[Sam Archer 08.0] Last Breath

by Tom Barber

  ‘Hello Harry.’

  SEVEN

  Like the sergeant at Union Station, it came as a surprise to most people who heard Archer’s accent that he was an NYPD cop. He’d made the move from the UK two summers ago, transferring from a top SWAT style squad in London to the NYPD’s Counter-Terrorism Bureau.

  His application had been facilitated due to an excellent record and a connection his old boss had had, but despite the latter, no corners had been cut. Upon his arrival that summer, Archer had been sent to a training camp in Georgia to qualify for the Department. Usually applicants went through the NYPD Academy, but Archer had been sent to Georgia for conversion and additional training due to his previous experience with the ARU. The intention was to then fast-track him as a detective into the Counter-Terrorism Bureau, a highly coveted and sought after position.

  During his stay, he’d roomed with another man, an ex-soldier who was also joining the NYPD and undergoing additional training.

  His name was Harry Ledger.

  A man who’d had a troubled upbringing, Ledger had lost his father early and ended up with an abusive step-dad as a replacement. Harry might have lacked a stable home-life but the one thing he didn’t lack was courage. Having joined the military when he was eighteen, he’d served two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan before leaving the army. After some time out, he’d moved back to New York and applied for the NYPD, had been accepted and was subsequently sent to the training camp for extra evaluation as a sharpshooter for the Department’s SWAT team, ESU, who’d been keen to fast-track him into their squad.

  Similar in many ways despite their different backgrounds, the two men had quickly become friends, each using their past experience to help each other through the weeks of training. Ledger had spent eight years of his life being trained to kill an enemy without hesitation, but in Glynco he was made very aware those instincts had to be rewired; a good cop needed to stay cool and off the trigger unless it was an absolute, last-resort choice. Ledger had adjusted, appreciating Archer’s help and advice, and in return had provided tips on rifle shooting and subterfuge tactics.

  Both men had qualified; Archer had been assigned to the Counter-Terrorism Bureau, his original goal, but instead of ESU Ledger had requested to be sent to Brooklyn South as a patrolman instead, saying the rifle work was too close to his previous role in the military. It hadn’t been a popular decision, particularly after the additional training he’d just undergone, but they’d had to accept it.

  The two men had remained in touch, meeting up periodically; in fact, Archer had seen his friend just a couple of weeks ago for a beer. Thirty one years old, Ledger had dark brown hair and was well-built, around Archer’s size. However, Ledger had aged years in the two weeks since Archer had last seen him, with a couple of days’ worth of stubble and bloodshot, dark-ringed eyes.

  Given he was the most wanted man on the US East Coast right now, it was understandable.

  ‘Archer?’ Ledger repeated. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for you,’ Archer replied, lowering his gun.

  ‘How’d you find me?’

  ‘The stash box. I figured you’d go for it and was going to scope it out. Got there just before you took off out the back, followed and saw you break in here. What happened?’

  ‘A cleaner found me.’

  ‘No, I mean what the hell is going on, Harry? What have you done?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Ledger said. ‘I didn’t shoot those people.’

  ‘Your prints are all over the weapon the Feds found at your apartment.’

  ‘You know me, Archer. I would never do something like that.’

  ‘The FBI think you did. And they’re going to be kicking in that door any second.’

  Instead of replying, Ledger’s eyes suddenly flicked past his friend.

  Sensing a new arrival, Archer glanced to his right to see an African American teenage boy standing in the doorway, dressed in a crimson Redskins NFL jersey and jeans.

  The teenager was holding a handgun.

  And the barrel was aimed at Archer’s head.

  ‘I want door-to-door sweeps of every house in the area!’ Sorenson ordered his people, from the FBI Command Post. ‘Street teams, get over there now! He can’t have got far.’

  ‘Copy that.’

  Looking at the screen, he saw the HRT sergeant rummaging through the box left behind the counter, talking through what he found.

  ‘We’ve got a disassembled M40 rifle, two boxes of ammunition. I guess that’s why he came here. He’s not done killing yet.’

  ‘Then why’d he leave the rifle?’ a female analyst asked.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t have time to assemble it,’ Sorenson said.

  ‘Why would he drain an energy drink if he’s not done shooting,’ another analyst said. ‘Snipers use dip tobacco to stay awake for long periods, right, Sergeant?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘That drink’s gonna leave him shaking for hours,’ the man said, frowning. ‘Why is he drinking that if he wants to keep dropping people?’

  Behind him, his arms folded, Sorenson didn’t reply, keeping his face expressionless.

  They’d both made good points.

  Inside the house two streets from the FBI search teams, the teenage boy stood still, holding the pistol out in front of him. Archer saw the boy’s arm was tense and shaking slightly.

  ‘Throw your guns away,’ the boy ordered.

  ‘I’m a cop, kid,’ Archer said.

  ‘So is he and look what he’s done,’ the boy said, glaring at Ledger. ‘Put the guns down or I kill you both right now.’

  Without a choice, they both slowly lowered their pistols to the ground. A few seconds later the shaky handgun in the black teenager’s hand moved from Archer onto Ledger.

  ‘You’re gonna pay for what you did, you son of a bitch,’ the teenager said.

  Ledger stayed silent, looking at the boy from under his baseball cap. The boy’s finger was tight on the trigger, already half pulled back; Archer didn’t take his eyes off it.

  Another quarter of an inch of pressure and the manhunt was over.

  ‘You ever shot someone before?’ Archer suddenly asked the boy.

  Keeping the gun trained on Ledger, his finger still depressing the trigger, the teenager’s eyes flicked to Archer.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I have,’ Archer told him, talking slowly and calmly, not wanting to spook the boy into putting any more pressure on that trigger. ‘From a distance and up close. When you’re far away, you don’t hear them die. But up close, you hear their last breath. The sound of that breath and the look on their face; that’s what you remember. It stays with you, forever.’

  He didn’t take his eyes off the teenager.

  ‘You don’t want those memories. Trust me, kid.’

  The boy took a shaky breath, but didn’t lower the weapon.

  A second later however he jumped as they heard the front door being smashed open and a Metro PD officer holding a pistol double-handed suddenly arrived in the doorway to the sitting room.

  It was over.

  Ledger had just been found by the search force.

  EIGHT

  Wearing the Department uniform, a blue shirt with sleeves to the elbows and navy-blue trousers, the Metro PD officer kept his pistol up as he stood in the doorway, the weapon trained on the teenage boy who right then was the only other armed person in the room. The cop was brown skinned and strongly built.

  ‘Drop the gun,’ he ordered the teenager, who obeyed immediately. ‘Step away from it and kneel on the ground.’

  The boy did as he was told.

  ‘Put your hands behind your head and interlock your fingers.’

  The kid obeyed. Archer and Ledger didn’t move.

  ‘You too,’ the officer ordered Archer.

  Moving his left hand slowly, Archer pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing his badge. ‘NYPD.’

  ‘You’re outsi
de your jurisdiction.’

  Archer didn’t take his eyes off the cop.

  ‘You not gonna call it in?’ he asked, noticing the officer hadn’t touched his radio.

  ‘Get down on your knees,’ the cop repeated, lifting his aim from Archer’s body to his face. ‘Last chance.’

  With no choice, Archer finally did as he was ordered, kneeling down slowly and glancing at his Sig on the floor, just a foot away. Looking back at the Metro cop, he noticed the man’s uniform was spotless, the creases in the trousers razor sharp.

  Fresh out of the packet.

  ‘Where’s your back up?’ Archer asked him.

  ‘I found him,’ the cop said into a collar mic, ignoring the question, looking at Ledger standing just behind Archer, his pistol covering them both. ‘But he’s got company. Get over here.’

  Focusing on the cop’s pistol, Archer noticed something else. As with the NYPD, Metro PD issue was a Sig Sauer P226, but this gun sure as hell wasn’t one of those.

  ‘What division are you with?’ Archer asked him. ‘What District?’

  The man didn’t reply. A few moments later they heard the back door open and another Metro officer came into the room. He was also carrying a pistol, an intricate black tattoo snaking around his hand and wrist.

  He stopped alongside his partner, looking at the two men and the kid.

  ‘Who the hell is he?’ he asked, focusing on the teenager.

  ‘Don’t know,’ the first cop answered, stepping forward to push the gun against Archer’s head.

  The second cop went to say something, but suddenly stuck his forefinger into his ear, apparently listening to something. Focusing on Ledger, then down at the three pistols on the floor, the man kicked the guns away then took hold of Ledger’s collar with one hand, his pistol in the other.

  The tables suddenly not so much turned as completely flipped, Archer looked at Ledger who was staring right back at him. They’d both been waiting for the smallest opportunity but they hadn’t been given one. These guys were good.

  And it was becoming very clear they weren’t here to arrest Ledger.

  ‘Ready?’ the cop asked his partner, who nodded.

  A second later, he moved the gun from Archer’s head to the teenage boy’s and pulled the trigger.

  When a semi-automatic handgun is fired, the bullet leaves the barrel and the top slide ejects the spent casing housing the bullet, the gunpowder inside reacting with the firing pin once the trigger is pulled. However, if you can block the hammer from snapping forward once the trigger is pulled, that process can’t initiate.

  The gun won’t fire.

  Since the second cop had arrived, Archer’s mind had been racing through the limited options available to him. He couldn’t move his head but his hands hadn’t been cuffed and up until a split-second ago, he and Ledger both had had guns trained on them. Stopping the hammer was his only chance of not being shot in the head.

  He could only hope his reaction speed was as quick as he’d always been told it was.

  At the moment the man moved the gun from his head, Archer’s hand was already flashing up, though he hadn’t been expecting the man to shift his aim onto the boy. Adjusting the angle of his hand in that last split-second, he clamped his thumb in the gap between the hammer and sights, blocking the hammer as it snapped forward.

  The barrel aimed right at the kid’s head, a bullet in the chamber, the cop’s finger had the trigger pulled all the way back.

  But nothing happened.

  The gun didn’t fire.

  In the fraction of a second it took the cop to realise what had happened, Archer was already moving.

  Keeping his hand locked around the pistol, Archer braced his thighs and drove his body weight up with a shout, forcing the cop backwards and slamming him into the wall. Across the room the other cop, expecting to have heard a gunshot, glanced sideways just in time to see his partner hit the wall. That brief moment of surprise was all Ledger needed and he launched himself at the grey-haired man, knocking him sideways.

  The cop staggered and before he could recover, Ledger took advantage of the man’s loss of balance and gripped his wrists, twisting them hard until the pistol clattered to the floor.

  However, just as the handgun fell out of the man’s grasp, Archer’s thumb slipped out of the other guy’s pistol and the hammer snapped forward, the weapon firing.

  The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team squad had just cleared another house two streets over when they heard the gunshot.

  ‘Everyone, move out!’ their Commander ordered, the team already heading for the exit. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’

  The bullet hit Ledger in the shoulder, punching straight through him and he shouted in pain, reeling back. Across the room, scything his elbow through the air Archer hit his guy hard behind the ear and as he staggered against the wall Archer tore the pistol from the man’s hands, sending it clattering to the floor.

  The other cop had just regained his balance and retrieving his gun, he swung it towards the kid who’d thrown himself to the floor. Getting there first, Archer had already scooped up his pistol and shot the cop twice in the chest, the double-tap knocking him off his feet. Swinging round, Archer hit his assailant hard again, stunning him and knocking him back into the wall.

  Before the man could recover Archer pulled the guy’s handcuffs off his belt, quickly cuffing him to an old radiator on the wall. Grabbing his opportunity, the teenager pushed himself up off the floor and ran out of the room, his cell phone falling out of his pocket, but the kid not noticing or caring in his desperation to escape.

  Archer let him go, the boy no longer a threat; but as he looked down at the cop he’d just cuffed, he saw the man had an earpiece and sleeve mic.

  These two weren’t working alone.

  ‘Wait, kid!’ Archer shouted, running out after him.

  The teenager had just made it to the front door and started to open it when Archer reached him and yanked him back.

  A split second later gunfire suddenly ripped up the front of the house, bullets tearing into the woodwork and into the space around them as they hit the floor. Not wasting time firing back, given that he didn’t know who he’d be shooting at and realising he was out-gunned anyway, Archer kept low and grabbing the teenager, moved back quickly down the narrow hall corridor towards the back door.

  Flattening himself against the door jamb, he pulled open the door and checked outside but the street was clear. Running back into the other room, he took hold of Ledger, who despite being shot had already managed to retrieve his pistol, holding it in his blood-stained hand and keeping it on the cop Archer had just shot in the chest, who was getting his breath back fast, his vest having done its job.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Archer said, hooking Ledger’s good arm over his shoulder and helping him out of the room, the boy following as the two men went out of the back door onto the street and towards Sarah’s Honda.

  Opening the car and dumping Harry unceremoniously on the back seat as the teenager leapt into the front, Archer jumped behind the wheel, started the engine and took off down the street.

  NINE

  At the FBI’s Command Post, Sorenson and his support staff had heard the unmistakable sound of gunshots over the radio and were watching the feed from the HRT team’s helmet-cams as the men raced out of the building they’d been searching. On another screen, an FBI chopper was transmitting an aerial view of the area but still had no sign of the man they were after.

  ‘I want a location on those shots!’ Sorenson ordered.

  ‘ATF think they have it, sir,’ HRT’s Commander replied. ‘We’re relocating two streets over.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ an analyst said a few moments later as the chopper’s camera zoomed in. ‘Look at that.’

  As HRT reached the street in question, transmitting more pictures, everyone could clearly see the damage to the front of one of the houses which looked as if it’d been under siege, gunfire having almost obliterated the f
ront door, bullet-holes peppering the entire wooden frontage.

  As the HRT team edged forward cautiously, Sorenson frowned and looked at his team. ‘Anyone hear more than several gunshots over the mics?’

  They all shook their heads.

  ‘Front of that place looks like a goddamn shooting gallery,’ a male analyst said. ‘We should have heard sustained gunfire.’

  Sorenson looked back at the screen. ‘So why didn’t we?’

  Everyone fell silent as they continued to watch the sergeant’s helmet-cam transmission as he moved into the shot-up property, shouts of police and room clear coming in. Turning left, the sergeant followed two of his men into what appeared to be the sitting room of a house, blood spatters on the floor.

  ‘We got three shell casings and blood, still wet. It’s leading out back. Someone got hit. There’s a radiator pulled off the wall, a baseball cap and a packet of pepper, almost empty. No wonder our dogs couldn’t find him.’

  Sorenson turned to his lead analyst. ‘How’s the cordon?’

  ‘Porous,’ the man said, looking up at the map of D.C’s Wards 7 and 8. ‘Metro’s stretched to the limit trying to contain the rioting and so are we looking for Ledger. He could get through a gap.’

  The analyst studied the chopper feed, looking at the neighbourhood with so many people on the streets, the situation continuing to deteriorate.

  ‘Or rioters find him before we do.’

  ‘Maybe some already did,’ Sorenson replied.

  Inside Sarah’s Honda, keeping a steady speed so as not to draw attention, Archer glanced at the teenager beside him.

  ‘You good?’

  The boy nodded but didn’t speak, constantly looking behind them nervously, clearly worried they were being followed. As he checked the rear-view mirror himself, shaking out his thumb which was bleeding after blocking the hammer on the pistol, Archer took a quick look at Ledger who was lying across the back seat to avoid being seen.

  He was in considerable pain, clutching his shoulder, blood leaking through his fingers and onto the upholstery.