’t stop when you wake up.
To Andy Robinson and Jo French.
For their constant, much-appreciated support since the first day Archer joined the ARU.
PROLOGUE
The nineteen year old woman was in her apartment when her cell phone started to ring.
Although she’d been expecting the call, the shrill sound still made her jump. Out of communication for the past month, nevertheless she knew that word would have got out about where she’d been. She also knew that certain people would be more than pissed about it. She’d cost them a lot of money.
And with what she was about to do next, she was going to cost them a whole lot more.
Breaking off from her hasty packing, she walked across the room and picked up the phone. She wasn’t leaving the city by herself; she had an accomplice, a friend she’d known less than a year but someone who’d done more for her in that short period of time than people she’d known her entire life. That friend had left her just under an hour ago, saying she’d call when she’d packed her own things and was ready to leave. The blonde girl had never been so excited or so nervous at the step they were about to take.
This was finally it.
Glancing at a clock across the room which read 9:45pm, she pushed the green button then trapped the phone between her ear and shoulder as she walked back over to her bag.
‘I’m almost done, babe,’ she said. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Where are you?’
The girl froze, midway through tucking a pair of jeans into her holdall.
The voice on the other end wasn’t the one she’d been expecting.
‘I said where are you?’
‘Uptown,’ the young woman lied, stuffing the jeans into the bag then zipping it up. ‘I’m getting back to work.’
‘Bullshit. I always know when you’re lying to me. You’re at home, aren’t you?’
Pause.
‘I’m leaving,’ the girl said, dropping to one knee and pushing her arm under the mattress.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘You’d better believe it,’ she replied, withdrawing some dollar bills folded in half, which she tucked into her back pocket. ‘And you can’t stop me. Not anymore.’
She heard a laugh down the end of the phone, which infuriated her.
‘Try anything and I’ll go straight to the cops,’ she threatened angrily, hooking the bag over her shoulder then turning off the light in her bedroom and closing the door behind her. ‘I’ll tell them everything I know. All the things you’re doing here. Everything.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘You bet I am,’ the blonde girl replied, moving to the apartment’s front door and unlocking it. ‘So you can take this as a final goodbye. I’m leaving.’
‘No, Leann. You’re not.’
ONE
Three hours earlier it had been a normal mid-September evening in New York City. The streets were busy but not unusually so, the temperature pleasantly warm as commuters made their way home after a day’s work while others headed into the city, some to start evening shifts, others to hit the town and meet friends.
However, in Brooklyn the usual sounds of the city winding down for the evening were suddenly interrupted.
A black Ford 4x4 with tinted windows slid around a corner, police fender lights flashing and siren wailing, other vehicles pulling over to give it room to pass. The car was heading north-west, being manoeuvred skilfully through the streets, the engine gunning as it propelled the 4x4 forward.
The Ford rounded another corner then headed towards the Atlantic Avenue entrance to the subway station fifty yards ahead, the last stop between Brooklyn and Manhattan. However, traffic was far thicker near the transport hub and the vehicles in front of the police car had no room to pull over; despite its flashing lights and siren the Ford was quickly forced to slow.
Before it had come to a complete stop, the front passenger door flew open and a young blond man in light blue jeans, white t-shirt and a black bulletproof NYPD vest leapt out.
‘Go!’ 3rd Grade NYPD Detective Sam Archer shouted to the driver.
Slamming the door, he raced through the gaps in the queuing traffic and sprinted off up the street towards the sub
way. Behind him, the 4x4 pulled a fast U-turn, taking off for the Brooklyn Bridge fifty yards ahead, leaving behind a sea of startled onlookers.
Six feet tall, a hundred and eighty five pounds and fast on his feet, Archer dodged his way past pedestrians, heading straight for the subway. Those who saw him coming did their best to get out of his way, others who were not so alert taken by surprise as he forced his way through.
‘Move! Move!’
As he reached the entrance, Archer went for the far right of the stairs, taking them two at a time, the balmy heat of the New York September suddenly intensifying, the air thick with humidity. Cutting his way through the commuters, he vaulted the ticket barrier turnstile, an MTA employee in a glass cabin shouting as she spotted him.
Ignoring her but pausing for a moment to check the directions for a certain train line, Archer took off again towards the Manhattan-bound Q line, twenty yards ahead and down another flight of stairs. As he raced on, he heard the screech of brakes coming from the platform, followed by the sound of doors opening.
The train had already arrived.
Reaching the stairs to the N/Q platform he hurtled down them, willing a late arrival to hold the doors. Passengers who’d just exited the train were flowing up towards him, making his progress even more difficult, forcing him to fight his way through.
He could see the train waiting with its doors open.
Leaping down the last four steps, Archer hurled himself towards the nearest carriage as they started to close, managing to get his hand in the gap. Using all his strength to wrest them back open, he forced his way through and squeezed inside.
Stumbling into the carriage, he quickly regained his balance as the doors clicked shut behind him.
A beat later the wheels bit down onto the rails and the Q train lurched onwards towards its next stop.
Half a mile above the train, the two detectives Archer had left in the 4x4 were speeding across the Brooklyn Bridge, their flashing blues and siren assisting their progress as they cut and weaved through the Manhattan-bound traffic.
Trains on the New York City subway could reach speeds of 60mph and had the advantage of a clear run to their next destination, something Detective Josh Blake knew he couldn’t match as he negotiated his way across the Bridge, drivers ahead unaware of the urgency of the situation as he flashed past them. Sam Archer’s NYPD partner, Josh was a thirty one year old black guy built like a bodybuilder or line-backer, his usual calm, relaxed demeanour understandably absent at that particular moment as he gripped the wheel tightly, turning a sliding right and just missing another car.
Beside him sat Detective Alice Vargas, twenty nine years old and half his size, black-haired, brown-eyed, tanned and slender, a beautiful woman with an inner toughness which frequently took people by surprise, many of whom judged her purely on her half-Brazilian, half-American good looks. Having climbed over into the front seat after Archer left, she was holding her cell phone to her ear with her left hand, her right hand gripping hold of the arm support as Josh approached the end of the Bridge.
‘Talk to me Vargas!’ their team Sergeant, Matt Shepherd, ordered. ‘Did you make it to the train?
‘Traffic was too heavy, sir! We left Archer trying to get on board.’
‘Did he?’
‘I don’t know. We haven’t heard from him.’
‘Where are you?’
‘On our way to Canal Street.’
‘We’re already here but we might not be able to stop that son of a bitch in time. Get to Union Square right now. Back up’s already on its way!’
Somewhere below the Bridge, Archer was already making rapid progress through the Q train. The service was moderately full, not overcrowded, twenty or so people sitting or standing inside each carriage. At this hour most people were leaving the city, not entering it, but there were still way too many potential fatalities here on the city-bound service.
As he moved through the train, Archer rapidly scanned each person as he passed, his hand lingering near the Sig Sauer P226 pistol resting in its holster. He couldn’t see the suspect or the bag anywhere.
Up ahead, the doors to the carriage suddenly whooshed open and an MTA employee in glasses and a blue uniform appeared and started walking towards him. Moving forward quickly, Archer met him halfway and pulled his badge from his hip.
‘I need you to stop the train right now.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Just do it,’ Archer ordered quietly, looking around, aware that they were in earshot of those immediately around them. ‘And get everyone towards the rear of the train as quickly as you can.’
As the man pulled his radio, Archer turned to the carriage, showing his badge to everyone inside. The vest strapped across his torso had already attracted the attention of more than a few.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Detective Sam Archer, NYPD. We have an incident on board; I need you all to start moving towards the rear of the train immediately.’
As people looked at him uncertainly, hearing what he’d said but not immediately reacting, some who were listening to music quickly realised there was something unusual going on and pulled out their headphones.
‘Why?’ a woman asked.
‘As I said, we have an incident. For your own safety, everyone please go, right now!’ he ordered, not wanting to waste any more time. ‘And tell everyone you pass to do the same.’
Picking up on his urgency and his tone of command, people started to do as they were told, standing up and moving towards the other end of the train. Beside him, a workman picked up his toolbox as he rose from his seat. Archer grabbed his shoulder.
‘Got pliers? Or a knife?’
The man nodded, thankfully not using up valuable time asking questions; he put the box on the bench and opened it up, passing over a small set of pliers. As he took them, Archer glanced at a green and white plaid shirt hooked across the box and pointed to it.
‘Can I borrow that too?’
The man nodded; taking the garment, Archer quickly pulled it on and did up the buttons, hiding his NYPD vest as the workman walked down the train. Watching him follow the others, Archer rolled up the sleeves on the shirt then realised the noise level had changed.
They’d just entered Manhattan.
At Canal Street, Matt Shepherd and the fifth and final member of his Counter-Terrorism Bureau investigation team, Lisa Marquez, were rapidly clearing the platform of passengers who’d just disembarked from a train on the Uptown-bound Q platform, working fast with the help of scores of back-up officers. A thirty two year old Latina 3rd Grade detective, Marquez was only five foot six and a hundred and thirty pounds but more than made up for it with her no-nonsense, commanding attitude.
‘Let’s go!’ she shouted, herding people out. ‘Move it!’
People instinctively responded to her tone, making their way quickly up the stairs and out onto the street above. An MTA employee standing close by listened to a message coming over his radio then turned and looked over at Shepherd who was further down the platform, also directing people out.
‘Control say it’s not slowing down!’ he shouted. ‘It’ll be here in under a minute!’
Swearing, Shepherd turned and ran towards the front of the train standing in the platform, the driver peering out of his window anxiously, waiting for instructions.
‘Get out of here right now!’
On the approaching train, Archer was starting to sweat. He’d cleared all but one carriage, sending people down towards the rear, but the suspect was nowhere to be seen.
He heard the doors open behind him and the MTA guy reappeared, having successfully shepherded the passengers down to the other end of the train.
‘Why are we still going?’ Archer asked. ‘I said we need to stop!’
‘I tried!’ the man said. ‘I called the driver but he’s not responding.’
Archer looked at the man for a moment then turned and stared up towards the front of the train, focusing on the closed door to th
e driver’s cab in the next and last carriage. Pulling his pistol, he approached the connecting link between his carriage and the first. As they thundered through Canal Street, he saw a blur of cops and emergency personnel on the platform, but he barely registered them.
Holding his Sig Sauer double-handed, he entered the front carriage; he had no trouble attracting the attention of the passengers this time.
‘Everyone get out,’ he said quietly. ‘Go down the train as far back as you can go. Don’t take anything with you.’
The frightened passengers made no attempt to argue, the drawn weapon having an instant effect as they scrambled past him. A few moments later both he and the MTA employee were alone, the connecting doors closing behind the last passenger to leave.
Now just the two of them, Archer checked the door to the driver’s cabin ahead, looking for any cameras.
‘Can he see u-’
Before he could finish asking the question, a burst of bullet holes suddenly appeared through the driver’s door ahead of them. Archer instantly threw himself to the floor, dragging the MTA man down with him, and fired back twice with his Sig. Keeping down as another burst of gunfire came from the cab, Archer saw the door swing open, revealing the driver on the floor with his hands over his head, the suspect standing beside him and firing wildly with some kind of compact sub-machine gun, lighting up the cab.
Firing back and aiming high to try and put the gunman down but avoid hitting the driver, Archer scrambled up and pushed the MTA man towards the carriage behind them.
‘Archer!’ the MTA man’s radio said, bursting into life. ‘Archer, it’s Shepherd, can you hear me?’
As they moved into the second carriage and the doors closed behind them, Archer snatched the receiver just as the suspect let fly with another barrage of gunfire, smashing the glass out above their heads.