One Way (Sam Archer 5) (27 page)

FORTY SIX

Downtown on West 30
th
Street, Shepherd car’s swept into the estate, Hendricks having just quickly shown the guard on the front gate his badge.

As they sped into the compound, the two Sergeants saw the rotors of an NYPD Agusta A119 helicopter already whirring at full speed; Hendricks had ordered it to be ready and waiting, the vessel flying over from the NYPD’s helicopter base in Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn.

Screeching to a halt, the two men stepped out, slammed the doors and moved around to the rear of the vehicle. It was a Counter Terrorism Bureau Ford, not Shepherd’s own car, so it contained the standard issue weapons and equipment stowed in the back. Shepherd ripped open the trunk and they both started pulling on bulletproof vests, locking them in place,
NYPD
printed on the front and back in thick white lettering. Pulling two Mossberg shotguns from stowed positions in racks inside, Hendricks grabbed a box of ammunition and passed one of the weapons to Shepherd, who slammed the door shut.

The two Sergeants ran across the tarmac towards the chopper, pulling open the door and climbing inside. Securing the door behind them, Shepherd grabbed a headset and pulled it on as Hendricks started loading his Mossberg, pushing shells into the breech. Up front, two pilots from the Aviation Unit were ready to go.

Both of them were looking over their shoulders, peering at the two Counter Terrorism Sergeants.

‘We going to the building?’
the lead pilot asked over the helicopter intercom.

‘Make it fast, Lieutenant,’
Shepherd said.

‘You sure that’s wise?’

‘We have people trapped inside. They’re running out of time.’

The pilot looked at him, well aware of the ESU chopper that had been dropped. Then he nodded. Loading his own shotgun, Shepherd watched the helipad shrink as they rose into the air above the rooftops, the lights of Manhattan suddenly appearing as they lifted higher and higher.

Hendricks racked the pump on his Mossberg and held a support grip, the vessel turning and heading uptown fast.

On the 20
th
floor of the West 135
th
tenement block, Calvin, Bishop and Braeten were almost at the roof. With his M4A1 in one hand, Calvin looked at the detonator in the other. When the solution had come to him downstairs, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it sooner. With the pace of events, the gunfights and explosions, he’d completely forgotten about the C4 explosive, timer and control switch they’d brought in one of the black holdalls.

That was the answer.

Demolish the building.

The moment he explained the plan to the others, their eyes had lit up. They’d lost six of their guys tonight; by blowing the place, they could abandon Vargas and chopper out. The moment they were within safe distance, they’d detonate. It didn’t matter where she was, the whole building would be destroyed, reduced to a heap of dust and rubble. She’d go down with it and they’d be out of here, making their escape. Calvin smiled as he moved up the stairs, thinking of her hiding somewhere in the building, barricaded in with the asshole helping her and the kid, figuring if they just waited it out they’d be saved.

The three men arrived on 21, passing Gibbons’ body in the stairwell, lying in a pool of blood. Stepping over their dead colleague, Calvin and Fowler saw Taylor, aka Hearts, sprawled in the corridor where he’d been shot. The demolition would also take care of their bodies; CSU would probably find enough to ID at least one of the dead cops, but by then Calvin, Fowler and Denton would be out of the country.

Breathing hard, they raced to the stairwell that led to the roof, pushing open the door and running up the final set of stairs. When they arrived, the trio ran towards the heap of dead ESU officers in the centre of the roof. They grabbed them, dragging them out of the way to make space for their chopper which was already on its way. Denton had remained downstairs, fixing the explosives and insisting on lying in wait until the last minute in case Vargas appeared. He wanted to shoot her himself, not blow her up. Calvin knew Denton had something personal to settle with her, so he left him down there, telling him to not wait long and haul ass when he hit the stairs.

Calvin checked his watch; he’d better be on his way up by now. They sure as hell weren’t going to wait for him. Two of Braeten’s guys were still down there too, hunting for her. It still wasn’t too late for one of them to hitch a ride out of here with Calvin and his team. He couldn’t care less either way.

Checking his watch, he pushed down the pressel on his vest.

‘Knight, where the hell are you?’

He waited. Denton didn’t come back.

‘Ben, get your ass up here! We’re not waiting!’

He looked over at Braeten, who was dragging the last ESU officer out of the way by his heels, the body leaving a trail of blood on the concrete behind it.

‘Where the hell are your guys?’

‘I don’t give a shit,’
he shouted, well aware of the time. He dumped the body to the side then pulled his pistol out of the back of his waistband.
‘Let’s go!’

Running into the lobby, Archer pulled his cell and dialled Shepherd, following Vargas. They smashed into the north stairwell and climbing over the pile of dead bodies, started running up the flights. If it was just the two of them, they could break a 1
st
floor window and climb out.

However, they had Carson and Isabel ten floors up, both completely unaware of the sudden new level of danger they were in.

As he raced up the stairs, Archer felt faint and dizzy but willed his body to give him one last spike of adrenaline. The wound on his stomach burned but he ignored it. He could feel hot blood leaking into the waistband of his jeans. He’d never felt so tired, but he fought his way up the stairs, his lungs bursting, his thighs full of lactic acid. In front of him he saw Vargas was struggling too, still recovering from the aftermath of the electric shock.

4.

5.

6.

The phone was to his ear, still ringing.

Then Shepherd answered.

‘Archer! Talk to me!’
he shouted. The background noise on his side of the call was loud and intense.

‘They’re cops, sir!’

‘Say again?’

‘They’re all Miami PD!’ he said, sprinting up the stairwell behind Vargas, who was grimacing and struggling in the aftermath of the electric shock. ‘They’re planning to blow the building!’

‘
Hendricks and I are on our way in a chopper. Get to the roof!’

FORTY SEVEN

The black unmarked helicopter that had brought Calvin and his response team to the building was approaching from the west. The pilot moved across the Hudson and headed towards West 135
th
. Up ahead, he saw the smoking wreckage from the ESU chopper in Riverbank State Park by the water. Two fire trucks and some NYPD squad cars were surrounding it in a cluster. There were no other choppers around the building, which made him smile. It seemed what had happened to the ESU team had deterred any other pilots from risking taking a hit. It would make their escape a hell of a lot easier.

His eyes narrowed in satisfaction as he looked at the roof. All the bodies of the dead cops had been moved, which would give him room to land. He saw three men standing there waiting for him, all of them armed, Calvin, Fowler and some guy with blond dreadlocks. He must have earned himself a ride somehow.

‘I see you,’ he shouted into his radio. ‘Stand back!’

‘Hurry up!’

Suddenly, there was a loud
clunk
.

Clunk. Clunk.

Alarms started going off in the cabin, red emergency lights flashing. Fighting with the controls, the pilot wrestled with the stick, confused. Looking over his shoulder, he saw black smoke billowing from the side of the vessel.

Jet fuel was leaking down the side of the chopper, all the alarms in the cabin howling, gas spraying into the air from the ruptured fuel tank.

He fought with the stick as hard as he could but he couldn’t control it. The helicopter started to spin.

‘Shit! I’m hit!’

In the office building downtown from the tenement block, Marquez aimed through the scope of the Vintorez and hit the chopper’s fuel tank twice more, putting five bullets into a grouping the size of a cup and saucer, smashing a window of the office building as she fired.

Fuel was bleeding out and the chopper was starting to spiral, same as the ESU vessel earlier.

Beside her, the response team sniper was dead. She’d assumed she’d been done for when the gun was pushed into the back of her neck, the man holding the weapon ordering her to drop her own pistol. She’d closed her eyes, knowing she was about to die, when there’d had been a gunshot. She’d stayed still then slowly opened her eyes.

Turning to her left, she saw the sniper was dead. Josh was standing there, his pistol in his hand.

He’d changed his mind.

After making sure she was OK, they went to call it in. They tried Shepherd, but they couldn’t get through, the line engaged. Josh had been inspecting the dead sniper for any ID and Marquez examining the weapon when they’d suddenly seen a helicopter approaching from the other side of the Hudson. Both of them immediately identified it at the same vessel that had delivered the response team earlier, definitely not one of theirs. Marquez had dropped down behind the man’s rifle and aimed directly at the fuel tank.

Time for some payback.

Now she watched the vessel spinning, going down. Below, the fire team hosing down the smoking ESU chopper were already running for cover. The second chopper hit the ground twenty yards from the first and exploded on impact.

On the roof, the three remaining gunmen had swung round in her direction. They realised what had happened and immediately started firing at the windows of the building. Briefly ducking her head as some of them smashed around her and Josh, she took aim and fired, hitting one of the gunmen in the shoulder and punching him off his feet.

The others returned fire, running back and taking cover behind a thick air vent duct, the wounded man staggering up and joining them.

Marquez aimed where she figured they would be and fired twice more, putting two holes in the metal duct.

Arriving on 12, Archer and Vargas sprinted down the corridor. They burst into the apartment, the refrigerator already pulled back out of the way from when they’d left. There was no time to lose. Running into the sitting room, Vargas ran over to Isabel as Archer moved to Carson, who was lying on the couch in the same position as when they’d left him.

‘C’mon, we’ve got to go!’
he said.

He pulled him forward to lift him in a fireman’s carry. Carson didn’t react.

‘C’mon, Jack.’

Nothing. His arm was limp. Slowing, Archer withdrew and looked at him, Vargas joining him and staring down at her fellow Marshal. His chest wasn’t moving anymore. His eyes were open, looking at the ceiling. For the first time since Archer had first seen him on the street, his face looked natural and relaxed.

He was gone.

‘Oh Jack,’
Vargas said, tears in her eyes, Isabel standing beside her. Vargas noticed a small amount of glitter still on his collar from earlier.

Not wasting another second, Archer grabbed the black bag and USP, running to the front door.

‘Let’s go!’

Vargas was right behind him with Isabel; they raced into the corridor and turning into the stairwell the trio began their desperate ascent up the building.

They moved up the flights quickly, but were hindered by having to go at Isabel’s pace. Although she was going as quickly as she could, it was still a lot slower than Archer and Vargas could have managed alone. They were both wounded but adrenaline and survival instinct were masking the pain and driving them on, racing up flight after flight. They didn’t waste a second clearing any of the corridors.

With the place about to blow, none of the response team would be hanging around.

They continued up, legs burning, the stairs seemingly endless, knowledge that the C4 could explode at any moment fuelling every desperate step. The deserted apartment block was quiet now, save for one sound.

They hadn’t turned off the intercom when they were down in the basement and the beeping continued, constant, monotonous, terrifying.

His legs full of lactic acid, his lungs on fire, Archer willed the noise to continue.

FORTY EIGHT

Isabel hadn’t been injured and despite being so much smaller she kept up well. However, by the time they got to 17 she was exhausted and slowing, not really aware of the terrible danger they were in. Stopping momentarily, Archer threw Vargas his M4A1, who slung it across her shoulders on the strap. He swept Isabel up and carried on, adrenaline giving him one last burst of strength, Vargas leading the way, fighting her way up.

18.

19.

20.

21.

When they staggered onto 22, they saw the man Vargas had shot earlier in the corridor up ahead. Demolishing the building would destroy the bodies; by the time CSU managed to pull an ID, if ever, Calvin and his team would be long gone. Vargas pulled open the door to the roof, taking huge breaths, pausing for a moment to recover.

Lowering Isabel, Archer pulled his USP and followed her up the stairs, Vargas taking Isabel’s hand and keeping her close as they quickly cleared the roof.

Not seeing anyone, they moved forward out towards the centre.

Shepherd and Hendricks were coming in from the south in the NYPD chopper, forty yards away.

Shepherd looked down and saw Archer on the roof. He had a dark-haired woman with him, the little girl between them. Hendricks had the Mossberg in his right hand, gripping the hand support with his left as they swept over the buildings of the Upper West Side.

‘What the hell?’
the pilot suddenly shouted.

Looking down, he and Shepherd saw the wreckage of another chopper the other side of the building. It was engulfed in flames, close to the ESU vessel that had been totalled earlier.

Ignoring it and focusing on the roof, Shepherd tapped the pilot’s shoulder and pointed.

‘
Get down there!’

Standing on the roof, bloodied, bruised, battered and totally exhausted, Archer, Vargas and Isabel saw the NYPD helicopter approaching. Finally out of strength and energy, Archer moved forward, willing it closer. There was no one else up here apart from the pile of ESU bodies; the Miami cops must have already been picked up by their chopper and left.

Which meant the building would blow any moment.

‘C’mon!’

But then to his horror, the NYPD chopper suddenly veered away.

Archer shouted, waving his arms.
‘Hey! Hey! Come back!’

Watching in desperation, stranded in the middle of the roof as the chopper backed up, he suddenly froze.

Standing there, his hair and shirt billowing from the chopper’s rotors, his instincts started screaming at him.

He was being watched.

He turned slowly.

Two of the enemy and the gang member with blond dreadlocks had appeared out of nowhere. One of the Miami PD SRT cops had been hit in the shoulder, blood staining his fatigues; however, he had a LAW 66 rocket launcher resting on his other shoulder, aiming it at the NYPD chopper, the reason it had withdrawn and couldn’t get closer.

The other man had an M4A1 in his shoulder, the guy with dreadlocks a steel pistol.

The weapons were aimed straight at him, Vargas and Isabel.