Everyone in the lobby had heard the shots. They’d echoed down the north stairwell. King, Bishop, Castle and Spades were standing there, along with Braeten and the members of his crew, listening and hopeful.
It sure as hell sounded like someone had found the Marshals.
Then there was silence. King pushed the pressel on his uniform, walking over to the north side and pulling open the door.
‘What the hell is going on up there? Give me a sitrep.’
Nothing.
‘Pawn, Hearts, report.’
Nothing.
‘Report.’
The man didn’t have a radio; the anonymous team were communicating with earpieces and pressel switches. Archer had already pulled the earpiece from the man’s ear, listening closely. Pawn, Hearts. They were using call signs, chess pieces and card suits, not their real names.
‘Pawn, Hearts, respond, damn it. Someone in the area check it.’
Holding the earpiece to his lobe with his right hand, Archer used his left to grab two magazines from pouches on the front of the dead man’s fatigues, stuffing them into his pocket. He checked the rest of the guy’s fatigues quickly but he had no ID. He pulled off his balaclava. The man had black hair and was tanned, stubble around his chin and neck; he was white and appeared to be in his thirties, tough, with a fighter’s face, some scar tissue across his eyebrows.
His head lolled back as Archer released it, blood leaking out of his mouth, his eyes open. Archer looked down at the dead man.
It was you or me, buddy.
And you started this.
Suddenly, he heard a noise from the stairwell. He stood up and leant over the railing; there was the sound of running feet, and more than one pair. It was distant, but getting closer, from about ten floors below and moving fast.
In his ear, the man’s radio had gone quiet.
Scooping up the magazines and the M4A1 and letting the earpiece go, Archer ran up the last flight and joined Vargas in the hallway. She was doing the same as him, taking what she could from the dead man. She’d also pulled off the man’s balaclava and was staring at the guy when Archer joined her.
‘We’ve got to go!’ he whispered.
She didn’t react. He grabbed her shoulder, which finally got her attention. Scooping up her M4A1, she also pulled two grenades from pouches on the man’s tactical vest and took off down the corridor with Archer, both of them bloodied, dirtied and bruised but still alive.
Archer took point, moving out into the south stairwell. There was no-one coming up these stairs. Whoever the footsteps belonged to were coming up from the north side. The doors to the corridors on the upper floors were all shut, so even if they passed the stairwell at the same time as anyone on the north they wouldn’t be seen.
Vargas followed him and they started moving down, the door behind them swinging shut as they disappeared out of sight.
Moments later, Knight and Diamonds arrived at the 21st floor, having sprinted up from 11. Both men slammed to a halt, panting when they got there, and saw Pawn’s body on the landing between their position and the 22nd floor. His balaclava had been pulled off, blood around his mouth; he was staring up lifelessly and was sprawled out limply across the stairwell landing. He’d been shot in the chest.
Another one of their guys down.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Knight muttered.
Diamonds stepped past the body carefully, carrying on up the stairs. Knight dropped to one knee and examined his dead colleague. The spare magazines for his M4A1 had been taken, the pouches empty. Blood was pooled on the floor under his body, still warm under Knight’s knee. He felt his anger rise; like Markowski, Gibbons had been a close friend of his and was a tough bastard. None of this was going to plan.
Half a flight up, Diamonds reappeared. ‘They iced Taylor too. He’s gone. Three in the sternum.’
‘Someone, report goddammit. What the hell happened?’
Neither man responded at first. Then Knight pushed the pressel on his radio, still kneeling in Gibbons’ blood.
‘Sir, we’ve got a serious problem up here.’
*
Down in 8A, Archer locked the door and dragged the refrigerator back into place as Vargas moved through into the sitting room, both of them relieved to be out of the stairwell and back behind the relative safety of the barricade. Barlow, Jennifer and Helen all looked up as Vargas walked in and were immediately taken aback by her appearance. Her once-spotless white top was dirty, covered in brick dust, and she had cuts and nicks on her arms and face, her top and face blackened with smoke. Archer looked much the same as he walked in, joining her in the sitting room.
Vargas put her rifle and the two grenades she’d lifted to one side then knelt down in front of Jennifer, the girl hugging her with as much strength as she could muster. The embrace meant some of the dust and debris on Vargas’ clothing was imprinted onto her own clothes and arms, but she clung on tight.
‘What the hell happened up there?’ Barlow said.
‘We ran into company,’ Archer said.
‘And?’
‘Two more of them are down. We found the ESU team on the roof.’
‘So where are they?’ Helen said, hopefully.
‘They’re dead. This response team took them out.’
‘All of them?’
He nodded. ‘All.’
‘Were they shot?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Claymore mines.’
She looked blank.
‘They’re anti-personnel weapons that fire metal ball bearings,’ he explained. ‘The helicopter dropped the team off into a circle of them. One push of a clacker was all it took. The chopper got hit by an anti-tank rocket. We saw the spent launcher dumped up there.’
‘Did you find the phone?’ Helen asked.
Vargas nodded. ‘That’s the good news. I spoke to Dalton, our Supervisor. Told him the situation and what happened to Foster. The chopper earlier was this other team abseiling in. Everyone outside thought it was one of theirs, and by the time they realised it wasn’t the team were already inside in the building. They counted ten of them.’
‘Now there are six,’ Archer said.
‘Still ten,’ Barlow said. ‘You’re forgetting the four guys from the street.’
Pause.
‘What did Dalton say?’
‘They’re working on coming in through the front door.’
‘It won’t be easy.’
She shrugged. ‘They’ll have to duke it out. It’s their only option. One way in, one way out.’
Vargas turned her focus to Jennifer, talking to her quietly. As she did so, Archer walked over to the couch, knelt and checked on Carson. Helen was sitting beside him, her hand on his brow.
‘Any change?’
‘The same,’ Helen said. ‘Hanging in there. But he’s lost a lot of blood.’
As she spoke, she noticed something on Vargas’s leg and pointed.
‘As will you if you don’t get that looked at.’
Archer turned and saw where Helen was indicating. There was a wound to Vargas’ thigh from the gunfight upstairs, what looked like a small piece of shrapnel buried in her jeans. She looked down at it, just as surprised as everyone else. It looked painful. Seeing the injury, Archer rose and motioned towards the kitchen with his head.
‘C’mon. There’s still some of my shirt left.’
In the lobby, King and his men listened to Knight’s report, all of them stunned.
‘Pawn and Hearts are dead, sir.’
‘What?’
‘There was a shootout on 22. Pawn bought it in the stairwell, Hearts in the corridor. Both took a burst to the chest. They tore up an apartment and the hallway. Looks like the fight went all over the place.’
‘That’s four of our guys down,’ King said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Releasing the pressel, he whirled on Castle, Spades and Bishop, who were standing behind him. ‘How the hell are these people still alive?’
‘It’s not that easy,’ Bishop said. ‘This place is big. There’re still residents here, too.’