by Tom Barber
Cursing, she turned and ran across the floor towards Nikki, who was slumped against her desk, her laptop beside her, lying in a pool of blood from her leg.
‘Is there any more ammunition up here?’ she asked.
Nikki shook her head. ‘All…downstairs.’
Knowing she had seconds to come up with something, Marquez looked around frantically for anything she could use as Lipton continued to fire with his MP5. Running across the room, she moved into Cobb’s office, thinking the boss might have a weapon or something inside his desk. All the filing cabinets had been knocked to the floor but his heavy desk was still upright, bolted to the floor.
Racing behind it, she pulled open his top desk drawer but saw no weapon, just an unopened bottle of Glenmorangie whiskey.
Looking at it, she thought for a moment, then suddenly remembered seeing Lipton smoking outside earlier when he was by the front gate with Wilson and two Met cops.
I just hope he didn’t ask for a light, she thought, grabbing the bottle.
She ran back into the Briefing Room as Lipton continued to fire on the mercenaries below, not inflicting any damage but managing to stop the two gunmen from getting inside the building. He’d run out of ammo for his MP5 and was now firing his Glock, blood running down the side of his arm from the gunshot wound.
Kneeling beside him, Marquez ripped a strip off a tattered, smoke-stained piece of now unrecognisable clothing she’d found on the floor, stuffing it into the bottle. Then she tipped the Glenmorangie upside down, wetting the lower end of the rag.
Beside her, Lipton’s Glock suddenly clicked dry and he dropped back.
‘I’m out!’
‘Lighter!’ Marquez demanded.
Clutching his left arm, he tilted his pocket towards her and she reached forward, taking out a plastic lighter.
Sparking a flame, Marquez lit the rag, ducking from a sudden burst of assault rifle fire.
Then she rose and quickly threw the bottle down at the car twenty feet from the entrance as hard as she could.
The makeshift Molotov cocktail exploded on impact, the two gunmen jerked back but not affected by the blast, protected by the other side of the car.
‘Shit!’ Lipton said, who’d hauled himself up beside her to watch. ‘You missed!’
Ignoring him, Marquez suddenly pulled her reloaded Glock.
And she aimed the sights at the car’s fuel tank.
She fired twice, putting a double tap into the side of the car, and then dove back with Lipton as petrol spilled from the ruptured tank onto the flaming Molotov cocktail on the concrete beneath.
The blast that followed a second later was huge, resulting in a massive fireball as the car’s fuel tank went up.
Lying on the blackened floor, hearing the car thump back onto the concrete as it landed after the blast, Marquez rose carefully to her feet and edged towards the damaged open edge of the building, one bullet left in her pistol.
Both gunmen were dead. They were sprawled either side of the burning car with their weapons on the ground beside them, the car they’d taken cover behind burning like a pyre. The flames crackled in the sudden quiet after the gunfight, the sirens of approaching police cars growing louder as they turned into the street, the car park a sea of empty shell casings, broken glass and cars shot to pieces.
It looked more like a warzone than a police station.
Turning back, she saw Lipton was OK and then ran across the level, re-joining Nikki and kneeling to check her leg.
‘Are…they down?’
‘They’re down.’
As Nikki looked at Marquez, they both heard cars arrive in the car park outside, back-up finally here.
‘That…was a nice move,’ Nikki said. ‘How did you…’
Marquez grinned, as the sound of car doors opening and closing joined the crackling of the flames from the burning car, the flashing lights on the police cars reflected off the windows of the buildings around the car park.
‘You see some interesting things growing up in the Bronx,’ she replied.
FIFTY ONE
High above the city, the black ARU Eurocopter swept through the night sky, heading straight towards 451 South Bank, a tall looming structure by the River Thames that Archer now knew held Vargas, Talia Farha and God only knew how many more paid killers intent on ending his life.
In front of him in the cockpit, Chalky was hanging in there, breathing hard through the pain and bleeding badly from the gunshot wound but gritting his teeth, knowing he had to get them to the building and land safely.
Seeing the building approach, Archer felt his heart-rate increase, thumping with adrenaline as he looked at the epitome of his nightmares for the past four months.
With Chalky injured, he was going inside alone.
As he took a deep breath and focused, he realised Chalky’s arm would need attention before he left him to look for Vargas. Looking around the cabin, he saw a cloth stowed in a compartment in the rear of the vessel beside him and pulled it out. It wasn’t particularly clean but it was going to have to do; making a small incision with the jack-knife from his tac vest, he ripped it in half, looking over at the building again as he did so.
They were almost there.
Dominick Farha was the first man he’d ever had to kill, the leader of a terrorist cell who’d unleashed mayhem on London with his eight-person team on New Year’s Eve two and a half years ago. It had been the ARU’s first major operation and Farha had been responsible for an unforgettable series of events. Archer had put him down a split-second before he cut another man’s throat and had shown him as much mercy as Farha had afforded all his victims throughout that day.
Archer had felt zero remorse since and hadn’t lost a wink of sleep over what he’d had to do; Farha had been as evil as they come. Considering what he’d done to the city over the previous twenty four hours, taking him out was a public service. But that one action that day had unleashed all this, and was why Vargas had been kidnapped.
It had never been about something she’d done.
Everything today was about him.
Finishing ripping up the rag, he looked up and saw they were only fifty yards from the building. Pulling out his phone quickly, he tried the number Vargas had called him from again but no one picked up. As the helicopter finally came to a halt and they hovered over the office building, Archer grabbed a support rung and moved to the left window. Up front, Chalky used all his remaining strength to keep the vessel steady, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured as he gritted his teeth and focused on the controls.
Looking down, Archer couldn’t see anyone or any anti-personnel mines on the roof, but he knew from past experience the kind of welcome that could be waiting.
‘Should…I land?’ Chalky asked.
‘Do it!’
Chalky moved the stick and the chopper started to descend, Archer ripping his door open and tracing with his MP5, looking for any sign of a welcoming committee.
There was no one there.
The chopper touched down on the roof. Archer jumped out a moment later, clearing either side with his sub-machine gun, his heart thumping with adrenaline. When he was satisfied they weren’t about to be attacked, he turned back, opened the cockpit door and immediately caught Chalky as he toppled towards him. He steadied his friend then took one piece of the cloth he’d grabbed from the back of the vessel and packed it over the gunshot wound.
‘You’re having a bad day, mate,’ he said.
‘I’ve had worse,’ he mumbled back.
Archer tied the other strip over the top, holding the wad in place as he cinched it tight.
‘Just stay here and stay awake,’ he said.
Noticing Chalky didn’t have his Glock, Archer pulled his own and passed it to him. He pointed at the closed access door to the roof to their left.
‘Just in case you get any company.’
Chalky nodded, taking the pistol, his eyes hazy. Then, despite the pain, he suddenly smiled.
/>
‘Just like…old times,’ he said, quietly.
Archer paused.
Then he smiled briefly too.
‘I’ll be back soon.’
Chalky didn’t respond, focusing on staying awake.
Archer then turned with his MP5 and ran across the roof towards the entrance to the building.
Nine storeys down, Vargas was desperately fighting for her life with an armed man who’d just walked in through the door to talk to his companion.
While she’d been talking to Archer she’d heard someone coming into the office next door and after quickly ending the call had moved quickly and silently across the room to the side of the door.
There’d been the sound of movement next door; nothing had happened for some time, just the occasional sound of sniffing. She’d waited, gripping just the dead man’s knife, her heart racing, wondering what he was doing and beginning to think she was going to get away with it.
Then the door had suddenly opened.
Carrying an assault rifle, the man was relaxed when he walked into the room, not expecting any trouble.
Until he spotted his dead buddy’s body lying on the floor.
Before he could react, Vargas had appeared from around the door and buried the knife into his thigh, the man screaming in pain and dropping his AR-15. Vargas had gone for the weapon instantly but the man had thrown himself into her, knocking her to the ground as he pinned her down. Vargas was now trapped underneath the man as he tried to strangle her, his strong hands clamped around her throat.
‘Bitch!’ he shouted, crushing her windpipe.
Suffocating, Vargas trapped his right arm by holding his tricep and forearm then hooked her left foot past his right foot and pushed up with her hips. The man was so blinded with pain and rage he was taken by surprise as suddenly she tipped him onto his back. He immediately fought back, trapping her in an arm-lock and trying to dislocate her elbow, but she quickly grabbed the knife still buried in his thigh with her left hand and twisted it as hard as she could.
The man shouted in pain, immediately releasing her arm; she saw her opportunity and pushing herself up, dived for his AR-15 across the room. Clutching his leg, the man saw what she was doing and lunged after her, grabbing her ankle, but her fingers curled around the weapon and she spun round in one smooth motion, firing a single shot from her back. She hit him straight in the chest as he reared up and he dropped instantly with a heavy thump, the gunshot echoing around the office floor as the man lay still across her bare feet.
Panting hard, Vargas kicked her legs out from under him, keeping the assault rifle trained on the man as she rose. Staring down through the sights, she saw blood pooling out from the guy’s limp body.
He was dead.
Up on the roof, Archer didn’t hear the gunshot due to the noise of the chopper.
As he approached the door, he felt his heart pounding as he forced the waves of claustrophobia down, focusing on getting to Vargas and taking on anyone who tried to stop him.
He had no idea what was waiting for him in this building.
Armed men.
An ambush.
Anything.
But Vargas was here somewhere.
And he was going to get her back alive.
Grabbing the handle, Archer took a deep breath and eased the door back as gently as he could, his MP5 aimed at the gap in case someone was waiting the other side.
It was dark, and he couldn’t see clearly. It seemed no one was there.
Edging his way through the door, he closed it behind him, the noise of the chopper suddenly gone. He quickly scanned the dark stairwell below with the MP5, tense, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
There was another door down the flight, the entrance to the top floor of the building.
Gripping the sub-machine gun tight, Archer moved down through the darkness towards it.
FIFTY TWO
He walked down the few steps slowly, arriving outside the 25th floor fire escape door.
Easing it forward, he stepped out straight into a huge office space covering the entire floor, each work station separated by a screen. His heart thumping, memories of being trapped in a building with men hunting him all flooding back like a burst dam, Archer narrowed his eyes, forcing the thoughts back and focusing down the sights of his MP5.
The entire place was quiet.
Just as Archer arrived on the 25th floor office space many floors up, the ARU BMW Dash had stolen screeched to a halt in front of the building.
Pushing open their doors, he, Piccadilly and Portland leapt out and ran across the courtyard towards the entrance, moving inside quickly and securing the door behind them. As Portland finished bolting the door and Piccadilly reloaded his AR-15, Dash dialled Aldgate, who’d been left with the detective. None of them were hindered by anyone behind the front desk; the guard had been shot dead earlier and dumped in a maintenance closet.
‘Shit,’ Dash said. ‘He’s not picking up!’
His assault rifle fully loaded again, Piccadilly moved to the two lifts and pushed the button. As one of them descended and the numbers above the doors ticked down, Dash tried Stockwell’s number, aka Nicolas Gagnon, one of his two Canadian snipers.
‘Stockwell, where are you?’
‘On 17 with Covent. We’re prepping the workspace for the boss. You get Archer?’
‘Where the hell is Aldgate?’
‘He’s watching the girl on 16 but wasn’t answering our calls. Wood just went down to check on him.’
Dash swore as the lift arrived in the lobby. ‘Both of you, get up to the top floor now! Archer escaped from the ARU by chopper; he’s coming for her.’
‘You want him alive?’
‘Just get to the roof and kill that son of a bitch!’
As the doors to the lift opened, Dash and Piccadilly stepped inside, pushing the button for 16, the floor where the detective was being held, Piccadilly holding the door momentarily so Portland could join them as he finished locking the doors.
‘Cops are coming!’ he said, turning and running over from the front doors to join them as he reloaded his AR-15, the distant sound of sirens in the air.
‘I’ll handle them,’ Piccadilly said, jabbing the button for 3 as the doors closed.
On 16, Vargas pushed herself back to her feet, the AR-15 in her hands, then grabbed the cell phone she’d dropped in the fight. Tucking the phone into the pocket at the back of her shorts, she moved over to the man she’d just shot and took a spare magazine for the assault rifle. He had a pistol too but she had no way of carrying it so she’d have to leave it, but the AR-15 was more than she’d had all day and she felt a damn sight more confident with it in her hands.
Kneeling, she rolled the man over and saw his eyes were open, his body limp, staring vacantly up at the ceiling with a stream of blood leaking out of the side of his mouth. She yanked the knife out of his leg and wiped it on his torso, then folded it shut and put the blade in the back pocket of her shorts along with her phone. Checking his pockets for anything else, she found a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a half-empty bag of cocaine which explained what he’d been doing outside and the time delay.
She then crept to the door of the large office and stepped out into the space beyond. Archer said he was on his way; all she had to do was hang on until he got here. As she walked across the dark empty space of the main office floor, the AR15 buried in her shoulder, she suddenly froze in mid-step.
The two lifts in front of her had digital red lights above each.
And the floors where each cart was located was changing.
Both were heading up.
Swearing, she raced across the floor towards the stairwell door, pushing it open and sprinting down the flight, pulling her stolen cell phone and calling Archer as she ran.
On 25, he was walking through the empty office floor, tracing either side, all his senses on high alert as he searched for any sign of movement.
Suddenly he felt his phone vibrate o
n his tac vest. He answered quickly, his left hand snapping back down to hold the stock of the MP5 as he used his earpiece and Velcro throat mic.
‘Hello?’ he whispered.
‘It’s me!’ Vargas said.
‘I’m in the building.’
‘What? Where?’
‘On 25. Where are you?’
‘Get to the stairs! There’re people in the lifts coming for us!’
Just as she spoke, one of the two lifts suddenly arrived in front of Archer.
And a moment later, the doors started to part.
FIFTY THREE
Before they could open all the way, Archer was already running.
At the same time, he pulled a flash-bang with his left hand, ripped out the pin and threw it at the parting doors as he took off across the level towards the stairwell.
The two armed mercenaries who were in the lift saw him the moment the doors parted, but the detonation bought him a few valuable seconds. The pair covered up as the grenade went off but then assault rifle fire hammered into the wall behind him a split-second later as Archer ran through a gap between some of the cubicles and dove to the floor.
Hitting the deck, Archer didn’t have a line of sight but traced the direction of fire and let rip with the MP5 through the thin screen of a cubicle, hearing a shout of pain and a muzzle flash of uncontrolled fire as one of them took a hit. Archer unleashed the MP5 again in the same direction and the fire ceased.
He went to get back to his feet but another burst over the top of his head forced him back down, small pieces of the cubicle falling down onto him.
Below, Vargas had moved down a floor to 15, trying to find a safe refuge where she could hide and give Archer time to get to her.
Like the one above, this entire floor was being renovated, full of bare wood, transparent carpentry sheets and unfinished areas. Hearing the gunfire from above, she was clearing the large space with the AR15 when she heard a noise from a closed half-painted door to her right.
