by Tom Barber
The guy hadn’t reacted to the sight of the weapons in their hands at all.
Due to the different gun laws back home, civilians in the US were used to seeing cops carrying guns, but he knew people here weren’t. Archer had told Josh about the restrictions on carrying firearms in the UK but the man he and Fox passed downstairs hadn’t batted an eyelid.
Now just a foot from 4H, he suddenly grabbed Fox’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
Startled, his MP5 tucked in his shoulder, Fox turned and looked at him.
‘What?’ he whispered.
Josh went to reply, but the elevator behind them suddenly dinged.
The two policemen twisted towards the sound.
A second later the man from downstairs suddenly reappeared; this time his head was up.
And the phone he’d been holding was gone.
He was now carrying a thick twelve gauge shotgun, which he was already lifting it to his shoulder to aim straight at the two cops standing there unprotected in the middle of the corridor.
And Josh and Fox both realised that they’d just walked straight into another ambush.
TWENTY THREE
Josh Blake hated guns. For a police detective who was required to carry one as part of the job, that was pretty unusual and not something that many of his colleagues were aware of. In fact, he disliked all forms of violence and would always attempt to talk his way out of a confrontation rather than just wade in. He’d always regarded carrying a handgun as a necessary evil, and had only fired his weapon on duty a handful of times in almost a decade of service; the last occasion had been in March when he’d saved Marquez’ life.
But he was also a man who despised those who thrived on violence, people who used it to intimidate and hurt others. That’s why he’d become a cop and why he could end a life like the man who’d been about to kill Marquez and not be haunted by it.
And he knew without doubt in that split second that if he didn’t use the gun in his hand, he was going to die.
Having already suspected something was wrong, he reacted before Fox. With blistering speed for a big man, he snapped his Glock up and fired twice, the reports of the two gunshots echoing down the corridor as the muzzle flashed.
The double-tap missed the man carrying the shotgun by half an inch, but forced him to duck back and use the edge of the wall boxing the lifts for protection. Beside Josh, Fox reacted a split-second later and let rip with his MP5, squeezing off two three-round bursts and kicking chalk and plaster up from the expensively-decorated wall as the trio of spent shell casings jumped out of the weapon, falling to the floor beside him.
Suddenly, the deafening blast of a shotgun echoed behind them from Beckett’s apartment. A huge hole appeared in the door behind the two cops, taking them both completely by surprise. They instinctively recoiled and threw themselves against the wall as more blasts followed, the door disintegrating as the shots pounded the frame to pieces with shocking power, splinters filling the air. The shells smashed through the wood and blew apart the corridor wall immediately beyond, the air misted with debris as if the wall had been hit by a cannon, just the outer remnants of the doorframe remaining.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Fox shouted, half-deaf but maintaining fire down the corridor at the gunman by the lifts in an effort to pin him down and buy them some time.
The man tried to retaliate but Fox stitched a three round burst into the wall by his head, successfully keeping him back. Squeezing off another double-tap himself, Josh barely heard the Glock fire, pretty much deafened from the shotgun blasts that they would have walked straight into.
Blinking as dust and wood particles stung his eyes, he focused on Beckett’s apartment as Fox continued to keep the man down the corridor at bay with the MP5. Edging forward fast, Josh went to fire through the door then realised Beckett’s kids could still be inside. However, he and Fox had to move; they were boxed in by two shotguns and if they stayed where they were they’d be ripped apart as if they were being fed through a paper shredder.
Suddenly, the fire inside the apartment ceased. Whoever was inside was reloading.
Or so Josh hoped.
‘Let’s go!’ he shouted.
Taking advantage of the brief lull in fire, he and Fox raced past the destroyed door, half-expecting another barrage of fire to blast them as they were briefly exposed to whoever was inside.
They made it just before another hole appeared in the wall beyond the damaged door, spraying fragments of plaster into the air.
Once past the doorway, Fox turned and fired back down the corridor again at the guy by the lifts, then followed Josh as they raced for the fire exit at the end of the hallway.
They smashed through the fire door, just entering the stairwell as the metal-reinforced door took a shotgun blast, clanging loudly from the impact.
Just missing them, Notting ran down the corridor after the two men, Regent appearing out of the analyst’s apartment ahead with his Benelli in his shoulder as Notting raced towards him.
‘This way!’ he shouted without breaking stride, the two men sprinting down the corridor and smashing open the fire exit.
As they entered the white stairwell, they heard the two cops running down the flight a floor below.
Notting caught a glimpse of the pair and traced them with his Benelli, pulling the trigger.
Josh and Fox hurtled down the flight as the wall behind them exploded from another shotgun blast. Fox made it to the ground floor first, running for the front door and turning the handle as he rammed into it, but the door was locked. Not wasting a second he fired a burst through the glass and ran through the shattered gap as Josh followed hard on his heels, their feet crunching over the broken glass.
Sprinting across the courtyard, knowing they only had seconds before the two gunmen made it to the lobby, Josh saw Fox suddenly turn and fire back at the doorway, providing cover fire as Josh ran past him, the shell casings from the MP5 tinkling to the concrete courtyard as Fox unloaded with the sub-machine gun.
Josh made it to the gate then turned, taking over, aiming his Glock double-handed at the two men with shotguns who’d just appeared in the lobby, forcing them to pull back.
‘Move!’ he shouted, emptying his handgun at the entrance as Fox raced past him, not slowing as he made it through the gate and to their car, reloading his MP5 on the run.
As Josh kept the two gunmen at bay, Fox pulled out the keys and unlocked the car, still ducking low.
However, the BMW and the tree right behind him suddenly ate a violent burst of machine gun fire, taking him completely by surprise and forcing him to dive to the ground.
Peering round the wheel arch, he saw two gunmen aiming over the top of a BMW parked further ahead of him down the street, firing on him with automatic weapons. He fired back from under the car with the MP5, then leaned up and ripped open the driver’s door. Climbing inside and keeping low, he looked back at Josh, who was still the other side of the gate and edging back whilst holding off the other two.
‘Let’s go!’ Fox shouted, firing the engine.
Josh fired twice more towards the men taking cover in the front entrance, his pistol clicking dry, then turned and ran for the car. He went for the near side, yanking open the rear door as the two gunmen with shotguns ran out into the courtyard through the smashed lobby doors.
‘Shit!’ he shouted, throwing himself inside just as the car took a shotgun blast, smashing apart the near-side rear headlight, pieces of it flying into the air, quickly followed by fire from the two men behind the BMW ahead as the gunshots echoed around the street.
‘Go!’ he bellowed, lying on his side and reloading as he was sprayed with smashed glass from the window above his head.
Fox didn’t need to be told twice and was already flooring it, the BMW’s tyres biting down on the tarmac and propelling them forward with a squeal of rubber. As the car took another shotgun blast from the right side, Josh’s open door hit a parked car and slammed shut as they took off down t
he street.
Up ahead, Fox saw they were closing down on the pair behind the BMW with the assault rifles; their fire would shred them to pieces and kill them instantly. As Josh covered their other side and fired through the smashed out rear window at the men running across the courtyard, Fox kept his left hand on the wheel, laid his fully-loaded MP5 across his forearm and ducking low, opened fire on the two gunmen behind the car, keeping his foot down as the car roared towards them.
He’d changed the selector to automatic and the MP5 let rip, draining the clip, the ferocious burst of fire smashing through the passenger window, forcing the two gunmen armed with the assault rifles to take cover as the bullets ripped into their car, giving Fox and Josh a brief opportunity to get past. As the weapon clicked dry, shell casings littering his lap and scattered in the well by his feet, Fox lifted his head to take control of the car and check his rear view mirror but immediately ducked as a burst of gunfire smashed into the headrest immediately behind him.
Spinning the wheel and weaving the car in a fast zigzag so they were harder to hit, the shot-up BMW continued down the street at a ferocious pace as they continued to eat more gunfire.
Seeing a street on their left, Fox then took a hard screeching turn and drove them away from the four man ambush, he and Josh both bleeding from flying shards of glass but against all the odds, still alive.
As they sped away from the scene, wind whistling through the smashed out windows of the ARU BMW, Josh checked through the shot-out rear window behind him in the back seat and sucked in huge lungfuls of air as his adrenaline started to dump. Behind the wheel, Fox had activated the fender lights to give them a clear run back to base.
However, suddenly they started to lose speed.
‘What’s wrong?’ Josh asked, turning to look over his shoulder at Fox. ‘Keep going!’
Fox didn’t reply.
Josh watched as his head started to tip forward.
Then the ARU officer suddenly slumped against the window to his right.
The car slowed and started to veer out of control. Realising what had happened, Josh reached forward and grabbed the wheel to steady the car as the BMW shuddered to a halt, Fox’s foot off the pedal. Josh pushed open the door to his right, leapt out and yanked open the driver’s door, catching Fox as he fell.
He’d been hit in the body, a round getting through the armpit area of the vest, and blood immediately stained Josh’s own vest and arms as he caught the wounded man.
‘Oh shit, Fox!’ he said.
Knowing they had to get the hell out of there, the gunmen on the street beyond no doubt hard on their heels, he eased Fox over to the other seat as gently as he could then jumped behind the wheel. After slamming his door he restarted the stalled engine and took off, checking the rear view mirror to make sure they weren’t being pursued. Beside him, Fox was still conscious but only just, blood staining the seat and the side of his navy blue polo shirt.
‘Hang on, bro,’ Josh said. ‘Just hang on!’
Whoever those men were, they’d known the police were coming. They’d been immaculately prepared and lying in wait, which meant they could have another team doing the same at Bernhardt’s.
Warn Arch, Josh thought as Fox started to wheeze beside him.
Warn Arch.
As the car roared on down the street, Josh withdrew his cell from his vest and called Archer, most of the pedestrians they passed stopping to stare at the shot-up police car as it raced past. There was no response; cursing, Josh quickly looked down and saw his US provider wouldn’t call the number on the UK network.
‘Shit!’
Throwing it to one side, he swerved around a car in front and reached over as far as he could for Fox’s phone. The ARU officer had now passed out and was slumped against the passenger door, out of reach. Stretching across whilst keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Josh grabbed Fox’s vest and pulled him upright, then reached for the cell phone in his tac vest.
They’d only just made it out of there alive, but not unscathed. Fox needed medical attention immediately.
And unlike the two of them, Archer was going in all by himself.
TWENTY FOUR
In Tottenham moments earlier, Archer had pulled to a halt on the street at the back of Michael Bernhardt’s house. Switching off the engine he looked up at the property to his right, a small semi-detached place, two floors and possibly with an attic for a third.
It was in a residential area, not on the high street, and was relatively quiet save for a group of youths gathered on the pavement a few doors down, several on bikes, all of them in tracksuits and hoodies. As it was now 8pm the light had almost faded for the day, the city slowly taking on a shroud of darkness that would only be broken by street and house lights.
Archer glanced at the kids and saw they were drinking, two with cans of beer and another passing a bottle of vodka around. They whistled and shouted at a couple of women across the street who ignored them; one of the youths hurled an empty bottle in their direction which smashed on the pavement and the two women scurried for safety as the youths laughed and jeered.
Grabbing his MP5 from the passenger seat, Archer climbed out of the Mercedes, slammed the door and locked the vehicle; then keeping the sub-machine gun on the right side of his body, he headed towards a side alley leading to the front of the houses on the other side of the street. As he crossed the road, the group of teenagers immediately spotted him in the police vest; one of them wolf-whistled, two others shouting insults, full of false bravado from the booze. Turning his head to look at them as he approached the alley, Archer’s eyes narrowed, but he ignored them and focused on the task ahead.
He had bigger fish to fry tonight.
Moving down the narrow path, he slowed when he reached the other end, checking each way to make sure no-one was lying in wait. Seeing the road was clear, he walked out onto the street in front of the house. Heading to the front door, he quickly knocked twice, stepping to one side and examining the street around him again.
It was all quiet.
Vargas’ kidnap, the sniper attack and the two explosions in the past few hours had left him on edge, especially given that he had almost no idea who was responsible for all this and where they were likely to strike next. All he currently knew was that an Afghan National Army ex-soldier called Dash was one of them, and the man who lived here had suffered the same burn wounds as him at the same time last year.
As he took the safety off his MP5 and waited for Bernhardt to answer, Vargas flashed into his mind again.
Just hang on Alice, he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the quiet street and feeling the seconds constantly tick by.
He went to knock again but then heard movement inside the property.
‘Who is it?’ a voice called.
‘Police,’ Archer said, standing to one side with the sub-machine gun on the door. ‘I need to talk to you, sir.’
He waited, his finger on the trigger and standing to the side of the door.
After a long pause, it opened.
A man somewhere in his early forties stood in the doorway looking at Archer and the MP5 in his hands. His appearance was extraordinary; he had brown hair, stubble on his cheeks over pale, patchy skin, but he’d obviously suffered severe burns on his face, arms and neck at one time, the skin gelatinous and translucent like thin baking paper.
He looked startling but Archer’s surprise was distilled by scanning him for any sign of a weapon.
He seemed clean.
‘Michael Bernhardt?’
‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name’s Sam Archer. I’m an NYPD detective working a case here.’
‘Mind lowering that thing?’ Bernhardt said, looking at the MP5, which although resting in Archer’s hands was pointed at Bernhardt’s navel.
Archer nodded, moving his aim off the man but keeping his finger on the trigger.
‘I need to talk to you about someone, sir.’
&
nbsp; ‘Who?’
‘Dashnan Sahar. According to our files you and he had some…interaction last year,’ he said, focusing on the man’s face and avoiding reference to his burns.
As he said Dash’s name, he saw a quick glimmer of recognition.
‘So you do know him.’
Bernhardt nodded. ‘I knew him. But what’s this about?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Archer said, glancing over his shoulder quickly and feeling exposed. ‘And I need you to come with me right now.’
‘You got ID?’
Archer nodded, withdrawing his NYPD badge with his left hand and showing it to the man. Bernhardt peered at it and frowned again.
‘You have no jurisdiction here. Is this a joke?’
‘No, it’s not. You can confirm my credentials back at our HQ. I’ll explain on the way.’
‘We can talk here.’
‘It might not be safe,’ Archer said. ‘And we need to go right now.’
Bernhardt stayed where he was, frowning. ‘Are you messing with me?’
‘No, I’m not.’
The urgency in Archer’s words, the fact he was carrying a weapon and his serious manner finally spurred a response. After looking at him closely for a moment, Bernhardt relented and nodded.
‘OK, I’m intrigued. I’ll come. Give me two seconds to fetch my phone and lock up.’
As he headed back inside, Archer walked forward and kept eyes on the former soldier, not wanting to let him out his sight in case he changed his mind or tried something if he was somehow involved in what was going on. Bernhardt was aware of his presence but didn’t say anything, locking the back door and pocketing a Samsung from the kitchen counter before grabbing a shirt on the way as he walked back towards the front door.
Standing there in the hallway as the man approached him, Archer suddenly felt his phone purr in his vest. Using his hand’s free mic and earpiece, he pushed Answer.
