Across the kitchen, the sitting room door opened and Helen and Barlow appeared, Barlow aiming his USP at the main door. Archer and Vargas did the same with their assault rifles, all of them suddenly tense again, fingers on triggers and ready to fire.
BAMBAMBAM.
Someone pounded on the wood.
‘Downstairs! Dollar opportunity,’ a harsh voice the other side shouted. Neither Archer, Vargas or Barlow moved, keeping their weapons trained on the entrance. They heard whoever was outside walk off, move on to the next apartment. It sounded as if others had joined him, more than one person beating on doors and shouting.
‘Who wants to make some money?’ someone called from the corridor, hitting on the doors.
His finger resting on the M4A1 trigger, looking down the sights, Archer stared at the door, puzzled.
He turned and glanced at Vargas, who looked equally nonplussed.
What the hell is going on? he thought.
Before long, thirty or so of the remaining residents had wandered down to the ground floor, gathered from all of the floors and assembling in the lobby. Most of them were men but there were a couple of women. They all looked tough and rough, appearing from both stairwells, and examined the team of balaclava clad men in combat fatigues and assault rifles suspiciously but without any trace of fear. They were supposed to have been cleared out earlier after the fire alarm, but they either hadn’t heard it for some reason or most likely just didn’t give a shit. They were all dull-eyed and disinterested, hardened by life and their surroundings. The sight of the armed men in the lobby didn’t seem to faze any of them at all.
‘What the hell is this about?’ one of them asked.
‘You want to make twenty grand?’ King asked, Braeten beside him.
Castle, Spades and Bishop were behind the two men, staying silent, watching.
All murmuring in the group of residents ceased. Someone hawked and spat on the floor. King continued.
‘We’re looking for a group hiding out in this building,’ he said. ‘That’s why we’re here. That’s what’s been going on. There are four, maybe five of them. One is a kid; the others are US Marshals.’
‘So?’
‘So, you tell us where they are or kill any one of them, you get twenty grand.’
A few of them snorted and turned, walking back up the stairwell and disappearing out of sight, not interested. The response team let them go. However, a large number of them remained.
‘That’s what all this shooting is about?’ another man asked.
‘Yes. You help us out, you get rich. Simple as that.’
Pause.
‘Why do you wanna kill them?’
‘None of your business.’
The group seemed unsure. Several of them glanced at each other, wondering if this was a ruse.
‘Bullshit. This is a set up. You’re pigs.’
‘No. It’s not. These assholes have taken out four of my men tonight. Twenty grand for whoever locates them or gets me a body. You tag all four, you get eighty. Take it or leave it.’
The authority in his voice and force of his personality was swaying them. The rag tag group was looking more and more interested.
They started looking at each other.
‘Think about it,’ Braeten added. ‘That’s a lot of cash.’
‘So where’s the money?’ one of the residents asked.
‘You get it when you deliver.’
‘Bullshit.’
King held up his M4A1 sideways so they could see it. ‘Look at this. You think this hardware is cheap? Or that?’
He pointed at the Claymores aimed at the door.
‘We’ve got the cash. Take it or leave it. I’m guessing no-one else is ever going to offer you eighty grand for twenty minutes of work again.’
‘How do we know who these people are?’ the man who’d first spoken asked.
‘One of them is shot in the gut,’ Braeten said. ‘Another is a kid. A seven year old girl. Like he said, there will be four or five of them.’
‘You got weapons?’ Bishop asked.
Slowly but surely, interest had started to catch fire, like a single spark in a dry forest. Some of them nodded, but the front guy shook his head. Bishop pulled his sidearm from the holster on his thigh and passed it to the man, who took it. Some of the men at the back had already moved off up the stairwell, eager to get a head start. Mob fever was just starting to prickle in the air like electricity, the sparks of the fire about to turn into flames.
‘Twenty grand a head,’ Bishop said. ‘Follow me.’
He stepped forward, closely followed by Castle; both men cut through the group, heading up the stairwell and setting the pace.
There was a brief pause.
Then members of the crowd started to follow quickly.
Watching them go and staying where he was, King smiled. He turned to Braeten.
‘Good thinking. You just earned yourself a ride out of here.’
The rest of Braeten’s crew heard this. ‘What about us?’ one of them asked.
‘What about you?’
‘We aren’t staying here when this is done. No way.’
‘So earn it. This is all your fault. We wouldn’t be in this shit if you’d acted like professionals in the first place and hadn’t screwed up.’
The three men looked at each other then moved to the stairwell quickly, joining the hunt. Standing beside King, Braeten watched his guys leave, his arms folded, his pistol tucked into the back of his waistband.
‘You’re never going to pay any of them, are you?’ he said quietly.
King smiled. ‘Would you?’
TWENTY FIVE
Inside 8A, Archer and Helen were still in the kitchen. Vargas had taken Isabel back into the sitting room, trying to divert her mind and lighten her mood but also keep her away from the door. Barlow had joined her. Archer was still staring at the refrigerator-covered entrance, wondering what that knock had been about and what the hell was going. Being trapped and isolated, they had no idea. The unpredictability of the last few hours had left him on edge.
So had the lack of back-up from outside.
‘Dollar opportunity,’ Helen echoed quietly. ‘What the hell were they talking about?’
Archer shrugged, but didn’t reply. Dragging his eyes from the door, he turned to her.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Well my apartment has been half destroyed. I’ve seen three men die tonight. There are armed men currently hunting for us and we’re trapped in the building with them with no way out.’
She forced a smile.
‘But apart from that, I’m fine.’
Pause. Archer smiled too.
‘Sorry. Dumb question.’ Pause. ‘You said you’re a nurse?’
She nodded. ‘I work downtown. St Luke’s. Been doing it for nineteen years.’
He glanced down and noticed a wedding ring on her finger for the first time.
‘You’re married.’
‘I was. He left me,’ she said, looking down and twisting the ring between her thumb and forefinger. The unthinking way she did it indicated she’d done it many times before. ‘It happened almost five years ago. I should take this off. But I guess I keep hoping he’ll come back.’
Silence.
‘He was a financial planner; he used to work late. One night I went to the office to surprise him and found him there with his secretary doing everything but working. Real cliche, right? Turned out he’d been having an affair with her for over a year. A few days later, he didn’t come home. Just never came back; left all his belongings. He’d quit his job and run off with her, leaving me and our son behind. The boy was only sixteen. I didn’t know how to cope.’
She shook her head.
‘We used to live downtown, in Chelsea. Real nice place. But once he left I couldn’t afford to pay rent and was forced out. I had to keep working at the hospital of course. The only place I found that I could afford was up here.’
Pause. She looked at him.