‘Personal files on all Marshals are restricted. Neither Barlow or Carson have any immediate family.’
‘What about Foster?’
‘He’s got four boys. Two are in the army overseas, the other two working defence contracts in the Middle East for a security firm. He’s clean. Anyway, all three of my guys are tough as hell. They know the way this job goes. They wouldn’t slip.’
‘What about the woman?’ Marquez asked. ‘What’s her name?’
Dalton paused. ‘Vargas.’
‘Can she be trusted?’
‘With your life,’ Dalton said, fixing her gaze. ‘Trust me on that, Detective.’
Closing the folder, Shepherd exhaled, frustrated. Dalton wouldn’t budge. Turning, he looked over at the ESU team twenty yards behind them. There were twelve or so of them, huddled together in a tight group, examining floor plans and schematics over by their truck. Hobbs was in the middle, issuing orders to the group quietly.
It looked as if a briefing was coming to an end. Dalton saw it too and walked towards them.
‘Oh shit,’ Josh muttered to Shepherd and Marquez, watching him go. ‘Here comes Round Three.’
‘Hobbs,’ Dalton called.
Hobbs looked at him but didn’t respond. Neither did any of his men.
‘Don’t even think about it, Hobbs. This is our operation.’
‘Take a hike.’
‘Stand down. That’s an order.’
‘And do what, sit here and wait?’ Hobbs pointed at Dalton’s team, who were standing just behind him, looking up at the building. ‘Try growing a set of balls. You heard the shots fired inside. We need to get in there now, not hang around and wait for an invitation.’
‘Our choppers are on the way. They’ll be here soon.’
‘We’re going in.’
‘We don’t know who those people are or what kind of weaponry they have,’ Dalton emphasised. ‘You have no idea what you’re sending your men into.’
Ignoring him, Hobbs turned to his task force.
‘Clear?’ he called.
‘Don’t do it,’ Dalton said. ‘That’s a Federal order.’
Ignoring him, the ESU team nodded. Gathering their gear, they climbed into their van without a word and pulled the rear doors shut behind them. A guy in the front seat fired the engine and they headed off down the street, away from the crowd. Dalton watched them go, as Shepherd, Josh and Marquez joined him.
‘What’s happening?’ Marquez asked.
‘It’s show time,’ Josh said quietly, watching the truck head downtown.
NINETEEN
Up in the 8th floor apartment, Archer, Vargas and Helen had re-joined Barlow and Carson in the sitting room. With the curtains drawn and only a few lights on, the place was low lit, but it was staying that way. They weren’t about to switch any more lights on and risk alerting the sniper that they were in here.
As Vargas walked over to Jennifer and sat down with her, Archer took a seat against the wall, away from the window, resting the M4A1 beside him and thinking about their next move, double-checking that the curtains beside him were fully drawn and had no gaps. Fortunately, the owner of the apartment hadn’t opened the window behind them, meaning there was no risk of the curtains moving from the wind which could reveal their presence to the shooter, if only for a split-second. The son of a bitch wouldn’t be too far away and he would be looking for another chance to take a shot and take another one of them out.
A silence fell. Archer saw the brooding expression on Barlow’s face across the room and guessed what was on his mind.
Or who.
‘He wouldn’t have known anything about it,’ he said. ‘It was instant.’
Silence.
‘I can’t believe they killed him,’ Barlow said. ‘He was invincible. Our boss. Shit.’
‘It was quick,’ Vargas said.
Pause.
‘We can’t stay here,’ Barlow said. ‘Whoever these guys are, they’ll find us.’
‘Can we force our way out?’ Helen asked.
‘With a wounded man and a small girl?’ Vargas said, holding Jennifer close. ‘They’ll cut us to pieces. And we don’t even know who these men are, or how many of them are here. There could easily be a squad of them for all we know.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We wait for reinforcements,’ Vargas said.
‘So where the hell are they?’ Barlow said.
‘They’ll come.’
‘But what if they find us first?’
‘This is a big building,’ Archer said, with more confidence than he felt. ‘We could be anywhere. It’ll take them time to clear it.’
There was a pause. In the silence, Carson opened his mouth like a child, staring up at the ceiling, wonderment in his eyes.
‘And we’re still alive,’ Archer said, looking over at Jennifer. ‘Let’s keep it together and ensure it stays that way.’
Barlow went to reply, but suddenly there was the same noise from outside as earlier, a distant familiar thumping.
It was increasing, getting louder and closer, coming from downtown.
The group looked at each other; Vargas turned to Barlow and smiled.
‘You wanted back up, Jared? Here they come.’
Down on the street, Shepherd, Marquez and Josh were standing beside Hobbs, who’d set up a command post beside his Department-issue vehicle. Dalton had stopped his protestations for the moment, joining them. Although this was a Federal operation, his people didn’t have immediate access to a chopper and ESU did. They were also drilled and professionally trained for an aerial assault, whereas the Marshals were primarily a ground entry team. As much as Dalton disliked this being in someone else’s hands, Hobbs had a point. At the end of the day, they all wanted the same thing.
Hobbs grabbed his radio. ‘Briggs, give me a sitrep.’
‘Twenty seconds, sir. Roof is clear.’
Looking downtown, Shepherd, Josh, Marquez and Dalton saw the black shape in the early evening sky moving over the Upper West Side, coming closer and closer. Hobbs nodded, turning to Shepherd, one NYPD man to another.
‘Here we go.’
On the 16th floor, Castle was clearing an apartment alone when his earpiece suddenly went off. He was one of the two guys who’d set up some equipment on the roof, in charge of dealing with an aerial assault.
‘Chopper coming!’ Joker said. ‘It’s ESU!’
Turning, Castle raced out of the apartment and down the hallway.
He sprinted up the north stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time.
Sweeping through the clammy night air, the ESU chopper slowed and hovered over the West 135th tenement block, the rotors whirring in a whumping blur, mirroring what the other chopper had done less than thirty minutes earlier. Up front, the pilot spoke into his radio as Hobbs’ ESU team sat in the back, ready and raring to go. All of them were dressed in the standard police-issue navy blue combat fatigues, helmets strapped to their heads, AR15 assault rifles slung across their backs and black gloves on their hands.
Their side doors were open, coils of rope ready to be thrown out to be used as entry points. They would start from the roof and work their way down floor by floor, taking out the enemy, locating and securing the group of Marshals and the child.
‘Lieutenant, we’re in position,’ the pilot said.
Down on the street, Hobbs looked up. Beside him, Shepherd and Dalton didn’t speak, watching in silence.
‘OK. Go!’
Hooked up to the same transmission, the ESU Sergeant in the back gave the thumbs up to his men. Throwing out the ropes and checking their harnesses, they all abseiled down onto the roof, two sets of six, twelve men sliding down the cords in smooth and immaculately-drilled fashion. It took less than ten seconds, mirroring the entry of the anonymous response team earlier, and soon the entire task force were grouped on the roof of the building.