Return Fire (Sam Archer )

by Tom Barber

  Three weeks ago, they’d taken a big step. Vargas had moved into his apartment here in Queens with her adopted daughter, leaving their previous place in Park Slope.

  Sitting there alone, Archer’s smile faded.

  That was when the problems had started.

  Vargas was the girl’s adoptive mother, and before her guardianship the kid had been through some traumatic experiences in her short life, seeing things that most adults would never have to witness.

  However, living with Archer seemed to be triggering issues for her, almost as if his constant presence somehow brought some of those dark memories flooding back. Since she moved in at the beginning of the month the girl had started having terrible nightmares, often accompanied by fits due to her epilepsy, resulting in Archer and Vargas having their sleep constantly interrupted by blood-curdling screams that echoed around the building. The neighbours had started to complain too, with good reason, and then Archer and Vargas had both started suffering bad dreams as well, almost as if the three of them being in close proximity triggered some kind of chain reaction.

  As the nightmares continued and the hours of sleep decreased, the tension in the apartment had started to build, and things had finally boiled over a week ago just as Vargas was leaving for a week-long trip to Spain; what had started out as a disagreement about something completely trivial had grown into a full-on shouting match, neither of them backing down, the argument fuelled by tiredness and frustration. Both of them had been fired up, letting it all out, and what they’d built over the past few months seemed to disintegrate in moments right before their eyes.

  The moment Vargas had left, slamming the door, Archer had immediately started to regret what he’d said, but the damage had already been done. He’d thought about calling her, but figured she’d contact him when she was ready to talk. He hadn’t heard a peep from her since, which told him she was still pissed.

  Feeling the weight of his cell phone in the pocket of the shirt dragging the left side of the garment down, he took out the Nokia with his right hand and switched it on. Once it powered up, he saw he had several missed calls but no new messages.

  He clicked onto the missed calls to see if they’d been from Vargas, but they were from Josh.

  Shit.

  Looking down at the phone, he suddenly focused on the present and frowned.

  Josh’s missed calls had come less than half an hour ago.

  Glancing at the time on the screen, Archer saw it was 2:32 am, not to mention the fact that the team were on leave for the week.

  What the hell is he doing calling me at 2 in the morning?

  Confused, he started to scroll for his partner’s number. Maybe he’d pocket-called him by accident, or had had too much to drink.

  But before he could find the number, Archer suddenly heard something through the balcony glass.

  Three quick knocks on his front door.

  He froze.

  The raps were slightly muffled through the glass of the closed balcony door but still carried an unmistakeable urgency.

  Rising quickly from the wicker chair and sliding the balcony door back, Archer moved rapidly across the apartment, past the front door and towards his bedroom. Opening his bedside table, he retrieved his Sig Sauer P226 pistol, checking the chamber by pulling back the top-slide half an inch and seeing a round resting there in the pipe. It was the middle of the night, not the time people typically came calling, and Archer had learned the hard way to always to be on his guard.

  The three knocks came again, quiet but urgent, and louder now Archer was inside the apartment. He moved forward, keeping the Sig by his right leg just in case the child in the bedroom had woken up and was watching him.

  Passing her door, he glanced in and saw she was still asleep.

  He walked up to the front door, then flattened himself against the wall and turned his head towards the frame.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Josh.’

  Instantly relaxing and shaking his head as he exhaled, Archer opened the door and saw his NYPD Counter-Terrorism Bureau partner standing there. Thirty years old, African American, happily married and a father of three, Josh Blake was a unique mix, built like a tank yet with a calm and gentle temperament, totally unexpected from someone of his intimidating size. He also lived in Manhattan on the Upper West Side, which meant he was a long way from home, especially at this hour.

  Dressed in jeans and a grey t shirt that couldn’t have been smaller than an XL, he had a look of urgency on his face which Archer immediately noticed.

  ‘Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,’ Archer whispered so the girl wouldn’t wake up.

  He pulled the door back so his NYPD partner could come in.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ Josh replied quietly, stepping into the apartment.

  ‘I just saw,’ Archer said, pushing the door closed and locking it. ‘Why?’

  Josh paused. Glancing over Archer’s shoulder at the open door of the little girl’s bedroom, he motioned for his partner to follow him.

  The two men moved across the sitting room and Josh drew back the balcony door, Archer joining him and still carrying his pistol as Josh pulled the panel shut behind them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Archer asked, the two men standing face to face and talking normally now they were out of earshot.

  Josh hesitated for a moment. ‘It’s Vargas, Arch.’

  Still holding the Sig, Archer immediately tensed. Josh looked him in the eye.

  ‘Something’s happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s gone missing.’

  THREE

  Twenty minutes later, Archer gave Vargas’ daughter a final hug and left her with Josh’s wife Michelle at their home over on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. Pulling the front door shut quietly behind him and joining Josh on the front step, the two men strode towards the Counter-Terrorism Bureau Ford 4x4 parked by the sidewalk.

  The smile Archer had forced when he’d said goodbye to the girl disappeared the instant he’d closed the front door.

  After Josh had told him why he’d stopped by, Archer hadn’t wasted a second asking for details, knowing his partner could explain on the move. Heading back inside as Josh went down to start the car, Archer had pulled on some jeans and sneakers then woken the little girl as he did up his shirt, telling her something had come up at work and that she’d be having a sleep-over at Josh’s place. She’d become good friends with Josh and Michelle’s three kids and had stayed there in the past so it wasn’t an issue, especially as Archer had played up the adventure while quickly packing her bag and grabbed her epilepsy medication, the girl still half-asleep and not really understanding what was going on.

  Once he’d gathered her things and locked up, he’d carried the sleepy girl still in her pyjamas downstairs and out to the Bureau Ford. Josh had then burned it over to his place on the Upper West Side, he and Archer not saying a word, saving it for when the child in the backseat was safely out of earshot.

  Now just the two of them again, Josh fired the engine, released the handbrake and set off for the return journey to Queens, turning out onto Central Park West and heading straight for the Counter-Terrorism Bureau Headquarters just the other side of the Queensborough Bridge.

  ‘How long ago?’ Archer asked, his leg jiggling with nervous tension, looking ahead at the lamp-lit streets of the city as they flashed past.

  ‘Anywhere after 11 o’clock last night, Spanish time.’

  ‘Who was the last person to see her?’

  ‘Her grandmother.’

  ‘How did it go down?’

  ‘Alice took her out to dinner and after they got back they said goodnight about an hour before midnight,’ Josh explained. ‘When she wasn’t responding to any calls or knocks on the door this morning, her grandmother checked her room.’

  He paused.

  ‘Her bags and passport were still there, b
ut Alice was gone. Left a real scene too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She must have put up one hell of a fight, Arch,’ he said, just making it past a red light and accelerating to try and beat the next one. ‘Both lamps were smashed and there was blood on the sheets.’

  Pause.

  ‘Alice’s?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. The Department have a liaison stationed in Madrid and he’s already got the Spanish cops running the samples for DNA. The results should come through in the next hour or so; if it’s not Vargas’ blood, we might be able to get a match on whoever abducted her.’

  As Archer absorbed the news, Josh turned left at Columbus Circle and started heading east across Manhattan on 59th Street, the previous calm of the night now completely vanished, the shadowy Central Park rolling past their left side.

  ‘Any ransom calls?’ Archer asked.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Borders?’

  ‘Her photo and vitals have gone out to European police departments. A Spanish forensics team dusted the bedroom, but it looks like whoever took her was wearing gloves. The only prints in there were Vargas’, the maid’s and her grandmother’s.’

  His leg still jiggling, Archer checked his watch, picturing the abduction in his head. ‘Madrid is six hours ahead, so 11pm Spanish time is 5pm here. And her grandmother didn’t discover she was missing until 8 o’clock the next morning.’

  Josh nodded.

  Archer swore. ‘Jesus Christ, that’s a nine hour window to get her out of the country. She could be anywhere in Europe right now.’

  Josh didn’t reply. The humming of the car’s powerful engine filled the silence.

  ‘How did you hear?’ Archer asked.

  ‘Shepherd. The Spanish authorities called the Department and he’s ordered you, me and Marquez in. When I got there, he told me you weren’t answering your phone so he sent me to get you immediately.’

  ‘It wasn’t switched on,’ Archer replied. ‘We’re supposed to be on leave.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Josh said, shaking his head grimly and speeding on towards the Queensborough.

  They crossed the Bridge moments later and after a swift right turn and a quick ride down Vernon Boulevard, pulled into a space outside the Counter-Terrorism Bureau’s HQ fifty yards from the water.

  The building was located in an unassuming non-residential area, dominated by auto-shops and warehouses, an unexpected but intentionally-chosen location for what was the beating heart of New York’s fight against terrorism. Stepping out, the two men slammed their car doors and strode quickly towards the entrance, and after buzzing themselves in, walked inside.

  It was the middle of the night but the place was as busy as a Midtown office during the day, the staff and detectives working away in the large tech and analyst area to the left, their shift patterns ensuring the staff worked with the same clinical purpose, focus and efficiency at 3am as they did at 3pm. Not wasting a second, Archer and Josh turned right, moving into the field team’s portion of the building, a series of desks and cubicles for the detectives who worked out of the Bureau.

  As the two men strode past the detective pit, they heard a whistle from above and saw a member of their team, Detective Lisa Marquez, standing on a walkway and beckoning them up.

  The moment he saw her, Archer felt the briefest moment of reassurance. Latina, thirty three and a single mother from the Bronx, Marquez looked as sharp as a cat considering it was the middle of the night. Archer had a huge amount of respect for her which was returned, the mutual high regard borne from both having got each other out of some tight spots before. Some people had to work at being a police officer but others were born to it and Lisa Marquez was one of those; every part of her personality made her an effective cop, from her calm demeanour and resilience under pressure to her hatred of injustice and razor-sharp deduction. She was also Vargas’ detective partner and the two had become close in the past few months; all in all, Marquez was damn good and Archer was glad she was here.

  Like him and Josh, she was someone who wouldn’t rest until they got Vargas back.

  Arriving at the stairs, Archer and Josh took them two at a time, and once they reached the second tier, they turned and strode towards Marquez who was standing halfway down the walkway with a cup of coffee in her hand. Up on this level were a series of Conference Rooms the detective teams below used as operational command posts and she was outside Number 5.

  As the two men approached her, she stepped forward to meet them.

  ‘You made it,’ she said to Archer, squeezing his shoulder supportively with her free hand once they joined her.

  ‘What’s the latest?’ Josh asked.

  ‘You’re both just in time,’ she said. ‘Madrid’s about to call us back.’

  Turning immediately, Archer and Josh walked straight into the Conference Room, Marquez following but keeping the door open behind them. As they entered, Archer saw their team leader Sergeant Matt Shepherd sitting at the table in the room talking with an analyst from next door who was working on a laptop. Brown haired, in his mid-thirties, over six feet tall and solidly built, Shepherd was a natural leader, cool, calm and measured and a man who’d been through more than his own share of battles.

  He turned in his seat as the trio walked in, focusing on Archer.

  ‘You’re here,’ he said. ‘Good.’

  ‘Josh filled me in, sir,’ Archer said. ‘Sorry I didn’t pick up your calls.’

  Shepherd nodded, waving his hand. ‘We’re supposed to be on leave. Only reason they got me was because of my landline.’

  He glanced at Josh.

  ‘Did you explain?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Where are we at?’

  As the three of his four detectives stood there, Shepherd motioned to the chairs around him at the table, his face grim.

  ‘Take a seat.’

  FOUR

  The trio sat down, Archer and Josh on the left side of the table opposite Marquez, who took the empty chair beside Shepherd on the right. On the large screen on the wall ahead Archer saw a news-feed, the headline in Spanish, a number of police cars surrounding a villa in the centre of a small town near the sea.

  It was already early morning there, six hours ahead, and the sun was glinting off the cars and windows of villas; Archer saw a scrolling headline in Spanish under the shot which he could just about translate but he focused on the images instead. He guessed the abduction of an NYPD cop would stand out from some of the run of the mill stories they usually had to cover.

  ‘What’s the name of the town?’ Josh asked, studying the screen.

  ‘Nerja,’ Shepherd replied. ‘An old fishing village turned tourist spot on the Southern coast. As you can see, local news has jumped on the story. We’ve been talking with Detective Travis, our contact stationed in Madrid. He’s already driven down there and is now working closely with the local police.’

  He turned to Josh and Archer.

  ‘He called whilst you were both absent. Apparently the police interviewed a neighbour who said he heard a commotion coming from somewhere nearby last night which woke him up. He’d been drinking though, so isn’t the most reliable witness, but said he heard some things being knocked over and smashed around.’

  ‘He didn’t investigate?’ Josh asked, frowning.

  ‘Said he thought it was a domestic dispute. Didn’t want to get involved.’

  ‘Did the man guess what time?’ Archer asked.

  ‘That was the one thing he was sure about. He said it was 2:30am on the nose.’

  ‘How can he be so exact?’

  ‘He remembers hearing the clock-tower down the street chime during the ruckus. Then he fell asleep.’

  Pause.

  ‘OK, so that’s 8:30pm our time,’ Marquez replied, checking her watch. ‘From that moment until right now gives them five and a half hours to put distance between themselves and the villa.’

  ‘Excuse me for asking, but why was she in Spain in the first plac
e?’ the analyst sitting at the table asked. Archer remembered his name was Ethan.

  ‘Visiting her grandmother,’ Archer replied. ‘She’s been ill. We’re all supposed to be on leave for a week. Vargas used the time to go look after her while she’s recuperating.’

  As Ethan nodded, Josh turned to Shepherd. ‘Still no ransom calls, sir?’

  ‘Not here or to the Spanish police. Could be coming later though. Give us time to realise Vargas is missing and let us stew.’

  There was a pause and they all watched the muted Spanish news footage in silence.

  The tension in the room was palpable.

  ‘Who the hell kidnaps an NYPD detective in Spain?’ Marquez said. ‘If you go down that path, you know you’ve got officers from both our Department and the Spanish force on your back. That’s a lot of people invested in finding her; it doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Who’s to say they knew she was a cop?’ Josh replied. ‘She wasn’t on police business, so wouldn’t have had her badge and she was abroad, which meant she wouldn’t have had her gun. Whoever took her might not know who she is; this could have been a case of wrong target, wrong time.’

  Beside him, Archer shook his head, staring at the screen.

  ‘No way,’ he said. ‘This feels deliberate.’

  He pointed at the news feed.

  ‘Look at the height of the 2nd floor of the villa.’

  The group all studied the shot of the property.

  ‘That’s quite a way up, next to a public street. Say this was an opportunistic break-in and kidnap; that wall would be a bitch to scale, let alone to get back down with a woman trained in self-defence resisting you. And going in from the front would have taken some significant effort too; Vargas would have sealed the house shut. Breaching the villa quietly, restraining her, then taking her away without anyone noticing would require some serious determination and pre-planning. Why not find an easier mark?’