by Tom Barber
NINETEEN
In a lot of ways, Isabel Vargas was just like any other nine year old girl. She looked like one, spoke like one and dressed like one. She went to sleepovers and birthday parties; she worked hard at school. She played games, she didn’t like boys and she was still scared of the dark.
However, despite all that, she was different from other kids and she knew exactly why. Bad things happened around her. People got hurt and a lot of them died.
It had started in March, in a horrific, violent way. Her entire blood family had been murdered on a Sunday afternoon, gunned down at a villa upstate in East Hampton. She’d been the only survivor and was still dealing with the things she saw that day in her nightmares. However, her ordeal hadn’t ended there; a few weeks later she’d been trapped inside a building here in New York, a group of men seemingly intent on hurting her and the people she was with. Assigned to protect her along with three other men, Vargas had defended her as best she could from events in the building that night but she’d still seen more people die, guns fired and explosions, things that a kid her age would never expect to see or experience.
Someone else had protected Isabel in the building that night too. Isabel had got to know Vargas before that eventful day but Archer had appeared out of nowhere, his presence becoming more and more reassuring as events unfolded. After they’d finally made it out and things had settled down, she’d been overjoyed to find out Vargas was going to look after her; for Isabel, the icing on the cake had been when they’d ended up living with Archer too.
She didn’t know why these things happened around her; she guessed it was because of her father. A few months ago, Vargas had explained to her that he’d done some bad things in his life which was why he wasn’t alive anymore and that there were more bad men out there too who were his enemies. As a consequence, she’d said that they all had to stay aware in case more of these men tried to come after them. She’d made Isabel memorise her’s and Archer’s cell numbers, saying if she ever felt in danger she should call one of them instantly.
Both of those things had just happened.
Michelle had told Isabel that she’d only be gone a few minutes while she went to collect her kids from their grandmother’s place around the corner and that she was to go to bed. Isabel had brushed her teeth and then walked into the guest bedroom, glancing out of the window as she drew her curtains, having to do them one at a time.
It was then that she’d seen a dark car pull up outside, parking in the spot Michelle had just left.
A group of men had stepped out, looking a lot like the men her real father used to have around him. They were all in jeans and leather jackets. They were all dark-haired and scary, like the gang who’d killed her family.
And they were all carrying guns.
They’d quickly hidden the weapons under their jackets when they got out of the car but not before Isabel had seen them.
However, despite what she’d been told by Vargas, as she watched the men stand there on the street looking around, she’d still wondered whether she should call, for two different reasons. The first was that she hadn’t seen Vargas since last month; apparently she’d been sent on a trip somewhere and couldn’t be contacted. Isabel had secretly tried to call her anyway but Vargas hadn’t answered her cell.
The second reason was different and it was to do with Archer. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him in what felt like ages either. Josh had said he was busy with work but she missed him so much and wondered why he’d been so busy he couldn’t even call her, just like Vargas. Isabel had never been close to her real father and Archer was the total opposite to him, open and kind, not closed off and angry all the time. However, despite the fact that Archer had always been kind to her, she felt she could never really get close to him. Perhaps he didn’t like her, just like her real father. She’d always wanted a dad who actually liked her, something that all her friends seemed to have.
She knew she shouldn’t call him except in an emergency. She’d debated what to do, not wanting to get into trouble, but then she heard Vargas’ voice in her head.
No matter what, who or when, you let one of us know if you think you’re in danger.
So she’d dialled his cell phone number, hoping he wouldn’t be mad.
To her joy, he’d been far from angry when he answered.
‘What do you see, sweetheart?’ Archer asked at that moment, thirty seconds later into their call. ‘Tell me in detail.’
‘There are four of them,’ she said quietly. ‘They all have guns.’
‘Are they still outside?’
Clutching the phone with both hands she peered cautiously out of the window, then heard two thumps, a third followed by the splintering of wood.
‘I think they just smashed open the front door.’
‘Where are Michelle and the other kids?’
‘They’re not here,’ she said quietly. ‘Michelle’s picking them up from their grandma’s but she said she’d only be gone a few minutes.’
She heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway below, boots on wood.
Floorboards creaking.
The four men downstairs, searching the house.
Déjà vu.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered into the receiver.
On the ground floor, Marat motioned to the other three who immediately separated, looking down the sights of their weapons and searching for the occupants.
Gripping his own MP UMP tight, he walked into the sitting room. He saw from the pictures in the photo frames that Blake and his family were black but living around here ruled out any rival organisation from Brooklyn that he could think of. The Prizraki mostly feuded with the Georgians or Ukrainians and that was it; they had no beef with the Italians or Irish who had their own turf in the city, and the Chechens had been gone from the city for years.
But the man who owned this home was African American. Maybe it was personal, or this guy had been hired to carry out hits on the Priz. However, although the man in the photos looked to be a big guy he wasn’t menacing, quite the opposite in fact, smiling in all the shots, not fitting the persona of a man who’d made eleven Prizraki members disappear. When Valentin showed up, Marat wanted to find out how he’d got this information.
As Ilya kicked open the door to the kitchen, sweeping the interior with his silenced sub-machine gun, Marat focused on a certain photo frame in the sitting room and paused. He stepped forward, black boots on the white rug, and peered closer.
It showed the same black guy from all the other photos, this time in police uniform.
Staring at the image for a moment, Marat glanced at Nemkov, who’d joined him and was studying the photo too.
‘A cop?’ Marat said quietly.
Nemkov didn’t reply, looking at the frame then glanced around the room, confused. A beat later Marat pulled his cell phone and headed for the front door.
He wasn’t going to wait for Valentin to show up.
He wanted to speak to him right now.
Cutting across a red light, the police lights on their Ford flashing, Josh roared up 8th Avenue towards his address, Archer beside him and Marquez in the back seat. The Blake’s house was the other side of town from the Lower East Side, and although Josh was driving as fast as he could in the heavy traffic, progress was frustratingly slow.
‘Hello?’ Archer said. ‘Isabel? Sweetheart? Hello?’
‘What happened?’ Josh asked, panicked.
Archer swore. ‘It went dead.’
‘West 78th!’ Marquez said into her cell, on the line with Dispatch. ‘Armed men breaching a Counter-Terrorism Bureau detective’s home address. Get over there now!’
Ending the call, she pulled her pistol as Josh weaved his way through the traffic and burned it uptown, now just twelve blocks away. The car’s hands-free system had synced with his cell phone and he was calling Michelle.
‘C’mon, sweetheart, pick up!’ Josh said, looking at the display. ‘Pick up the phone!’
&nb
sp; Easing his way upstairs in the Blake household, Sivic looked down the sights of his UMP. Bashev wanted these people alive but Sivic didn’t give a shit; if he found someone here, they’d die. With the list they’d been given, there’d be plenty of other bodies to satisfy the boss later.
Tightening his finger on the trigger of his suppressed UMP, the tall Eastern-European approached the main bedroom first, pushing the door back with the barrel of his sub-machine gun, tracing both sides.
It was empty.
He eased open the closet doors to check there was no-one hiding inside, then went into the bathroom, pulling open the door to the shower cubicle.
There was no-one hiding in there either.
After clearing two other bedrooms and a bathroom, he moved back onto the landing, then entered a third bathroom. He swept aside the shower curtain hanging around the bath but saw there was no-one hiding in the tub. Frustrated, he looked around. It seemed the entire upper floor was clear, but his instincts were telling him otherwise.
Someone was here. He was sure of it.
He stood still, listening.
Then turning, he looked across the landing. The door to the last room to check was slightly ajar. It looked like a guest bedroom, the duvet on the bed disturbed, a toy rabbit lying on a pillow.
A kid.
Smiling, he walked into the bedroom and stood quietly again, listening.
Glancing to his left, he saw the closet door was open. He walked forward and eased the doors back with the barrel of his UMP, but no-one was hiding inside.
His foot creaking on a floorboard as he turned and looked around, Sivic grinned as he realised there was only one other hiding place. Just where a kid would choose.
A beat later he dropped to one knee, aimed his weapon under the bed and opened fire.
On Central Park West, just twenty seconds from home, Michelle had picked up her three kids from her mother’s house but wanted to get back quickly and make sure Isabel was safely in bed. Turning onto West 78th, she drove down the street, annoyed to see a black 4x4 had taken her parking space in the few minutes she’d been away.
As she reversed into another space outside her neighbour’s house, she saw the display inside the car indicating an incoming call, Josh flashing on the screen. Applying the handbrake, Michelle switched off the ignition as the kids undid their seatbelts and piled out, slamming the doors behind them.
She pulled her cell phone from her bag and pressed the green button as she climbed out of the car. Locking the vehicle, she turned towards her house and lifted the phone to her ear.
‘Hey baby,’ she said. ‘Did you find Archer?’
His reply was drowned out by the noise of a police car with a blaring siren as it suddenly screeched around the corner ahead of her off 8th Avenue. The sound caught her and her kids by surprise, all four of them swinging round at the unexpected noise.
Her phone still to her ear, Michelle frowned as she recognised the fast-moving vehicle.
It was a Counter-Terrorism Bureau Ford.
As they rounded the corner on 9th, having boxed Columbus Circle to get here faster, Josh, Archer and Marquez could see Michelle and the three kids on the street outside the house, looking in their direction.
But then to their horror, two large black haired men in dark jackets and jeans suddenly appeared from the Blakes’ front door, carrying automatic weapons.
And before Josh could brake or shout a warning, the two men were already lifting the guns, aiming them straight at Michelle and the three kids.
TWENTY
The car was still moving when Archer opened his door, pushing it back with his foot whilst racking a round into the Mossberg. He leapt out and aimed the shotgun at the two gunmen in one fast fluid movement but there was a major problem which stopped him from pulling the trigger.
The two men were standing on the lowest step of the Blake front porch.
But twenty five feet in front of Archer, Josh’s two sons were standing directly in his line of fire.
Michelle and the boys had frozen like deer in headlights. The two gunmen had free shots.
Then Archer noticed a large porch-light directly above them.
Lifting his aim, he fired. As the shotgun exploded and kicked back into his shoulder, the lamp took the shell full on, blasting the glass which showered down onto the men. It only distracted them for a few seconds but gave Marquez the opportunity to move away from the car and get a better angle to fire her pistol. However, the two men recovered fast and swept their weapons back up which meant she didn’t have any more time. She had to fire right now.
As Josh shouted at his wife to get down, Michelle turned just as Marquez pulled the trigger. The 9mm round missed Josh’s wife but hit one of the two gunmen straight in the shoulder, thumping him back as he let off an involuntary volley from the suppressed UMP into the sky, the bullets ripping into a building across the street, peppering the red-stone brickwork.
The other man managed to get a burst off, his muzzle flashing; taking a hit, Michelle spun in a pirouette and fell to the ground. Josh shouted with rage and instinctively unleashed a volley of fire at the gunman with his Sig, walking down on him, forcing the guy to run for cover as the kids crawled towards their injured mother.
Suddenly two more gunmen appeared from the house, immediately opening fire with silenced sub-machine guns. Josh dived for cover behind a parked car as the sudden onslaught forced Marquez and Archer down, the rounds ripping around them, the two men’s rate of firepower so far the winner in this exchange. Using that brief advantage the men ran for their vehicle, maintaining their assault but their aim now more erratic.
Archer grabbed that opportunity to look out from around the car he’d ducked behind. He took aim but before he could pull the trigger one of the gunmen unleashed another volley directly at him, forcing him back as the man jumped into the vehicle seconds before it took off, speeding away towards Central Park West.
Rising from between the two cars, Archer aimed his Mossberg and managed to put a shell into one of the tyres, blowing it out. Racking the pump, he went to fire again but the car slid around the corner and was gone, car alarms set off, dogs barking, the sounds of the speeding car fading.
Beside him, Marquez was already running towards Josh, who was kneeling by Michelle. Beside them the three kids were crying and clutching their mother who was on her side holding her arm, her eyes wide with shock. As Josh started to compress the wound and Marquez pulled her cell to call for an ambulance, Archer raced towards the front door and sprinted up the steps.
The smoking shotgun in his shoulder and gunpowder stinging his eyes, he snapped inside, clearing the lower level. Things had been knocked over, doors kicked in and ornaments smashed.
Seeing there was no-one there, he immediately sprinted up the stairs.
‘Isabel!’ he called, reaching the 1st floor. ‘Isabel!’
He looked around, praying that she’d hidden just as he’d told her to and he wouldn’t see her small body lying on the floor somewhere.
‘Isabel!’
He couldn’t see her anywhere and there was no response. His heart pounding, he saw a load of shell casings on the floor in the bedroom. Walking forward, he could see the lower portion of the guest bed had been shot to pieces; someone had fired under the bed, aiming at someone hiding underneath.
Kneeling down slowly, he exhaled and looked under the frame.
Just as he bent, the door to the kids’ bathroom on the landing opened from behind him. He spun round and saw Isabel appear, dressed in her pyjamas. He just had time to lean the shotgun against the bed before she flung herself into his arms.
Archer ignored the pain from the cut to his chest as relief poured through him, realising she was unhurt.
‘It’s OK, they’re gone,’ he told her. ‘You’re safe.’
She didn’t reply as he stood up, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his torso, her body trembling. As he held her and rubbed her back comfortingly, Arc
her looked into the bathroom and saw the lid to the clothes hamper was open.
‘That was a good hiding place,’ he told her, leaning back and smiling at her.
‘I’ve used it before,’ she said quietly.
Outside, Marquez ended the call for an ambulance then put her cell back in her pocket and knelt down by Josh’s three kids, all of whom were starting to show signs of shock, brass shell casings all over the sidewalk and scattered on the road. Josh was cradling Michelle, talking to her reassuringly and trying to keep her conscious, his hand clamped over the wound as the sound of sirens came closer.
Curtains on windows along the street were flickering, people who’d taken cover from the gunfight risking a look outside to see what had happened now it had gone quiet. The flashing lights on the hastily abandoned Ford were illuminating the dark street with a pulsing red glow. Focusing on Michelle, Marquez pulled off her jacket and laid it over the injured woman.
‘An ambulance will be here any minute,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be fine, OK?’
Michelle nodded quickly but didn’t reply, her eyes wide and her breathing ragged as the pain and shock kicked in. Doing her best to help Josh and comfort the kids, Marquez suddenly saw Archer appear from the house, Isabel on his hip, dressed in her night clothes and with her head buried in his neck.
She rose and walked quickly up to them, resting her hand on Isabel’s back. ‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’
Isabel nodded, not letting go of Archer as emergency vehicles started to arrive on the street. Marquez turned and went to follow Archer down the step when her foot kicked against something.
Looking down, she saw a cell phone half concealed in the shadows on the second step. Kneeling, she hitched her sleeve over her hand to protect against smudging any fingerprints and picked it up. Pulling her other sleeve over her left-fore finger, she pressed one of the buttons and clicked into the device.
Just in front of her at the bottom of the steps, Archer watched the arriving squad cars as they ripped round the corner from Central Park West and pulled to a halt on the street, officers climbing out and running towards Josh and Michelle.