Helen’s apartment was next to the south stairwell, but Foster pointed down the corridor towards the north side. Archer guessed he wanted to check out the rest of the floor and clear it before heading upstairs. A smart precaution. No more surprises. Foster took the lead, his.44 going everywhere his eyes went, Archer covering his back with the USP, the two men moving quickly down the hallway. This wasn’t a job that Foster could sensibly have done alone. Not with a long corridor accessible from both ends. Some of the apartments were still occupied; Archer heard music and the sounds of televisions from a few of the rooms. People were still here, either not hearing the alarm for some reason or just deciding to ignore it. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing yet.
Without mincing words, the apartment block was a dump. The walls had been a dark cream colour once but over time had faded to more of a light brown. The entire corridor was about forty five or fifty feet long. Helen had said there were twenty two floors. With twelve apartments on each floor, that was over two hundred and sixty apartments to search, which would buy the group hiding out in 5B a little time, even if the gunmen started to work their way up systematically from the ground floor. Plus, at least one or two of them would have to stay in the lobby covering the entrance, otherwise the NYPD could walk straight in, so their numbers would be lessened. All he, Foster and the others had to do was hang on. Federal backup was already on its way and when it came to siege and entry, they never messed around. In the meantime, the NYPD would be planning their own assault. Four coked-up gang members were no match for that kind of professional operation and firepower. This thing would be over before too long. Archer had done his part and would gladly stay the hell out of the rest of it.
The two men moved up the corridor. They passed the elevator on their right halfway down the hallway. Helen said it hadn’t been used in weeks and she hadn’t been lying. A piece of paper with Out of Order printed on it in black marker pen had been stuck across the doors with a few choice extra four-letter words scribbled underneath, no doubt by disgruntled and pissed-off residents who wanted it fixed. There was a long window panel on each door. As he passed, walking backwards, Archer peered through one of them but all he saw was darkness. The door to the apartment just past the elevator had been left open. Glancing inside, Archer saw a pair of feet slumped over the edge of a couch, the owner fast asleep. He also noticed an open black leather case on a table beside the man with some items spread out on top. The guy was going to be out cold for a while.
They arrived at the door to the north stairwell. Foster eased it back and the two men slid through the gap, covering both sides of the stairs with their handguns.
The stairwell had a railing-protected space in the middle that ran all the up and all the way down. The two men paused, listening. Archer peered up through the gap and saw flights of stairs ascending upwards as far as he could see, all the way to the 22nd floor. He did the same the other way, carefully looking down. There was the sound of movement both above and below, people making their way down to the entrance in delayed response to the fire alarm. With an elevator that was out of action, if the residents wanted to get out, they’d be walking. Archer guessed some would be staying put, probably assuming it wasn’t a real fire, just some punk who’d set it off for a prank. It was a hell of a long way to walk down for nothing.
Three people suddenly appeared on the landing above. Foster and Archer snapped around, but they weren’t the gunmen, just three residents shuffling down, all of them looking pretty pissed off. Keeping their handguns tucked by their jeans, the two men stepped back and let them pass, none of the trio giving them a second glance.
Watching them go, Archer looked at Foster, who nodded.
The older man took the lead and the pair quietly started making their way up the stairs.
Across the Hudson, the rotors of the response team’s helicopter were spinning in a blur. Inside the cabin, the whine from the vessel was intense and killed any conversation. The ten men were sitting across from each other, each grim-faced and focused.
They all wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible, secure the building and take care of the enemy inside.
They were carrying an assortment of automatic weapons, pistols in holsters on their thighs, combat overalls covering their legs and torsos, the ends of their trousers tucked into thick black boots. There were also a series of black holdalls stowed to one side, packed with other equipment they would need for this kind of aerial assault. They were an eleven man team in total but one of their guys was already on his way to the scene by car. He wasn’t going inside the building, but he would be an essential part of the operation nonetheless.
The pilot did his final checks then twisted in his seat and gave the thumbs up to the men in the back. As the helicopter lifted into the air, the leader of the group pulled a balaclava down over his face.
The other men did the same.
TEN
As Helen said, there were twenty two floors. Archer and Foster encountered eleven stragglers walking down as they headed up, none of them their friends from the street but each giving them an unpleasant moment when they appeared. Despite his age, Foster was in good cardiovascular shape and set a brisk pace. By the time they arrived on 17, both men were breathing hard, their thighs burning. When they made it to 22, they both needed a few moments to catch their breath.
Pulling open the stairwell door to 22, they quickly cleared the corridor and found another door halfway along, the entrance to the roof. Archer pulled it back and Foster took the lead, moving up a short flight of steps and taking a deep breath of night air, Archer following close behind.
It was a flat roof, constructed with reinforced concrete and covered in loose grit with just a brick ledge acting as a perimeter. There was some trash, empty beer cans and cigarette butts scattered on the surface, and it smelt of old tar softened by the daytime sun. The west side of the building overlooked the Hudson River and New Jersey on the other side of the water. Although the sun had gone down, the night was warm with a slight whisper of wind which ruffled both men’s hair, helping Carson’s blood dry on Archer’s flannel shirt.
After a quick check around with their handguns in the aim, they confirmed there was no-one else up here. The north side of the roof had several large air vents humming away side-by-side, providing potential cover or a hiding place, but no-one was lurking behind them. It looked as if the four gunmen were all downstairs in or around the lobby, holding the front door while they cleared the place out.
The roof was clear.
Foster pulled his cell phone again as Archer moved over to the east side of the building, looking down. He saw scores of blue and red flashing lights far below, the streets now cordoned off, cops and detectives crouched behind their vehicles and watching the door to the tenement. Foster’s Tahoe was still rammed up against the fire hydrant, water continuing to spray everywhere. Scores of residents were gathered south of the building in huddles, police officers and detectives beside them, no doubt asking them what happened inside and who they saw.
He suddenly realised in the frenzy of activity and danger that he hadn’t made any calls himself. Keeping one eye on the door to the roof and the USP tight in his hand, he lifted his Nokia from his pocket and scrolled through his Call History.
Downtown on 78th Street, Josh walked in through the front door with his three kids, having just picked them up from the Loews at Lincoln Square. Just as expected, the cartoon fish movie had gone down a hit and the kids had spent the entire ride home quoting lines and going over the best scenes in detail. They’d been caught in Sunday night traffic, and the journey had taken longer than expected, so needless to say Josh was happy to be back, feeling that he now probably knew the film better than the director himself.