‘This is going to sting.’
He nodded apprehensively and she poured some directly over the wound. His teeth clenched like he was being electrocuted, grunting in pain, his body tensing up. It was one of the most painful things he’d ever experienced; he felt like he was going to pass out. She covered the wound with a relatively clean towel she’d found in a drawer by the sink. The alcohol was still burning into the wound, killing any bacteria, and Archer took slow breaths, trying to work through the pain.
‘Guess this counts as a third date,’ he said through gritted teeth.
She chuckled, shaking her head. ‘You got a girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘I’m not. I’m like a revolving door. People come and go. No-one stays.’
‘I have.’
He looked over at her and found himself smiling. He’d only known her for a few hours, but she had a point. He decided not to mention that she hadn’t had a choice.
He took over holding the cloth to the wound, and she withdrew. She wiped her hands on another towel then tossed it to one side and took a seat near him. They sat there in momentary silence, the curtains drawn, the lights low. The wound on his torso burned like hell. Archer looked over at her. She was sweaty and tired, blood and dirt all over her white shirt and dark jeans. Her hair was hanging down, jet black, covering the stained rivulet of blood coming from her right earlobe. She still looked great. Using the moment of quiet, she took her Glock from her holster and pulled back the slide. Withdrawing the magazine, she laid the weapon on the table and started popping bullets out onto her lap, counting ammunition. Holding the cloth to the wound on his torso, he watched her work.
She paused and looked up at him, thinking.
‘You ever think of doing something else?’ she asked.
‘What, other than being a cop.’
She nodded.
‘I don’t know how to do anything else. For better or for worse.’ He paused. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m a US Marshal now. Once the trial is over, that isn’t going to change.’
He nodded.
‘You know, ninety nine per cent of people wouldn’t have intervened on the street,’ she said. ‘They would have stayed low, taking cover, looking after themselves.’
‘That’s not who I am.’
Pause.
‘Most people switch on the news and see that something bad happened to a good person. Maybe they were mugged. Maybe they were shot or stabbed. They see those things and think how unfair it is. How unlucky that person was.’ He looked down. ‘But it’s always been more than that to me. It always will be. I see something like that and it really pisses me off. It makes my blood boil.’
He glanced up at her.
‘That’s what I felt when I saw those guys coming for you on the street. That’s what I felt when the mob were heading for the apartment. That’s what I felt when they took Isabel and that man was taunting you on the intercom.’
She watched him, still paused in her ammo count.
‘I’ve thought about it,’ he said. ‘But right now, I don’t want to do anything else. I’m not leaving it to another person to fight people like this for me.’
‘You can’t win forever,’ she said. ‘Eventually you’ll die.’
‘We all will. And if that happens, at least I died for something.’
‘That’s enough?’
‘It is for me.’
Pause. She observed him in the dim apartment. For the first time today, she noticed a different look in his eyes. He fixed her gaze.
‘When they come, I’ll be right beside you,’ he said. ‘That’s a promise. I’m not going anywhere.’
Silence. She watched him, bloodied and bruised, blood leaking from a cut over his eyebrow, his hand holding the makeshift bandage to the wound on his torso.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she said. He nodded. ‘If you could go back, would you still have intervened on the street?
He grinned. ‘In a heartbeat.’
‘You’re that sure?’
‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.’
He’d replied instinctively then paused, realising what he’d said. Watching him for a moment, Vargas smiled.
She went to respond but paused, frowning. There was a noise coming from the sitting room; Archer heard it too. It sounded like Carson was calling for them.
He got up and followed her as she opened the door.
‘Oh shit!’
Isabel was on the floor, fitting, her body jerking and spasming, her eyes rolled back in her head. Vargas dropped down and went to hold her but the girl had stiffened out. Archer threw his towel bandage to one side and dropped down to try and help.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘She’s epileptic!’
In the office building directly south of the tenement block, Marquez and Josh were still searching each floor. It was painstaking and tedious work. Josh had always trusted Marquez’s hunches but that’s exactly what this was, a hunch. Foster could have been capped off by a lucky bullet inside the building.
They met by the north windows on 12. Both of them looked out at the building eighty yards away. Smoke was still streaming from the destroyed apartment on the 8th floor. There was a fire crew on the west side of the building, having finished hosing down the wreckage of the ESU chopper. Josh looked down at the mass of people on the street; he wanted to get back down there and re-join Shepherd and Hendricks. He and Marquez had been gone for a while. Peering closer, he saw the Marshals task force were gathered close, poised for action.
‘This is a waste of time,’ Josh told her.
She shook her head, looking around the dark building.
‘There’s someone here,’ Marquez said. ‘I know it.’
‘How can you be sure?’
She pointed at the building. ‘Look at that. It’s like range practice. And where’s the guard?’
‘Where we should be. Outside. We need to get back downstairs.’
‘And do what? Stand there and watch.’
He looked at her for a moment. ‘I’m leaving, Marquez.’
She turned on him.
‘There’s someone here, Josh.’
‘No. There isn’t.’
He turned without another word and walked towards the stairwell, pushing open the door and disappearing, the sound of his footsteps fading and leaving her alone.
Isabel’s fit had just subsided, her body softening, the muscles relaxing after the fit had contracted and locked them tight. She was lying on the floor, her head on Vargas’ lap; she seemed confused, blinking and looking at them, not saying anything.
‘Stay still, honey,’ Vargas said, reassuring her. She checked her watch. ‘Shit.’
‘What is it?’
‘She missed her medication. She takes it twice a day, morning and night. The flashes from the gunfire must have triggered a reaction.’
‘Does she have any medicine with her?’
Vargas thought for moment. ‘It’s in my bag. I left it downstairs in Helen’s apartment.’
Archer looked at her, then at the little girl. Vargas was holding her head either side as she recovered. ‘What happens if she doesn’t take it?’
‘These attacks will come and go. They could go on all night.’
He looked down at her and took a deep breath.
‘I have to get it then. The moment we fire a gun, it could happen again.’
Archer pulled the mag of his M4A1, checking there was ammo inside, and slid it back into the rifle. Helen’s apartment was on 5.
Seven floors down.
And this time, he was going out there by himself.
FORTY ONE
Moments later, he was back in the corridor on 12, alone, his M4A1 in his hands. He focused his hearing as hard as he could; the close-proximity gunfire had left a dull ringing in his ears which wasn’t helping at all. Clearing both ways, he moved down the corridor. He slid into the south stairwell, immediately checking up and down, already missing Vargas’ protection watching his back.