by Tom Barber
Last Breath
By
Tom Barber
*****
Last Breath
Copyright: Archway Productions
Published: 2nd December 2015
The right of Tom Barber to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by he in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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The Sam Archer thriller series
by
Tom Barber
NINE LIVES
26 year old Sam Archer has just been selected to join a new counter-terrorist squad, the Armed Response Unit. And they have their first case. A team of suicide bombers are planning to attack London on New Year’s Eve. The problem?
No one knows where any of them are.
THE GETAWAY
Archer is in New York City for a funeral. After the service, an old familiar face approaches him with a proposition. A team of bank robbers are tearing the city apart, robbing it for millions.
The FBI agent needs Archer to go undercover and try to stop them.
BLACKOUT
Three men have been killed in the UK and USA in one morning. The deaths take place thousands of miles apart, yet are connected by an event fifteen years ago. Before long, Archer and the ARU are drawn into the violent fray. And there’s a problem.
One of their own men is on the extermination list.
SILENT NIGHT
A dead body is found in Central Park, a man who was killed by a deadly virus. Someone out there has more of the substance and is planning to use it. Archer must find where this virus came from and secure it before any more is released.
But he is already too late.
ONE WAY
On his way home, Archer saves a team of US Marshals from a violent ambush in the middle of the Upper West Side. The group are forced to take cover in a tenement block in Harlem. But there are more killers on the way to finish the job.
And Archer feels there’s something about the group of Marshals that isn’t quite right.
RETURN FIRE
Four months after they first encountered one another, Sam Archer and Alice Vargas are both working in the NYPD Counter-Terrorism Bureau and also living together. But a week after Vargas leaves for a trip to Europe, Archer gets a knock on his front door.
Apparently Vargas has completely disappeared.
And it appears she’s been abducted.
GREEN LIGHT
A nineteen year old woman is gunned down in a Queens car park, the latest victim in a brutal gang turf war that goes back almost a century. Suspended from duty, his badge and gun confiscated, Archer is nevertheless drawn into the fray as he seeks justice for the girl. People are going missing, all over New York.
And soon, so does he.
LAST BREATH
A Federal manhunt is underway across the United States. Three people have been shot by a sniper, and he’s gone to ground somewhere in Washington D.C., his killing spree apparently still not over. As riots engulf the city and the manhunt intensifies, Sam Archer arrives in the city to visit his family.
Or so it would appear.
JUMP SEAT
A commercial airliner crashes into the Atlantic Ocean with hundreds of people on board. When another follows three days later, Archer and the rest of the team are assigned the case. At any moment, they know another plane could go down.
And to try and solve the case, Archer’s going to have to go 35,000 feet up in the sky.
Also:
CLOSE CALLS
In a collection of three stories, familiar characters from the Sam Archer thriller series look Death right in the eye and don’t blink first. Moments that forged the people they are today.
Moments they can never forget.
Their close calls.
And…
CONDITION BLACK (A novella)
In the year 2113, a US 101st Airborne soldier wakes up after crash landing on a moon somewhere in space. All but two of his squad are dead. He has no idea where he is, or who shot him down.
But he quickly learns that some nightmares don’t stop when you wake up.
For the victims, relatives and friends of mass shootings, everywhere.
ONE
When Sam Archer died, he didn’t see a golden light.
All he saw was the colour purple.
The last breath a drowning person takes is involuntary, triggered by the amount of carbon dioxide in the blood and comparative lack of oxygen. Called the break point, studies show it usually comes after 87 seconds.
For Archer, it came at 68.
That was because of the events of the previous fifteen minutes, leading up to where he was now, his face held under water, a knee on his spine, a large pair of hands clamped around the back of his head as another pair forced his shoulders down. He was struggling as hard as he was able but couldn’t break free.
As a minute passed since he’d last taken in oxygen, with darkness closing in and the certainty that he was about to die, Archer continued to resist as water poured into his nose, mouth and ears, the pressure in his chest and head becoming so immense it felt as if he was about to burst. Managing to free his left arm, he lashed backwards and felt his elbow crunch into the face of one of the two guys holding him down, the pressure of the man’s grip easing and offering a glimmer of hope.
It didn’t last long as another pair of hands took over, relentlessly forcing Archer down, and he felt his body reach its limit.
Everything went purple as a thousand thoughts shrieked through his mind, but he still refused to give up. Using his last ounce of strength, he lashed out blindly behind him again.
It wasn’t enough.
He hit the break point.
And his body took its last breath.
*
Earlier that day, it had been a hot, humid and busy shift for the Amtrak Police Department inside Washington D.C.’s Union Station. A railroad police agency that oversees the government-owned passenger train network in the US, Amtrak’s headquarters were based inside Union Station. Visited by over 40 million people a year and Amtrak’s second busiest rail station in the country, Union’s security requirements put a lot of pressure on their Amtrak police team on a normal day, but that load had been massively increased in the past few hours with the events currently unfolding in the capital city.
Outside the PD headquarters, an assortment of transit officers, K9 teams and armed back-up were positioned inside the ticket hall, on the platforms and at vehicle drop-off points, all of them hyper-vigilant as they watched passengers and rail employees making their way through the station. Inside Amtrak’s HQ it was also a hive of activity with phones ringing, special agents and detectives talking loudly in order to make themselves heard above the noise, several hookers acting up as they were booked in for working the station, a pair of K9 dogs barking as the girls’ handcuffed pimp started arguing with an arresting officer.
In the midst of all this activity and noise, a new arrival was hustled into the station, a good-looking man in his late twenties dressed in blue jeans, loose dark shirt and a grey t-shirt. Blond-haired and built like an athlete, the man had his hands cuffed behind his back, a transit cop each side of him as they hauled him through the crowd. The newcome
r immediately attracted the attention of the hookers who wolf-whistled as he passed, shouting several lewd propositions at him, but the man didn’t react as he was marched towards a sergeant standing behind a desk.
Dressed in short-sleeved uniform with chevrons on his arms indicating his rank, the Amtrak sergeant wasn’t paying the approaching men any attention, having just knocked a tall iced coffee over his desk. Swearing as he ripped some tissues out of a box next to his computer screen, he patted himself down as the two Amtrak officers and the blond guy arrived in front of him. Doing his best to wipe up the sticky mess, the sergeant looked up at the newcomer irritably before throwing the sodden tissues at the trash beside his desk. He missed.
‘Baker, get me another coffee,’ he ordered. ‘Grande, cream, two sugars.’
As one of the two officers turned and left, the sergeant sat down and focused on the man in cuffs who looked back at him expressionlessly; he saw the newcomer was bleeding from a cut on the side of his head, crimson against his gold hair.
Picking up a pen, the sergeant wiped it off then opened a drawer and pulled out a blank incident report from a folder. ‘Name?’
‘Sam Archer,’ the arrested man replied.
‘Age?’
‘Twenty nine.’
‘Occupation?’
Before Archer could answer, Baker’s partner held up a pistol in a black holster. It was a boxy Sig Sauer P226, a magazine slotted in the base. ‘Found this on him, sir.’
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. ‘Got a permit for that?’
‘I’m a cop,’ Archer said, nodding. ‘Counter Terrorism Bureau. NYPD.’
‘Yeah, and I’m Santa Claus. You’ve got an English accent.’ Archer nodded. ‘Since when did the NYPD start recruiting from the UK?’
‘My mother was English; I was raised there, but my dad was from Brooklyn. I joined the Department almost two years ago. Badge number 8212. Check me out.’
‘You bet your ass I will,’ the sergeant replied, noting down the details he’d just been given then scooping up the receiver to his desk phone. He started dialling a number, but the noise in the room suddenly picked up as the two K9 dogs started barking furiously again. Abandoning the call, the sergeant typed Archer’s details into the computer instead, the keypad still sticky from the spilt coffee.
Hitting Enter, he leaned back. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘He laid out a fellow passenger on the train from New York, Sarge,’ Baker’s partner replied.
‘Who was shit-faced drunk and harassing people,’ Archer added.
‘Explain.’
‘Guy had been drinking from the moment we left Penn Station. Made so many trips to the food carriage to get more booze that I lost count. About an hour into the journey he started getting loud. Then he focused on a woman across the aisle from him. Moved to sit next to her and wouldn’t leave her alone even though she was getting upset. Train staff asked him to move back to his seat, he told them to go do something I won’t repeat, so I stepped in.’
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. ‘Define stepped in.’
‘Asked him to leave her alone, go back to his seat and drink some water but he wouldn’t listen. Asked him twice, politely and nicely, and showed him my badge. He told me to shove it up my ass.’
‘So then you assaulted him.’
‘Self-defence,’ Archer said. He turned his head so the sergeant could see the blood in his hair. ‘He took the first shot. You’ve got ten or so eye witnesses who’ll confirm that, including several Amtrak employees.’
‘So you retaliated?’
‘I put him down and we all had a quiet ride the rest of the way.’
‘You know who he was?’ the sergeant asked.
Archer shrugged. ‘An asshole?’
‘He’s a running back for the Washington Redskins, smart guy. A multi-millionaire professional athlete and someone a hell of a lot more popular than you. You’ll find out just how much if he misses a game because of any injuries you gave him.’
‘It’s the off-season. He’s got plenty of time to recover.’
Taking a deep breath, the sergeant looked at Baker’s partner. ‘Is the guy pressing charges?’
‘He didn’t say, Sarge. He’s still pretty dazed.’
‘For your sake, you’d better hope he doesn’t,’ the sergeant said to Archer. ‘What are you doing in town anyway?’
‘Visiting my sister and her family.’
‘Her name?’ the sergeant asked, picking up the pen again.
‘Sarah Hardy.’
He scribbled the name down. ‘Occupation?’
‘Lawyer.’
‘You travelling alone?’
‘Yep.’
‘How long are you here?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Just one night?’
Archer nodded. ‘Passing through. Flying out of Dulles tomorrow evening.’
Suddenly, the sergeant’s computer pinged as it got a result. Flicking his attention back to the screen, his expression changed as he focused on what he was reading. There was a pause; then he glanced back at Archer.
‘Told you I was a cop,’ Archer said.
‘Says here you’ve only been with the NYPD for just under two years.’
‘And?’
The sergeant couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘This is a big file.’
‘I like to stay busy.’
The sergeant continued to read, then after a few more moments, he switched his attention back to the NYPD detective in front of him.
‘OK, you’re a cop. That wasn’t bullshit. But seeing as you got into a fight before your train had even arrived here, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you on the next one back to New York.’
Archer thought about it. ‘It’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow?’
‘That’s the only reason you’re in town?’
Archer nodded.
‘If that’s the case, I want your word that you won’t get involved in any more shit while you’re here. No more fights or trouble of any sort. You so much as spit gum on the sidewalk, we’ll have someone there to see it. You might be a cop but trouble seems to follow you around and we’ve got enough of that here today already. Are we clear?’
Archer nodded. ‘We’re clear.’
Looking at the other cop, the sergeant nodded, and Archer’s cuffs were removed.
‘Last thing,’ the sergeant said from his seat, looking up at Archer who was rubbing his wrists. ‘You might be the shit back in New York but in this city, you’re a nobody. Take my advice and keep it that way.’
Archer’s bag and pistol were pushed into his chest.
‘Welcome to D.C. Enjoy your stay.’
Despite the extra police teams in the ticket hall and on the platforms, the trains running in and out of Union Station were nevertheless mostly on time, unlike the highways leading into the city which were pretty much grid-locked.
On a normal day D.C’s traffic was bad, but today it was surpassing itself, cars nose to tail for miles. Behind the wheel of a white Ford Econoline heading into the US capital, a Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties was becoming increasingly frustrated as she sat jammed up with everyone else on the Beltway. Dressed in jeans and a checked shirt, her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, some strands hanging loose and clinging to her neck.
The heat was intense, the sun reflecting off the sea of cars ahead of her as they inched forward painfully slowly, the highway unable to cope with the long line of traffic snaking all the way into the city, an endless cacophony of car horns sounding in the air. Wiping sweat from her brow, the woman cranked the A.C. and listened to the radio, which was reporting on all the trouble in D.C’s southern neighbourhoods, a social psychologist currently being interviewed by the station DJ.
Turning it down, she increased the volume of a scanner sitting in a cradle under the radio.
‘Anacostia team, report.’
‘No sign of the suspect, sir. We’re continuing to sweep.’
‘Same, sir. It’s slow going. The streets are clogging up with protestors; we could use some more officers down here.’
‘Metro are redirecting teams in their Civil Disturbance Unit. Keep it tight.’
‘Copy that.’
Looking up from the scanner illegally tuned to the FBI frequency, the woman looked at Washington D.C. laid out in front of her.
In the far distance, she could see plumes of thick smoke rising from the south east of the city.
But judging by the sea of cars in front of her she was still at least an hour from getting there.
They still haven’t found him, she thought, as the traffic in front of her continued to creep forward agonisingly slowly.
Yet.
TWO
‘You’ve only been in town for half an hour and you’re bleeding,’ Jack Hardy said to his brother-in-law twenty minutes later as they drove through the city. ‘What the hell happened?’
Beside him in the front passenger seat, Archer pulled down the sunshield and glanced in the mirror to check the cut on the side of his head. ‘Some dipshit NFL player was causing trouble on the train.’
‘A football player? What was his name?’
Archer thought back to the incident report and told him. Jack looked at his brother-in-law. ‘You know he’s one of the Redskins’ star players?’
‘I heard. How was their season?’
‘Two wins, twelve losses.’
‘No wonder he was drinking,’ Archer said, pushing the sunshield back up. His headache starting to fade, he glanced across at the brother-in-law he hadn’t seen in almost five years.
Jack was thirty three years old, dark-haired, five eleven and a hundred and sixty five pounds, an unassuming guy physically but with a razor-sharp mind. Born and bred in the Maryland area, he’d met Archer’s sister Sarah at Yale University when both were studying law and they’d married less than a year after they graduated, kids following not long after. Extremely intelligent and driven, Jack worked at a different legal firm from his wife; his firm also had offices in London, which took him to the UK a number of times throughout the year, and six years ago he’d looked up his new brother-in-law on one of these trips.
