Silent Night (Sam Archer 4)

by Barber, Tom

  However, Archer had remembered one vital piece of information from that day. It had come from the jump instructor when Archer had aired a concern about parachute reliability. The guy had told him that he’d only suffered dual parachute failure once in his career. He’d survived by signalling to another man he’d jumped with. Falling through the air, the two men had manoeuvred towards each other. The man without a chute had hooked his arms into the other guy’s parachute, legs around his waist and had held on as hard as he could as the other man pulled the cord. He’d dislocated his shoulder but they’d both survived.

  Little did Archer know at the time that his question would save his and Maddy’s life a couple of years later.

  Archer knew the duster’s low level of flight had saved them. If they’d been higher, they would have reached terminal velocity. The parachute would have ripped off or he’d have broken both his arms trying to stay hooked to Maddy. Or they’d have hit the water without a windbreak, which would have been similar to what Peter Flood experienced when he stepped off the Flood Microbiology rooftop. Nevertheless, they’d hit the water hard. So hard it had knocked the wind out of both of them and broken some bones.

  Pitched into the ice-cold water, it had been suddenly dark and silent. Archer had still been holding Maddy who’d gone limp. Aware that the parachute was above them on the water he’d kept hold of her and kicked as hard as he could, aiming up and away.

  They’d surfaced to the right of the parachute, Archer taking in a mouthful of air. But his joy at being alive was short-lived. In his arms, Maddy wasn’t moving and pieces of the flaming crop duster were starting to rain down around them. Minutes later, a DC Metro patrol boat came roaring up the River having seen the parachute landing. The pair were pulled from the water, sub-machine guns trained on them until it could be verified who they were. Then the adrenaline had worn off and the pain had set in.

  Once safely on the boat, Archer had looked down and seen his foot was bent at a bizarre angle. Beside him on the deck, Maddy was still unmoving. They’d injected Archer with something that had to be morphine and the pain had disappeared. Then they’d taken him to a hospital in a painless daze. He was only just starting to re-gather his senses.

  There was a knock at the door. It opened and a grey-haired man in military uniform entered the room.

  ‘Good morning, Detective.’

  'Where am I?'

  'Walter Reed Medical.'

  The morphine was wearing off. Archer moved and grimaced.

  ‘Jesus. I feel like I got hit by a bus.’

  There was a pause. The man in uniform stepped forward.

  ‘My name is Lieutenant Grant. I spoke to your boss, Sergeant Shepherd, at the NYPD. He explained the situation and told me who you are. I wanted to come here and thank you personally.’

  Archer looked at the man. ‘Did it work?’

  He smiled and nodded. ‘Everyone’s safe. Finn Sway, Bobby Rourke and Reuben Kruger are all dead. A diving team pulled the canisters containing the virus from the water. They’re on their way to a military lab where they’ll be destroyed.’

  ‘What’s the cover?’

  The man smiled. ‘Farmer lost control of his crop duster. The Army were forced to shoot it down to protect an urban area. He parachuted out before it took the hit.’

  Archer nodded.

  Then he thought of something. ‘Where’s the doc?’

  ‘She’s in another room down the hall.’

  ‘Is she OK?’

  He nodded. ‘Some bumps and bruises and a broken leg. Bit of mild whiplash. But she’ll be fine.’

  Archer nodded, then struggled to get up and out of the bed.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Grant said, moving forward to help him.

  She was lying in the bed when he entered, fast asleep. Wearing one of the hospital gowns, the same as him, her dark hair was draped over her shoulders. Sunlight was streaming in through the window. Hobbling in on crutches, Archer moved inside the room as quietly as he could, then shut the door. He watched her for a moment, then moved forward awkwardly on the crutches and sat beside her in an empty chair.

  She stirred awake and opened her eyes.

  For the first time, he noticed they were green.

  ‘Hey,’ Archer said.

  She smiled. ‘Hey.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘My leg kills.’

  ‘Yeah. Mine too.’

  She looked down at his foot. ‘Jesus, Archer, you should be resting.’

  ‘I am resting. And I wanted to see you.’

  She looked at him for a moment. He watched as tears welled in her eyes. She struggled up, leaned forward and hugged him.

  ‘You did it,’ she said in his ear, her arms wrapped around him, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘You saved everyone.’

  ‘So did you.’

  She withdrew and then noticed something on his forehead. Reaching up, she pushed his hair back gently and saw a jagged scar. It ran from the middle of his forehead down to his ear. She’d never noticed it before. It had always been obscured by his hair.

  ‘How did you get this?’

  ‘Someone tried to cut my face off.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Earlier this year.’

  She looked at him, and saw that he was serious.

  ‘How did you get him to stop?’

  ‘I beat him to death with a door.’

  She scanned his face. He wasn’t lying.

  She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘There’s never a dull moment with you, that’s for sure.’

  He smiled.

  And she leant forward and kissed him.

  At the Counter-Terrorism Bureau, Shepherd was sitting with Rach and Hendricks in the briefing room, all three of them exhausted. Once he’d put Sway down, he’d run into his home and freed his wife and boy. Neighbours had already reported hearing shots fired so back-up had arrived within a couple of minutes and taken control of the scene. He’d made sure that Beth and Mark were OK and that Finn Sway’s body was removed. He’d had to leave them to close out the rest of the operation, but armed officers were staying at his house until he got back.

  It seemed all hell had broken loose suddenly. He’d just got off the phone with an Army lieutenant at Walter Reed who’d filled him in on what had happened to Archer and Maddy. It turned out Dr Kruger had been the missing link. He’d been an extremist in South Africa and joined The Stuttgart Soldiers when he arrived in the States. He was the man who’d told Bleeker about the virus at one of the New York Chapter meetings, and together with Rourke and Sway the four men had planned to steal and sell the virus. But Bleeker had got greedy, kidnapped Kruger to gain access to the lab and stolen the vials. Archer had explained to the lieutenant that Sway and Rourke were planning to fly the canisters containing the virus back to Texas, but Kruger had always intended to hijack the crop duster and cover DC with it. Archer and the doc had stopped him just in time.

  Josh was out of surgery; he was going to be fine. Shepherd had spoken to him on the phone and the detective was furious that he’d missed out on all the action. Once Shepherd had told Hendricks what happened with Finn Sway at his home, he got a full update of what had happened at the campsite. Apparently the neo-Nazis had almost an entire cache of stolen weapons, so Faison got what he wanted. Firing at a Federal agent was a serious crime so having fired at an entire Task Force, the remaining bunch were going away for a long time, joining their three friends who’d confronted Archer in the nightclub.

  However, not all the news was good. The tallied dead at the lab in New Jersey had been eleven; a Dr Jonathan Bale, his entire team, his wife, a security guard and a woman called Melissa Slade who’d turned out to be Dr Frankie Glover’s girlfriend. Glover himself was dead, as was Jorgensen, joining the fifty nine who’d perished at the store by the Seaport. A New Jersey farmer had also been found, hastily buried beside a shed at his farm with a fatal gunshot wound to the head, much like Alistair Jacobs. And of course there was Luis Cesar.
The puzzle of the murder weapon from Tonic East was solved when an attentive CSU investigator noticed a rectangular parcel in the lobby of the apartment building from where the shot had been taken. It was addressed to a company in Texas. They’d opened it up and found a Winchester 270 inside, a suppressor on the end, the weapon that had killed the English lawyer.

  The phone on the desk suddenly rang. Rach took the call. She listened for a few moments, then thanked whoever was on the other end and put the receiver back on the cradle.

  ‘Good news. Metro PD confirmed the canisters are on their way to the lab.’

  ‘For research?’

  She shook her head. ‘To be destroyed.’

  Shepherd smiled. He went to speak further, but there was a quiet knock on the door behind him. He turned. And saw his wife.

  Beth.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, rising from his chair.

  ‘Hi.’

  There was a pause. Rach and Hendricks got the signal.

  ‘We’ll head out,’ Hendricks said patting his friend on the shoulder, Rach following him.

  ‘Thank you. I mean it. Outstanding work from both of you.’

  They nodded, moving past Beth Shepherd, leaving the husband and wife alone.

  ‘Please. Come in,’ he said. She shut the door behind her. As it had done so many times in the past few weeks, a silence fell between them, both of them standing across the room from each other.

  Only a few feet apart but an eighteen year old boy’s life separating them.

  ‘Thank you for what you did.’

  Shepherd didn’t reply.

  ‘I heard what happened,’ she said. ‘Your team saved everyone.’

  ‘Yes, they did.’

  ‘Are they all OK?’

  Shepherd looked at her. ‘No. Josh got shot. Archer broke his leg.’ Pause. ‘And Dave Jorgensen died.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Pause.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m OK,’ he said.

  Silence. He looked her in the eye.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She blinked and turned her head to hide the tears in her eyes.

  ‘I just miss him, Matt,’ she said, her voice trembling.

  ‘So do I,’ Shepherd said. She started to cry. He took a step closer. She didn’t withdraw. He moved closer still. She didn’t withdraw.

  Then they embraced for the first time in months.

  She cried quietly, her head against his shirt.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I know it was an accident. It’s not your fault.’

  Then she leaned up and kissed him, all her anger and blame washing away.

  He wasn’t a murderer.

  He was a hero.

  FIFTY THREEFour days later Archer and Maddy were standing on the street in Union Square in the middle of the afternoon. It was just coming up to sundown on Christmas Eve as shoppers, mostly men, rushed around buying last minute presents. A charity Santa was ringing a bell just behind them, set up just outside Whole Foods. The same group of carol singers from Pier 17 were standing across the Square beside the brass band, singing carols and collecting donations for charity. Wrapped up warm in a new grey hoodie and his same green coat, Archer had his lower leg in a cast, crutches under his arm, a strip of tape over his nose between two black eyes. He faced Maddy, who was standing with her back to a taxi, the rear door open. She lived just off Union Square but her apartment was now empty, her things already on the way to her new place.

  ‘So this is it,’ Archer said with a smile.

  Maddy nodded.

  ‘Got all your stuff?’

  She nodded. She moved forward and kissed him. Then they hugged.

  ‘Goodbye Archer,’ she said in his ear.

  ‘Goodbye, doc.’

  She kissed him again, then turned and moved into the cab, closing the door. As Archer leaned back on his crutches, the driver pulled away from the kerb and the car moved off down the street, turning left and heading uptown until it was out of sight. Watching it go, Archer had a brief attack of déjà vu.

  Then he hobbled back over towards Josh who was standing nearby, watching him with a smile. He had his arm in a white sling. The bullet had been removed, the damage cleaned and stitched up.

  ‘Off she goes.’

  Josh smiled. ‘Safe and well. Where’s she going?’

  ‘California. She’s already been offered a job there in the New Year. Fresh start.’

  Josh nodded. He checked his watch with his good arm.

  ‘C’mon. I owe you a beer.’

  Together, the two men moved down the street, headed towards a bar just down 14th Street. Josh walked slowly as Archer negotiated the gritted sidewalk with his crutches. The lights and decorations in the windows they passed were festive and welcoming. The city was showing itself off in all its glory. Archer sensed Josh huffing beside him; his partner had spent the last week trying to calm down after missing the finale of the operation and furious at not being there to play his part. Archer looked at him and grinned.

  ‘There’ll be a next time.’

  ‘There better not be,’ Josh said. ‘But you left it pretty damn close, didn’t you?’

  ‘You know I like to be dramatic.’

  ‘You should take up skydiving. You’re a natural.’

  ‘Clearly,’ Archer said, pointing with his crutches.

  ‘You could save them some money. Only one parachute between two people.’

  Archer grinned as the two cops walked towards the bar. Josh was the first to the door and he pulled it open, letting Archer in first. Inside it was warm and inviting. As the two of them made their way inside, Archer saw a familiar face sitting at a table.

  It was Marquez.

  She smiled when she saw them, stepping off her stool and giving them both a hug. Archer lowered himself onto a seat, stowing his crutches whilst the other two shrugged off their coats. Marquez had already got a round in, a glass of wine in front of her, two bottles of ice-cold Miller waiting for the two men. She looked at them and tried to stifle a smile. She failed and giggled.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Look at the state of you two.’

  She had a point; both of them looked as if they’d been hit by a train. A shot up arm, a broken ankle, a busted nose and two black eyes.

  ‘Maybe take the photos this year instead of being in them,’ she said.

  They both smiled, leaning forward and taking their bottles of beer. Archer lifted it to his mouth then thought for a moment and made a toast.

  ‘Hey. To Jorgensen.’

  The other two looked at him for a moment. Marquez smiled and they touched drinks in a toast.

  ‘Jorgensen.’

  ‘Jorgensen.’

  There was a pause as they drank.

  ‘Right, let’s get some food,’ Josh said. A waitress from the bar was already approaching them, menus in her hands. She’d seen the two men enter and noticed that they both were pretty roughed up.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, seeing the bruising on Archer’s face and the white cast on his leg.

  ‘Had an accident,’ he told her. ‘Skydiving.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Parachute malfunction.’

  ‘It didn’t open?’

  ‘I wasn’t wearing one.’

  She looked at him, then laughed, assuming he was joking.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ she said, placing the menus on the table. ‘I’d never have the guts to jump out of a plane.’

  Archer smiled.

  ‘You’d be surprised what can motivate you.’

  THE END

  ###

  About the author:

  Born in Sydney, Australia and raised in England and Brunei, Tom Barber has always had a passion for writing and story-telling. It took him to Nottingham University, England, where he graduated in 2009 with a 2.1 BA Hons in English Studies. Post-graduation, Tom followed this by moving to New York City and completi
ng the 2 Year Meisner Acting training programme at The William Esper Studio, furthering his love of acting and screen-writing.

  Upon his return to the UK in late 2011, Tom set to work on his debut novel, Nine Lives, which has since become a five-star rated Amazon UK Kindle hit. The following books, The Getaway and Blackout, have been equally successful, garnering five-star reviews in the US and the UK.

  Silent Night is the fourth novel in the Sam Archer series.