Nothing.
‘I know how we can end this,’ Vargas said, from behind him, still sobbing. Archer turned. She’d drawn her Glock and was holding it to her temple. Her hand was shaking, tears running down her smoke-stained face, creating small paths in the dirt and dust.
‘If I die, you two and Jack will live,’ she said, her chin quivering. ‘They’ll let you go.’
He didn’t move. Her finger was tight on the trigger, the harsh metallic barrel against her smooth skin.
‘No. They won’t.’
There was a pause. He stepped forward. She stepped away and pulled back the hammer, her arm and lip trembling.
‘C’mon, Vargas,’ Archer said. ‘Put the gun down.’
‘This is all my fault.’
Her finger moved a fraction on the trigger.
‘No, it’s not. Alice. C’mon.’
He approached her painfully slowly. She didn’t move. He kept coming closer until he gently took her hand, the gun still against her head.
He carefully lifted the arm so the gun pointed in the air. Tears were sliding down Vargas’s cheeks. She dissolved with emotion and he held her.
The corridor stretching away beside them, long and empty.
King carried the girl under his arm downstairs to the 1st floor; Spades was beside him, pulling out an empty magazine from his M4A1 and slapping another into the weapon. The kid was thrashing but she was no match for King’s strength. Knight and Bishop appeared up the stairs from the lobby with Braeten and one of his guys; they’d been keeping the entrance secure from the Feds and the NYPD whilst King, Spades and Diamonds went up to 22. All four sets of eyes narrowed when they saw the kid.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘We found them on 14,’ King said. ‘And look what we picked up.’
He passed the girl to Spades beside him, who slung his rifle and took her.
‘Take her to the lobby. Wait, where the hell is Diamonds?’
‘He stayed, sir,’ Spades said, taking the kid. ‘I heard an explosion in the stairwell. Sounded like the Claymore.’
King pushed his pressel. ‘Diamonds, report.’
Nothing.
‘Diamonds?’
No response. As Spades headed downstairs with the kid, King turned to Knight, Bishop, Braeten and his guy with the AK, his mood thunderous.
‘Split. Two men, either side, north and south stairwells. Change magazines and get ready. She’ll be coming for the kid.’
As they moved off, he stepped into the manager’s office. The building intercom was there on the wall just inside the room, a microphone panel beside a switch.
Smiling to himself, he pushed down the button.
It was time to end this thing once and for all.
Upstairs, Vargas was still distraught, Archer embracing her, when the silence of the building was suddenly broken.
‘Look what we have down here,’ a voice said, filling the hallways.
They both froze. The accent was American, non-regional; the electronic intercom made it sound disembodied and sinister, echoing down the hall.
‘I’m sure you know who we are by now and why we’re here. The kid’s cute, Vargas. But she won’t be when we’re done with her. There won’t be anything left.’
Vargas covered her mouth.
‘I know you can hear me. And you’ll be able to hear everything we do to her. You wouldn’t want that now, would you Vargas?’
Pause.
‘You got four minutes to get down here, bitch. Hands up, no weapon, backing down. Surrender or we start on the kid. We’ll make it last all night. You can listen to every second.’
Pause.
‘The clock’s ticking. 3.59. 3:58.’
Vargas looked at Archer, total fear and abject hopelessness in her eyes. She blinked, tears sliding down her sooty cheeks, cutting paths through the dust.
‘I have to go.’
THIRTY SEVEN
Knight and Bishop were in the south stairwell, Braeten and his guy down the other end of the corridor in the north. Braeten was crouched just inside the 1st floor corridor, aiming up the stairwell with his pistol, hearing the leader’s voice echo around the building. Beside him, his guy kneeled, pulling out the mag of his AK and checking it was full. He slotted it back inside and aimed at the same spot as Braeten, exactly where anyone coming down the stairs would appear. Finally, hours after the shit storm on the street, they were going to finish this job. Braeten was keen to kill the woman himself, more out of hurt pride than anything else. Never in a million years would he have thought this operation would be this difficult. A shitload people had died tonight, including Hayes, but she was still alive.
But not for long.
They waited. It had been almost three minutes, but there was no sign of the female Marshal yet. Braeten smiled in anticipation; he hoped she came down this side. He’d never killed a Fed before.
‘One minute, bitch!’ the leader’s voice shouted over the intercom.
‘Time to earn your freedom,’ Braeten whispered to the man beside him, who nodded, pulling the stock and racking a round. They were ready, just waiting for the woman to appear, anticipation in their trigger fingers. She wouldn’t just leave the kid to suffer. She was a woman, full of maternal instinct and all that bullshit. They kept the sights of their weapons trained on the stairwell, their ears straining to hear any indication that she was coming down.
But no-one came.
‘Thirty seconds!’
They waited.
‘C’mon bitch,’ he whispered, preparing for a last second rush.
Nothing.
‘Ten!’
‘Nine!’
‘Eight.’
Not a damn thing.
‘Three. Two. One!’
Silence.
‘Anything?’ the leader shouted from the doorway to the office.
‘No sign,’ Braeten shouted back.
‘None here either,’ someone called from the south stairwell team down the hall.
Braeten watched the leader disappear back into the office.
‘OK, bitch, your choice. We’ll start with her fingernails. She’ll scream so loud the cops on the street will hear it.’
Down the hallway, King released the intercom and pushed his pressel switch
‘Spades, get the kid up here.’
He waited and smiled. No way could Vargas hold out with the girl screaming over the intercom and filling the hallways. He meant what he’d threatened; Vargas was going to die tonight. That was the only way this was going to end and he’d do whatever it took to ensure that happened. Once the girl’s screams started echoing down the corridors, Vargas would lose it. She’d run down, full of guilt and despair, and eat a magazine from one of his men or the hit-team on the north side. The asshole with her would die too; not because he knew anything, but because he’d stayed with her and helped kill Markowski, Patterson, Taylor, Gibbons and Kosick. He’d pay for that. Calvin knew the type from Miami; heroic pricks, full of honour. He’d had to work round assholes like that when they were assigned to his task force, people like Hayworth.
Calvin smiled again, but it faded when he realised Spades hadn’t appeared with the kid yet. He pushed down the pressel on his uniform again.
‘Spades, get up here. I’m waiting.’
He waited.
Nothing.
‘Spades, get your thumb out of your ass and respond.’
Nothing. Grabbing his M4A1, King ran to the south stairwell, joining Knight and Bishop who were still aiming up the stairwell. ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered, running down the stairs to the lobby.
When he got there and ripped open the door, he saw Spades.
He was slumped on the floor in a limp heap, his weapon beside him.