‘Shit!’
Upstairs, Archer heard the man land and the burst of gunfire that followed it. Pulling the elevator doors shut and falling back against the wall, he sucked in deep breaths then scooped up his USP from the floor.
Moving forward, he ran towards Vargas, who was anxiously waiting for him in the doorway of the apartment. Once he made it inside, they pushed the door shut and locked it instantly, then dragged the refrigerator back into position before they could pause for breath.
THIRTY NINE
Reunited and safe, Vargas turned and dropped down to hug Isabel, checking her for any injuries, both of them tearful as they clung to each other. Staying low, Archer made sure the curtains were still secure, then knelt down beside them.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked Isabel.
She nodded, strands of hair clinging to her face from dried tears, her arms wrapped tightly around Vargas, not letting her go.
‘I knew you’d save me.’
Archer smiled. Seeing that she was unhurt, he rose and moved into the sitting room, approaching Carson who was lying on the couch just where they’d left him. The heroin had worn off now and his face was screwed up in pain, his Glock in his hand.
‘There…you are,’ he said, grimacing, clutching his stomach. ‘Thought…you’d left.’
‘No way,’ Archer said, placing his weapon on the floor and kneeling by the injured man. Beside him, Carson coughed.
‘Did you…get to the phone?’
Archer shook his head. ‘We ran into trouble. Long story. Put one of them down though.’
‘How…many…left?’
‘I don’t know. Still more than us.’
‘You’re…bleeding.’
Archer glanced down and saw blood on the lower left of his white t-shirt from the glass he’d taken out earlier.
The patch had grown.
‘Makes…two of us,’ Carson said, using most of his strength to force a smile.
Archer looked closer at the padding on Carson’s stomach. Rule number one with compression bandages was don’t remove them; the bottom ones had probably stuck to the wound and removing them could get the blood flowing again. They seemed to have done as good a job as they could under the circumstances. He glanced at Carson’s face. His eyes were sunken, dark rings around them from a combination of blood loss and the aftermath of the heroin. They flicked up past Archer; Vargas and Isabel had joined them.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You’re both a sight…for sore eyes.’
Vargas stepped forward, putting her hand to his brow. Isabel moved closer too. Carson looked at her and forced another smile.
‘I…could use…another makeover right now,’ he said to her.
‘Hang on just a bit longer, Jack,’ Vargas told him, gripping his hand. ‘Dalton and the crew will get in here soon. There’re medic teams down on the street, waiting to come in. They’ll fix you up.’
He nodded with as much conviction as he could muster.
‘Where’s Barlow?’ he asked.
Archer and Vargas glanced at each other.
‘Tell you later,’ she said.
As Archer rose, Vargas suddenly noticed the blood patch staining the lower left of Archer’s once-white t-shirt. He had his hand half-over it, but not enough to fully hide the red.
‘Hey. You’re hurt.’
He didn’t move.
‘Let me see.’
She reached for his arm and took it away gently. His palm came away red from the blood-soaked fabric.
‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Next door. Now.’
Down on the street, Hendricks screeched to a halt as close as he could get to the barriers on the corner of West 135th Street. Jumping out of the car, he cut through the crowd and made a beeline for Shepherd, who saw him coming and stepped forward to meet him.
‘What happened?’ Shepherd asked his friend.
‘The men in there aren’t Lombardi’s people. He had no idea the kid and the Marshals were inside.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘I put a gun to his balls and pulled back the hammer,’ Hendricks replied, looking up at the tenement block. ‘This is about something else.’
‘So someone else must want the kid dead,’ Shepherd said, thinking. ‘But who else would want to kill a seven year old girl this badly?’
Silence. The penny dropped.
‘It’s not about the kid at all, is it? They’re going after another member of the group.’
‘It must be one of the Marshals. Or Archer.’
‘Not Arch,’ Shepherd said. ‘I’ve heard what eye-witnesses from the gunfight on the street have said. It was pure coincidence he ended up in this. He was just passing by.’
‘OK, one of the other three then. One of Dalton’s team.’
‘So why the hell would someone go to all this trouble for a US Marshal?’
Both men shifted their gaze to Dalton, who was talking with his team, finalising their assault plans. Either he was lying about the girl or he hadn’t told them the full story.
But it was time for some answers.
‘Are you kidding me?’ Calvin screamed. ‘Are you kidding me?’
The men were all standing there, having gathered in the large lobby. None of them thought it wise to respond. Spades’ body was lying in a heap by the elevator doors behind them. No-one had bothered to move him. Braeten had seen one of his own guys sprawled dead on the roof of the elevator just before they secured the doors. He’d fallen to his death, Vargas or the asshole with her knocking him into the elevator shaft. Out of all his guys, he was the one he was closest to. It had put him in a foul mood.
Calvin shot his cuff and checked his watch.
‘We should have handled this two hours ago. You think the cops are just going to keep waiting outside for us to resolve this?’
‘So let’s get the hell out of here,’ Bishop said. ‘Let it go, boss. We tried. It didn’t work.’
‘We’re staying,’ Knight said.
‘What more can we do, brother?’ Bishop replied. ‘We’ve torn this place apart looking for her.’
Frustrated, Calvin looked around the lobby. He knew Bishop was right.
‘Let’s cut our losses and get the hell out of here while we still can,’ Bishop said.
King didn’t respond. His eyes settled on the black holdalls they’d brought with them, full of equipment, dumped in the corner of the lobby. His breathing slowed.
Then the solution came to him, like clouds parting to reveal sunlight. It had been staring him in the face the entire time. It was something he and his team should have done the moment they’d arrived. The others noticed the change in his demeanour.
‘Boss?’ Knight asked.
He turned and smiled.
‘What is it?’ Knight asked.
King looked at Bishop
‘You’re right. I think it’s time we got the hell out of here. We’re leaving.’
FORTY
With Carson watching Isabel and weapons close to hand, Vargas was patching Archer up for the second time that evening. This time however, they were in the kitchen, beside the table near the window. Although they were on the east side, the curtains were still drawn, memories of how Foster and Barlow had died still vivid in their minds. Archer had pulled up the lower portion of his shirt, Vargas cleaning the wound the best she could. Unlike the superficial cut to his arm, the glass had buried itself deeper here. And unlike the previous apartment they’d taken cover in, there was no first aid kit in the bathroom. Vargas was having to improvise.
‘What was it?’ she asked.
‘Piece of glass. Got it from the laundry room when the grenade went off.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me what this was really about earlier?’
She looked up at him, concern on her face.
‘It went deep, Archer. I need to clean it.’
She rummaged through the cupboards and drawers, searching for anything she could use. No luck; she pulled open the fridge and paused. Reaching inside, she drew out a small bottle of vodka, half-full. She unscrewed the top, taking a quick sniff, then re-joined him.