‘Shit! I’m hit!’
In the office building downtown from the tenement block, Marquez aimed through the scope of the Vintorez and hit the chopper’s fuel tank twice more, putting five bullets into a grouping the size of a cup and saucer, smashing a window of the office building as she fired.
Fuel was bleeding out and the chopper was starting to spiral, same as the ESU vessel earlier.
Beside her, the response team sniper was dead. She’d assumed she’d been done for when the gun was pushed into the back of her neck, the man holding the weapon ordering her to drop her own pistol. She’d closed her eyes, knowing she was about to die, when there’d had been a gunshot. She’d stayed still then slowly opened her eyes.
Turning to her left, she saw the sniper was dead. Josh was standing there, his pistol in his hand.
He’d changed his mind.
After making sure she was OK, they went to call it in. They tried Shepherd, but they couldn’t get through, the line engaged. Josh had been inspecting the dead sniper for any ID and Marquez examining the weapon when they’d suddenly seen a helicopter approaching from the other side of the Hudson. Both of them immediately identified it at the same vessel that had delivered the response team earlier, definitely not one of theirs. Marquez had dropped down behind the man’s rifle and aimed directly at the fuel tank.
Time for some payback.
Now she watched the vessel spinning, going down. Below, the fire team hosing down the smoking ESU chopper were already running for cover. The second chopper hit the ground twenty yards from the first and exploded on impact.
On the roof, the three remaining gunmen had swung round in her direction. They realised what had happened and immediately started firing at the windows of the building. Briefly ducking her head as some of them smashed around her and Josh, she took aim and fired, hitting one of the gunmen in the shoulder and punching him off his feet.
The others returned fire, running back and taking cover behind a thick air vent duct, the wounded man staggering up and joining them.
Marquez aimed where she figured they would be and fired twice more, putting two holes in the metal duct.
Arriving on 12, Archer and Vargas sprinted down the corridor. They burst into the apartment, the refrigerator already pulled back out of the way from when they’d left. There was no time to lose. Running into the sitting room, Vargas ran over to Isabel as Archer moved to Carson, who was lying on the couch in the same position as when they’d left him.
‘C’mon, we’ve got to go!’ he said.
He pulled him forward to lift him in a fireman’s carry. Carson didn’t react.
‘C’mon, Jack.’
Nothing. His arm was limp. Slowing, Archer withdrew and looked at him, Vargas joining him and staring down at her fellow Marshal. His chest wasn’t moving anymore. His eyes were open, looking at the ceiling. For the first time since Archer had first seen him on the street, his face looked natural and relaxed.
He was gone.
‘Oh Jack,’ Vargas said, tears in her eyes, Isabel standing beside her. Vargas noticed a small amount of glitter still on his collar from earlier.
Not wasting another second, Archer grabbed the black bag and USP, running to the front door.
‘Let’s go!’
Vargas was right behind him with Isabel; they raced into the corridor and turning into the stairwell the trio began their desperate ascent up the building.
They moved up the flights quickly, but were hindered by having to go at Isabel’s pace. Although she was going as quickly as she could, it was still a lot slower than Archer and Vargas could have managed alone. They were both wounded but adrenaline and survival instinct were masking the pain and driving them on, racing up flight after flight. They didn’t waste a second clearing any of the corridors.
With the place about to blow, none of the response team would be hanging around.
They continued up, legs burning, the stairs seemingly endless, knowledge that the C4 could explode at any moment fuelling every desperate step. The deserted apartment block was quiet now, save for one sound.
They hadn’t turned off the intercom when they were down in the basement and the beeping continued, constant, monotonous, terrifying.
His legs full of lactic acid, his lungs on fire, Archer willed the noise to continue.
FORTY EIGHT
Isabel hadn’t been injured and despite being so much smaller she kept up well. However, by the time they got to 17 she was exhausted and slowing, not really aware of the terrible danger they were in. Stopping momentarily, Archer threw Vargas his M4A1, who slung it across her shoulders on the strap. He swept Isabel up and carried on, adrenaline giving him one last burst of strength, Vargas leading the way, fighting her way up.
18.
19.
20.
21.
When they staggered onto 22, they saw the man Vargas had shot earlier in the corridor up ahead. Demolishing the building would destroy the bodies; by the time CSU managed to pull an ID, if ever, Calvin and his team would be long gone. Vargas pulled open the door to the roof, taking huge breaths, pausing for a moment to recover.
Lowering Isabel, Archer pulled his USP and followed her up the stairs, Vargas taking Isabel’s hand and keeping her close as they quickly cleared the roof.
Not seeing anyone, they moved forward out towards the centre.
Shepherd and Hendricks were coming in from the south in the NYPD chopper, forty yards away.
Shepherd looked down and saw Archer on the roof. He had a dark-haired woman with him, the little girl between them. Hendricks had the Mossberg in his right hand, gripping the hand support with his left as they swept over the buildings of the Upper West Side.
‘What the hell?’ the pilot suddenly shouted.
Looking down, he and Shepherd saw the wreckage of another chopper the other side of the building. It was engulfed in flames, close to the ESU vessel that had been totalled earlier.
Ignoring it and focusing on the roof, Shepherd tapped the pilot’s shoulder and pointed.
‘Get down there!’
Standing on the roof, bloodied, bruised, battered and totally exhausted, Archer, Vargas and Isabel saw the NYPD helicopter approaching. Finally out of strength and energy, Archer moved forward, willing it closer. There was no one else up here apart from the pile of ESU bodies; the Miami cops must have already been picked up by their chopper and left.
Which meant the building would blow any moment.
‘C’mon!’
But then to his horror, the NYPD chopper suddenly veered away.
Archer shouted, waving his arms. ‘Hey! Hey! Come back!’
Watching in desperation, stranded in the middle of the roof as the chopper backed up, he suddenly froze.
Standing there, his hair and shirt billowing from the chopper’s rotors, his instincts started screaming at him.
He was being watched.
He turned slowly.
Two of the enemy and the gang member with blond dreadlocks had appeared out of nowhere. One of the Miami PD SRT cops had been hit in the shoulder, blood staining his fatigues; however, he had a LAW 66 rocket launcher resting on his other shoulder, aiming it at the NYPD chopper, the reason it had withdrawn and couldn’t get closer.
The other man had an M4A1 in his shoulder, the guy with dreadlocks a steel pistol.
The weapons were aimed straight at him, Vargas and Isabel.
FORTY NINE
Archer stared at the muzzles of the guns. The lead man also had a control switch in his left hand which he tossed to the ground angrily. Archer recognised the switch from interactions with the EOD in London; it was a detonator. The fact it had been discarded indicated the men were in no rush to leave.