[Sam Archer 08.0] Last Breath

by Tom Barber

  ‘Get down!’

  The car continued to come under fire, the group inside staying as low as they could. ‘Bail out, sidewalk side!’ Archer shouted, realising where the fire was coming from.

  Jesse quickly pushed his door open and scrambled out, crouching beside the car as Archer followed. Opening the rear door, he grabbed Jack and got him out, Ledger already following as the rate of fire increased.

  Emptying the clip, Thorne had seen the four of them forced out of the car, but they were still protected by the vehicle.

  ‘You’ve got an army of FBI almost on you! Get out of there!’

  Ditching the grenade launcher on the roof, Thorne rose and sprinted for the door to the stairs.

  The assault from the roof of the building in front of them had ended, but suddenly a shot came from their right, almost hitting Ledger in the head. The gunman who’d fired at Archer in the alleyway had repositioned.

  ‘Got him!’ Ledger shouted to Archer. ‘Ten o’clock, behind a cop car, hundred fifty yards!’

  Archer saw the car, blocking their path to the bridge into Ward 6, which was choked up with roadblocks anyway.

  Behind them, it was clear, but led deeper into Wards 7 and 8, the riot-zone.

  ‘Push right!’ Archer hissed to the others, aiming and firing at the man behind the cop car, keeping him down. Jack, Jesse and Ledger took off, all three running through the intersection, staying low, weaving their way past cars that had pulled to a halt on the road with terrified drivers inside who’d heard the gunfire.

  Reaching an empty vehicle parked ten yards past the intersection on the street heading south, Ledger pushed the other two down and from his position behind the car started firing back at the shooter’s vantage point, providing cover for Archer.

  Archer took off towards them, ducking and weaving as rounds hit cars and lamp-posts around him, running towards Ledger, Jack and Jesse.

  As he reached the other side of the intersection and started running down the sidewalk, a door was suddenly flung open directly in front of him.

  It knocked him backwards, the Sig falling out of his hand, and landing heavily, he saw the cop he’d shot in the vest at Ledger’s old hideout. Archer had the advantage of a split second, the officer focusing on where Ledger and the others had taken cover and raising his rifle in their direction. From the ground, Archer kicked the door forward as hard as he could, knocking the man off-balance and threw himself to the side, giving Ledger the opportunity to fire at the cop. The guy immediately realised what Archer was doing and dived back into the building as Ledger’s bullets hit the wall and door where the man had just been standing, sirens so loud now the police could only be a couple of blocks away.

  Suddenly, two of the tyres of the car Ledger, Jack and Jesse were using as cover were blown out, Ledger forced to duck for cover as Archer picked up his Sig and ran for a car twenty feet ahead of him, the gunman splitting his fire between where Ledger and the others were hiding and Archer.

  Reaching the car, he fired back twice at the shooter, but then his gun misfired, the round jammed.

  ‘Shit!’ he said, pulling the clip and ducking as the car took more fire. As he cleared the jam and Ledger continued to fire at the cop, Archer glanced behind him, feeling horribly exposed, but there was no sign of the other gunman, who seemed to have disappeared inside the building he’d so suddenly emerged from.

  However, as he looked back, trying to work out how he could get to the other three, a white van suddenly pulled onto the street and slammed to a halt where Ledger was hiding, a dark-haired Latina woman behind the wheel.

  ‘Get in!’ she shouted to him.

  He hesitated, but knowing they were out of options swung round to the other two, pushing them towards the vehicle. As they pulled open the van’s side door and jumped inside, Archer was still stuck on the other side of the street, pinned down by gunfire, hearing the sound of approaching sirens.

  Once the other three were in the back, the van suddenly roared towards Archer before swinging round at the last minute, the back door opening.

  ‘Get in, Sam!’ Ledger shouted.

  A shot from the cop a hundred and fifty yards away smashed out the glass on the window beside his head, making it an easy decision. A second later, Archer leapt inside and dragged the door shut behind him.

  Moving off, the van sped out of the intersection seconds before law-enforcement trucks descended on the streets behind them, windows on Jack’s building smashed and smoking, alarms ringing and the sound of those last gunshots echoing in the air.

  TWENTY ONE

  Moving clear of the intersection but going in the opposite direction to the Anacostia River, the white van headed deeper into Ward 7, being passed by police vehicles racing the other way. Some of the officers and agents inside the vehicles checked out the van as they passed, but the dark-haired woman behind the wheel kept her face calm, looking straight ahead, resisting the urge to put her foot down, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She succeeded.

  ‘Stay low!’ Archer told Jack and Jesse in the back. Holding his Sig tightly, he kept his attention on the woman behind the wheel, wondering where the hell she’d suddenly appeared from. Even though she’d just saved their lives, right now, he didn’t trust anyone.

  He glanced at Ledger beside him, who he could tell was thinking the same thing.

  Glancing around the van, Archer saw an open white holdall beside him, a couple of bottles of water visible inside. There was also a closed I-pad lying beside the bag and a plasma television screen suspended in a frame attached to the roof. However, the contents of the van and this woman’s identity weren’t their most pressing problem.

  ‘Metro will be onto these plates in minutes,’ Archer said to Ledger quietly, who nodded and turned to check out of the window, pistol in hand. ‘Soon as they look at the street cameras back at that intersection, they’ll see us getting into the van. We have to assume the guys who’re chasing us will get them too.’

  Turning a sharp left to avoid a large group of protestors spread across the road up ahead, the woman turned her head. ‘Look in the white bag.’

  Taking the white holdall, Archer opened it and found three sets of different Maryland plates with magnetic clips around the edges. He looked at Ledger, both knowing the trouble they’d be in if they were caught changing the licence plates, but after a moment’s hesitation Archer reached into the bag. They were in so much danger right now anyway, switching the plates was the least of their worries.

  However, before either had a chance to ask her to stop, the engine suddenly died.

  ‘Shit!’ the woman said, the van rolling to a stop. Turning the keys, she tried again, but it wouldn’t start. ‘All that shooting, they must have hit the engine!’

  As Ledger started to say something, a disembodied voice echoed around the van, cutting him off.

  ‘All teams, exchange of fire at Minnesota and Benning intersection. Secure perimeter immediately.’

  Looking ahead, Archer saw she had a radio scanner hooked up beside the gearstick, tuned to the FBI frequency.

  ‘Who are you?’ Ledger asked, equally confused.

  ‘I used to be a journalist,’ she said, fruitlessly trying the engine again. ‘I’m here to help.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because apparently you killed my sister three days ago,’ she said, frantically twisting the key in the ignition. ‘And I know for a fact you didn’t.’

  Almost a mile behind them, a mix of FBI Crown Victorias, Metro police cruisers and an FBI Hostage Rescue Truck had arrived at the Minnesota and Benning intersection, officers and Federal agents finding the aftermath of a serious shootout, smoke drifting out of a couple of smashed windows in a building in front of them, several cars shot to pieces in the street, terrified drivers still huddled down in their own vehicles, too frightened to move.

  Four Metro officers aiming their weapons at the entrance to the damaged building suddenly started coughing and quickly retreated. Reali
sing it was tear gas they were looking at, the HRT team immediately pulled on masks as they prepared to storm the building.

  Unnoticed by the officers and agents who were trying to make sense of what had just taken place, Thorne and Deerman quietly drove off in their squad car, just another Crown Victoria in a mass of cop cars.

  ‘Where did that van come from?’ Thorne asked, seated behind the wheel, Deerman beside him reloading his assault rifle.

  ‘I’m trying to locate it,’ Burnett replied.

  ‘Run the plates.’

  ‘They just entered a street a mile away. Haven’t reappeared the other side. I think they stopped.’

  ‘Give me a location.’

  As Thorne put his foot down, Deerman finished slotting a fresh magazine into his rifle and snapped the working parts forward before pushing his radio receiver. ‘Riley, Tarketti, where are you?’

  ‘Just cleared the Bridge.’

  ‘Tool up,’ Deerman replied, as Thorne drove the squad car into Southeast, not concerned by the fact they were entering the most dangerous area in the city, currently full of rioters, looters and gangs. ‘We’re going hunting.’

  ‘I can track down some numbers and call in back-up,’ Burnett said. ‘We might need extra bodies on this.’

  ‘What kind of back-up?’

  ‘People already on the street.’

  ‘But they use disposable phones, right?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean shit. If I can locate them from CCTV, I can pick up their phone signals. I’ll give them a call and make an offer.’

  Deerman glanced at Thorne, who read his mind. He nodded.

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ the woman repeated, rapidly unscrewing the radio tuned to the FBI scanner from its cradle. ‘They’ll be coming any second.’

  She was talking to herself; Archer and Ledger were already out of the vehicle, their pistols in their hands, Jack and Jesse right on their heels. The vehicle had broken down on a momentarily quiet street but it was unlikely to stay that way for long. They could hear the sound of trouble all around them, sirens, shouting, screams and the occasional explosion. On edge, Archer removed his badge and put it in his pocket before looking left and right, not having any idea where they were or where the main focus of the riots currently was.

  Glancing back towards the van, he made a rapid assessment of the woman who’d rescued them as she jumped out of the vehicle; she looked to be in her mid-thirties, dressed in jeans and a checked shirt. She was slightly built but looked as if she could handle herself, her dark hair loose, her sleeves rolled up.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked her, before turning back and keeping his attention on the street.

  ‘Angela,’ she replied. ‘I heard who you are over the radio. 3rd Grade Detective Sam Archer.’

  ‘My brother-in-law, Jack,’ Archer said. ‘The boy’s Jesse.’ He looked at Ledger. ‘He doesn’t need any introductions.’

  She nodded, looking at the wanted man, a small patch of old blood having seeped through the bandage on the front of his shoulder and t-shirt. With stubble on his cheeks, his eyes hollow and tired, he looked terrible. Beside him, Archer looked up to the sky, hearing the sound of choppers in the air but unable to see them.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Barry Farms,’ Jesse said. ‘We need to get the hell outta here. This place is the ghetto, man. Might be the most dangerous neighbourhood in the city.’

  ‘All the bridges have roadblocks in place, same as every exit south,’ Angela replied quickly. ‘I passed them when I came looking for you.’

  ‘What about the subway?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Metro rail’s been shut down because of the manhunt. Nothing’s moving down there.’

  ‘So where do we go?’ Jesse said, his voice rising.

  ‘Only one choice,’ she said, turning and looking right. ‘Deeper into Southeast.’

  ‘It’s a warzone in there right now,’ Jack said.

  ‘Whatever we do, we can’t stay here,’ Archer said, checking the clip of his Sig before looking around them. ‘They’re gonna be onto this van any second.’ He looked at Angela. ‘I need to call the NYPD right now. Do you have a phone I can use?’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘I know these guys are tracing our cells. Not yours, though.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she explained. ‘These men will have your voice print; the moment it comes up over any network, they’ll either cut the line or trace your exact position or both, before you have a chance to explain anything.’

  Archer nodded at Jack. ‘He can relay what I tell him and explain what’s going on. They won’t have his voice. My people need to know what’s happening. They can help.’

  ‘It won’t matter.’

  Frustrated, Archer looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re not just running from a small group of men with guns, Detective.’

  She pulled out her own cell phone from her pocket, which was disassembled and in three different pieces.

  ‘You’re being hunted by the NSA.’

  TWENTY TWO

  As they took cover behind the white van, the sound of unrest uncomfortably close, Archer double-checked the chamber on his pistol then looked at Angela, realising they were in a whole lot more trouble than he’d thought.

  ‘Can you get us out of here?’ Ledger asked Jesse, who nodded.

  ‘Talk as we move,’ Archer told Angela. ‘Explain what the hell is going on.’

  ‘You’ll know this, but NSA is the most powerful surveillance agency in the world,’ she said quickly, hitching her bag over her shoulder as the five of them moved off down the street. ‘They have the authorisation to read any email or listen to any phone call from or to a US citizen. Analysts can tap into anyone’s internet history, as well as track all financial information through bank statements and ATM transactions. Through the GPS on your phone or car, they can track you to within a foot of your location. Their HQ is just down the road from here at Ford Meade, Maryland.’

  Pausing when they made it to the end of the street, Archer looked back at Ledger who was covering their rear. They both understood what this meant if Angela was right. No wonder these anonymous men had been tracking them so effectively.

  If this was true, they were in a whole world of trouble.

  In the street directly opposite, under the shadow of what had to be the tallest building in the area, they saw the recent aftermath of what had clearly been full-blown mayhem, the road now blocked with destroyed cars, all the street cameras smashed out.

  Checking around them, Archer quickly led the way across the road, Angela hurrying along beside him, continuing with her explanation.

  ‘NSA went through a serious identity crisis before 9/11,’ she said. ‘But things changed afterwards. A programme designed to track threats outside the US called ThinThread started to be used for internal surveillance as well. Everyone knows about it now of course because of the Snowden leaks.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Jesse asked. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A programme that gives NSA the ability to listen to your phone calls, read your emails, access your passwords, check your medical history. Some people say if you have nothing to hide then you have nothing to fear. Others object to the invasion of privacy.’

  As they approached a corner, Archer suddenly lifted his hand and the group slowed.

  Checking carefully around the wall, he saw the street camera had been smashed, pieces of detritus scattered down the empty road, the sound of shouting coming from somewhere nearby. Looking at Jesse, who indicated where they should go, Archer turned left and led them down the sidewalk, before cutting down a side street.

  ‘But why the hell are the NSA interested in us?’ Archer said, looking at Angela. ‘And the guys who attacked us aren’t surveillance specialists or analysts. This is a field team we’re dealing with’

  ‘Not everyone at the Agency works behind a desk,’ Angela replied.
/>   She glanced back at Ledger.

  ‘And not everyone uses the system as they should.’

  For a lot of people in Washington D.C., and particularly in Wards 7 and 8, the deaths of three innocent American citizens at the hands of a cop was a definite cause for protest, people outraged that someone supposed to be protecting them was doing just the opposite.

  However, others were just using it as an excuse to cause trouble, taking advantage of the fact that the cops were over-stretched.

  One such group in Barry Farms was made up of four teenage members of a low-level street gang. They’d been ransacking stores, setting fire to cars and were now using the opportunity to engage in one of their favourite past-times, a game that had become popular over the past few years with gangs around the US. The aim was to punch an unsuspecting passer-by and knock them out cold with one strike. If you had to hit them again your blow didn’t count and you lost the round, as well as some street cred.

  Right now the four teenagers were looking for another victim. One of them had just KO’d a female protestor four streets away, leaving her lying unconscious on the street, so the next guy had to match that. With the rioting keeping Metro fully occupied, they knew they could play the game with little fear of being arrested.

  The kid whose turn it was had just selected a target, and he was aiming big; a Metro PD cop. Despite the trouble in the area, the street they were on was quiet for the moment and the police officer walking towards them wasn’t paying them any attention. The teenager grinned; knocking out a cop was going to do his street cred a hell of a lot of good.

  Talking to someone, presumably into a radio mic, the officer was distracted, holding the index finger of his right hand to his ear, his left hand holding a rifle. He looked pissed off but whatever the cause, that was about to be the least of his problems.

  ‘This one,’ the youth said quietly. His companions looked to where he was indicating and their eyes widened in anticipation. An armed cop; knocking him out cold would go down in legend. ‘I’ll lay his pig-ass out.’