‘Fall back!’ he shouted, jerking his head at the entrance of the building. ‘Get inside!’
Staying low behind the vehicle, Archer grabbed Carson under his armpits and pulled him backwards towards the door as the other two men rose and fired at their pursuers, pinning them down behind the other car.
The dark-haired woman scooped up the small girl and followed Archer quickly, who’d made it to the entrance. Pushing the handle down with his elbow, Archer kicked the door back and dragged Carson inside, the gunfight in front of them intensifying as their attackers saw what they were doing and tried to take them out before they had a chance to get inside the building.
The grey-haired man returned rapid fire with the Glock, then snatched a quick glance over his shoulder. Seeing the door behind them was open, he shouted to the uninjured man beside him.
‘Barlow, move!’
The two men edged back, keeping up their fire, and stumbled inside, bullets kicking up brick dust around the entrance as they fell into the large lobby. The grey-haired guy recovered quickly, rolling to his feet, then reached forward and twisted the lock. The moment he did, one of the windows next to the door was blown out, causing him to recoil, the glass spraying into the air and cutting his face.
Behind him, there was an elevator in the middle of the large lobby. Archer was desperately pushing the button but nothing was happening.
‘Shit!’
He knew they didn’t have long. The dark-haired woman saw the elevator wasn’t coming, and without a word she pulled open a door on the left and ran into a stairwell. Archer bent down and hoisted Carson into a fireman’s carry, then moved to the stairs and followed the woman as she took the lead, holding the girl’s hand who was running alongside her. As they headed up the flights, Archer heard thumping at the door in the lobby as the gunmen tried to force their way in. The pounding was matching the speed of his heart rate; although he was just about back to full fitness, he was carrying a grown man on his shoulders up a flight of stairs, having just come from a strenuous workout at the gym and been in the midst of a savage gunfight with no weapon.
Another burst of adrenaline kicked in and he followed the woman and child, the other two men bringing up the rear, Carson’s weight draped across his shoulders.
They’d just made it to 5 when they heard the door downstairs give way and smash open. The dark-haired woman immediately ducked through the open door to the floor and ran down the corridor, still holding the girl’s hand tightly. She came to a halt outside a random apartment and knocked frantically, looking back at the way she’d come.
No-one opened up.
She turned and desperately pounded on another door across the hall. At the same time, a door behind Archer opened, on the south-east corner of the building. A middle-aged, comely-looking woman looked out, having heard the commotion. She looked shocked when she saw Carson lying across Archer’s shoulders, clearly wounded and in bad shape.
The dark-haired woman saw her and immediately ran back to where she was standing, pushing her way inside the apartment past the female resident without waiting for an invitation. The other woman didn’t try to stop her and stood back, confused but not objecting, still staring at Carson. Hearing feet pounding up the stairwell, Archer glanced quickly back from where they’d just come and saw with relief that they hadn’t left a blood trail. Most of Carson’s blood was on his shirt, or now on him, warm and wet on his front and side.
He and the other two men didn’t waste a second, following the woman and child into the apartment. The moment they were all inside, the grey-haired man quickly pushed the door shut behind him and locked it.
Seconds later, two of the gunmen appeared on the 5th floor corridor, panting, each holding a pistol, their eyes and movements jerky and hyped up. They checked up the stairwell and down the corridor but there was no sign of the group. They’d disappeared.
‘Shit!’ one of them said, kicking the wall.
Behind them, Braeten and the man with the AK-47 raced into view. Taking some deep breaths, Braeten stood and stared down the corridor. It had a door at the front, but it had been jammed open with a wedge, revealing the length of hallway all the way to another stairwell on the other side of the building. There was music and noise coming from some of the apartments, the residents unaware of what was happening.
‘Did they go down here?’ Braeten asked.
‘I don’t know. Just missed them. Could be up a level.’
‘I’ll check it,’ the man with the AK47 said, pushing the magazine release catch and reaching into a bag across his shoulders. He pulled out a fresh clip and slapped it into the weapon, pulling the cocking handle.
‘When the hell did you get that?’ Braeten asked, looking at the rifle.
‘This morning.’
‘Good. Go put it to use.’
The other three turned and ran back into the stairwell, heading up to the next floor. Watching them go, Braeten pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialled a number, looking down the 5th floor corridor. Two Broadway-side doors had opened, residents peering out after hearing the commotion, but they shut quickly when they saw the man with blond dreadlocks and the pistol in his hand. He saw that none of them were the Marshals. Besides, they’d be hiding, not opening doors and peering out.
Turning, Braeten moved into the stairwell, waiting for the call to connect. This wasn’t good. Hawking and spitting, he cursed, pissed off and thirsty for blood. What just went down was a disaster. He never left contracts unfulfilled; a reliable reputation was essential in his line of work. And considering the clients he had, failure meant he could easily be joining those he’d been assigned to kill.
He headed back down the stairs, deciding to check the 4th floor.
Wherever they were hiding, the group would probably be thinking they’d got away and were safe.
But this was only just getting started.
SIX
Inside the apartment to the immediate right of the stairwell, the group were standing back from the door, all of them breathing hard from exertion and anxiety as they stared at the wooden frame, listening, waiting. Three handguns were trained on the wood; if someone tried to get in, it would be the last thing they ever did.
They waited.
No-one came.
Momentarily satisfied the gunmen weren’t about to burst in, Archer tore his gaze from the door and looked behind him. The wounded man, Carson, was flat on his back on the floor and writhing in agony, his head in the dark-haired woman’s lap who had one hand on his brow and the other holding her pistol, aimed at the door. Blood was spread all over the front of Carson’s white t-shirt, his eyes screwed tight, his teeth gritted together as shock wore off and pain kicked in. Standing beside them were the small girl and the unwounded man from the car. The man was watching the door whilst the girl watched Carson, her face pale, tears in her eyes. The owner of the apartment was a middle-aged slightly faded blonde. She was dressed in an old pair of jeans and a grey, long-sleeved t-shirt with the logo of some baseball team on the front. She was standing to one side, staring at the group who’d invaded her space but particularly at the wounded man bleeding out on her floor.
However, she wasn’t making a fuss or more importantly, any noise.
To Archer’s right, the grey-haired man reloaded his.44 with another six shells. Tucking the empty copper casings into his pocket quietly, he flicked the cylinder into place then pulled a black badge from his belt and showed it to the homeowner. Archer instantly recognised the steel star surrounded by a circle.