by Tom Barber
‘Forget them! They can wait!’
‘Copy that. We’ll be there in a couple minutes.’
‘We’re going in.’
Taking deep breaths, he and Deerman ran inside the building, cradling their rifles and sprinting for the stairs.
On the roof, Archer coughed as he pushed himself upright, looking around him at scores of small black rubber balls, the air reeking of petrol and smoke. He stood and then bent down to scoop Sarah up, seeing Jesse trying to get back to his feet. Archer moved back to the stairwell door, seeing the fire was being brought under control by the sprinklers.
‘What the hell was that?’ Jesse asked from behind.
Archer didn’t reply. Moving cautiously down the flight of stairs to the 5th floor, he saw although there were pockets of fire still burning, they could get down.
‘Elevator?’ Jesse coughed.
‘No way!’ Archer said loudly. ‘Has to be…the stairs.’
Making their way down to the 5th floor, Archer suddenly heard a crack above them and stepped back against the wall as large pieces of plaster fell from the ceiling, forcing them to retreat onto the burning 5th floor.
‘We have to get the hell out of here!’ he said. ‘This place could come down at any second!’
To his left, just beyond the stairwell, he spotted a small kitchen through what was left of the door; he moved forward, carrying Sarah, Jesse following.
Lowering her carefully to the floor, Archer stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked in panic, clinging onto him. ‘Don’t leave!’
‘I just need to check the way down is clear,’ he said, pulling his Sig.
‘Don’t leave us!’ Jesse said, echoing Sarah.
‘I’ll be right back.’
Moving out of the kitchen to the top of the stairs, Archer looked down. Then, even as he checked their escape route, more of the ceiling suddenly collapsed, right across where the door used to be just behind him, blocking his path back to the other two.
Swearing, he turned, moving quickly down the stairs to cut through the 4th floor and get to where Sarah and Jesse were from the other side.
But just as he was halfway down, he caught a flash of movement below.
Two figures were coming up the stairs, four floors down, each carrying an assault rifle and wearing a bulletproof vest with ATF printed on the front.
Half-shielding his face with his forearm to protect it from the heat, one of them looked up.
And as they made direct eye contact, Archer saw it was the man they’d ID’d earlier as Carl Thorne.
FORTY SIX
Archer was already moving as gunfire hit the wall right where he’d been standing.
Sprinting back up the bend in the stairs and reaching the exit to the roof, he smashed open the glass box just inside the door and pulled the fire axe from its bracket.
Pushing the door open, he slammed it shut behind him and rammed the axe through the outside grips, securing it. Trapped, separated from Jesse and Sarah and with just seconds until the heavily armed men reached the door, he looked around and swore in frustration.
The roof was flat with nowhere to hide; the only thing he could see was the crane’s wire rope hanging from the arm above and that wasn’t exactly going to provide much cover. Seeing nothing else however, he swore again and looked up.
The wire rope was about forty feet long, connected to the arm which led to the main structure of the crane on the half-finished building next door.
‘Shit!’ he hissed, looking back at the door and making his decision; he didn’t have any alternative.
Pulling off his slightly torn dark shirt, he took hold of the bottom and ripped the material, tearing it in half. Wrapping one piece around each hand, he ran across to the rope and taking hold, started to hitch his way upwards, adrenaline fuelling his tired muscles which burned with every inch upwards.
Working his way up the rope as fast as he could, he willed the door on the roof to stay shut.
If the men appeared right now they could flip a coin to see who would pick him off first.
Inside the stairwell, Thorne and Deerman had just reached the fire exit when part of the ceiling collapsed, the two men leaping back as plaster, fire and cinders crashed around them, blocking the door.
‘I want weapons on that roof!’ Thorne said into his mic.
‘We just got here!’ Riley replied. ‘We’re getting top-side.’
Using all his strength to reach the arm of the crane, Archer locked his feet around the wire rope and bit down on the wrapping over his right hand, pulling it off, the fabric falling to the roof below. Doing the same with his left, he transferred his right hand onto the arm of the crane, hanging over the roof forty feet below.
From this height, the wind was stronger, causing Archer’s clothes to snap around him as he grabbed hold with his right.
Pulling himself up, he managed to swing his right leg over the metal, hooking it across a horizontal bar. His hands moist from sweat which wasn’t helping, he waited a second to get his breath back then gritted his teeth and hauled himself up with all his strength, managing to twist himself onto the top of the bar.
Getting his feet onto the wide metal arm and holding on tightly, he started to work his way towards the cab, the building below giving way to a drop down to the street. He tried not to look down, never good with heights at the best of times.
Finally reaching the cab, he lowered himself down onto the small platform before swinging onto the ladder and started to climb down. He looked at the rooftop of the unfinished building getting closer, his relief increasing with every foot as he saw the chance of survival approaching.
But then eighty or so yards away, the roof door to the building he’d just left was suddenly blasted open.
Halfway down the ladder, Archer was at just the right height for the two men’s aim, who’d already spotted him.
Archer had one choice.
Jumping off the ladder as the two men opened fire, Archer fell through the air towards the newly constructed roof below him, bullets hitting the metal around him.
He landed hard with a thump, the fall winding him. Rolling over and gasping for air, he quickly rolled again as rifle fire hit metal venting behind him.
Getting his breath back, Archer got up and ran into the protection of the building, heading towards the stairs, pulling his Sig Sauer from his holster.
Tearing up the floor with his rifle, Thorne clicked dry just as Deerman reloaded, the gunpowder stinging his eyes.
‘Shit, he made it!’ Deerman said.
Not wasting any more time firing at Archer, both men turned and sprinted for the stairs, covering their faces as they ran into the burning building. Looking around, they couldn’t see any sign of the woman or kid anywhere.
‘They’re gone!’ Deerman shouted over the alarm.
‘Archer used the crane to drop onto the building next door!’ Thorne said into the radio, hitting the stairs. ‘Don’t let him get out of there!’
‘We’re on it!’ Riley said.
‘Firemen?’
‘Not there yet but I can see them coming. You’ve got thirty seconds to get out!’
The adjacent building was only half-finished, which meant Archer was almost always visible from outside as he ran down the stairs. He had to get back to Sarah and Jesse before the two men with the rifles found them; they’d stopped firing which probably meant they’d gone back inside the building and would no doubt be heading this way to finish him off.
He didn’t want to think about the alternative, that they were looking for his sister and the boy or had already found them.
Sprinting through the development, Archer reached the 3rd floor and looked over at the adjacent building hearing the sound of fire engines nearby, help on its way. The firemen could get to Sarah and Jesse but they’d need to know where they were and fast, before the building collapsed.
He ran on down the stairs and glanced towards the building again, hearing more fire engi
nes arrive.
And didn’t see the figure move until it was too late.
Hit hard, he was taken off his feet, smashed in the face with a gun as an armed man snapped into view from behind the 2nd floor door. Landing heavily, Archer immediately went to rise but was kicked back, dropping his Sig Sauer as a rifle was pointed at his face, another man appearing alongside his attacker.
They’d finally got him.
FORTY SEVEN
Dragging him off the stairs and away from the windows, the two men pulled Archer into a large space currently being used as a construction level, bags of cement propped against each other, wheelbarrows, troughs and mixers scattered around the floor.
A few chairs were grouped together, presumably for workers to use on their breaks and they dumped Archer roughly onto one. As his hands and feet were bound with tape, ice cold fear settled over him. That only intensified when he saw the two men who’d fired at him from the roof next door appear from the stairs panting, the man calling himself Thorne and the one who’d tried to shoot Archer in the head back in Buena Vista earlier in the night, the pair dressed in light clothing with bulletproof vests over their torsos, ATF printed in white on their chests.
Seeing Archer secured in the chair, the second man pulled a knife but the other said something in Spanish, stopping him in his tracks. They had a rapid exchange, Archer not understanding what was said, but the man with the knife folded it and tucked it back into his pocket.
However, there was one word Archer recognised which had been repeated during the brief conversation.
Agua.
Water.
Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, one of the other two men grabbed an empty cement mixing trough, pulling it across the floor towards where Archer was sitting, the metal scraping against the bare concrete floor. There was a tap on a far wall with a hose connected for mixing the cement.
Snatching up the hose, the man turned the tap and threw the end of the hose into the trough which started to fill with water, the level rising slowly.
‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ Thorne said to Archer. ‘In a situation like this, normally we’d skin you alive.’
The water continued to fill the trough.
‘But thank you for all your help tonight,’ Thorne said. ‘We’ve appreciated it.’
Archer looked at him, confused. The comment was strange.
‘Still haven’t worked this out, have you?’ Thorne continued.
Enjoying Archer’s obvious lack of understanding, the man knelt in front of him and smiled.
‘Real coincidence your partner’s son was shot and an old room-mate of yours pulled the trigger, wasn’t it?’
Trying to think clearly and ignore the sound of the trough filling with water, Archer focused on what the man was saying.
Hell of a coincidence.
‘Gotta give it to you my friend, you made one hell of a dance partner,’ the man said. ‘We needed you and you stepped up to the plate. At one point, I thought we might have risked too much and we’d never actually kill you.'
Archer thought back to his exchanges with the men tonight.
Ledger’s hideout at Buena Vista, and their subsequent escape.
Jack’s office.
Barry Farms, the subway and Anacostia.
The building next door.
And Thorne’s ID coming up on the Fingerprinting Database, but this man looking nothing like him.
‘I think he’s starting to realise,’ Thorne said to the others, grinning. ‘But we’ve got work to do. You’re going to tell us where Ledger and the bitch reporter are.’
Not replying, Archer pictured Nate’s body by the East River highway. He thought back through his own history, the previous cases he’d worked, his police file which the Amtrak sergeant earlier had been taken aback by.
Going off radar as he searched for his father’s killer, to the point that he became wanted by the FBI.
Taking on an entire team of armed killers inside a Harlem apartment block.
Never backing down.
Always fighting back.
Beside him, the trough continued to fill slowly, the end of the hose under the surface, the water level rising silently.
‘You’re not going to make it out of this,’ Thorne said. ‘The only question is how long it takes you to tell us where the reporter and Ledger are. We can make this last all night if we have to.’
‘No you can’t,’ Archer said, the sounds of sirens underscoring his words. ‘The reporter already went to her network.’ He looked at Thorne. ‘She knows who you are. Every cop and Fed in the city is going to be looking for you soon, if they aren’t already.’
He jerked his head towards the smouldering building behind him.
‘I’m guessing they’ll start right here.’
‘She has no idea who we are,’ Thorne said with a grin. Turning, he walked over to the wall and switched off the water supply, the trough now full of water. Beside him, one of the other men pulled off the shirt he was wearing over a t-shirt and bulletproof vest, passing it to Thorne, who’d bent down to pick up an empty paint thinner can, pushing it into the water.
Through the transparent tarpaulin covering a window slat ahead, Archer could just make out Wards 7 and 8 in the distance, the flames indicating the rioters were still in full flow.
‘All night, they’ve been doing this,’ Thorne said, seeing where Archer was looking, at the flames in the distance. ‘Fighting, burning, tearing their own city apart. Helping us, just like you. So many people, showing what they’re really made of. Who they really are.’
His smile faded, the three men around him slinging their rifles, ready to get to work.
‘Let’s find out who you really are.’
Slamming Archer back, two of the men pinned his arms and Thorne pulled the rag tight over his face. The fourth man started to pour water over the cloth, Archer unable to move.
And suddenly unable to breathe.
Fifty yards away, Jesse coughed repeatedly, drawing back from the kitchen window overlooking the building next door.
Earlier, he’d followed Archer out to the stairwell, only ducking back when he’d seen him run back up, bits of plaster falling on him, loosened by gunfire. Keeping out of sight, Jesse recognised the two men who’d attacked them at Ledger’s hideout earlier as they ran past, chasing Archer, only a falling chunk of ceiling stopping the pair from following Archer onto the roof.
Staying where he was, Jesse had prayed the two men wouldn’t double-back and check this floor, finding him and Sarah. Then he realised they were trying to smash their way through the door. Terrified for Archer, knowing he’d be trapped up there with nowhere to hide, Jesse had glanced out of the window and was stunned to see the NYPD cop on the crane.
Going over to the window, he’d seen Archer reach the cab and go down the ladder on the other building’s roof, then watched in horror as Archer suddenly jumped off, being shot at by the two operatives who’d managed to gain access to the roof. Looking where Archer fell, he was relieved to see him scramble for cover moments later.
He’d then heard the two operatives running back down the stairs, presumably either forgetting about Jesse and Sarah or only caring about killing Archer.
Moving into the kitchen, he saw Sarah coughing, sitting up against the wall. Unable to move around as freely as Jesse, she was concentrating on trying to recover her breath.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, loud enough so that she could hear him over the alarm.
‘Where is he?’ she asked.
‘He made it across-’
But then suddenly part of the ceiling above them collapsed.
Tipped backwards, Archer had been bracing himself, knowing how bad this was going to be, but with the rag over his face, everything suddenly became unbearably claustrophobic.
It was a horrific sensation. The soaked black shirt was plastered over his face, constricting his breathing, and he felt Thorne’s hand on his solar plexus, there to see wh
en he took a breath so he could pour more water.
A human being could only hold their breath for so long.
With water flooding his nostrils, burning his throat and sinuses, Archer was forced to inhale. But he couldn’t get any air, with the wet rag wrapped around his face. The harder he tried to breathe, the less oxygen came through, the cloth snapped taut.
The pressure in his head and chest was unendurable; it was as if he was dying in slow-motion, every second agony.
Suddenly for a wonderful moment the rag was whipped off and he was slammed upright, coughing water out of his mouth as he sucked in air, taking in as much as he could, feeling dizzy as it hit his blood-stream.
‘Where are Ledger and the reporter?’ one of the men shouted in his face.
Breathing in deeply, Archer suddenly snapped forward, head-butting the man viciously. As the operative was rocked back, one of the others punched Archer in the face, knocking him back, the rag immediately snapped back into position, Thorne pushing his hand against Archer’s solar plexus again ready for the next round.
FORTY EIGHT
Trapped on the 5th floor, Sarah blinked, slowly coming to. Pinned down under some heavy plaster, she tried to remember what had happened, then screamed as a few feet away a beam collapsed, spraying smoke and sparks into the air.
Beside her, she saw Jesse lying unconscious, bleeding from the head. The boy had been saying where Archer was before he was knocked out.
He made it across.
Across where?
Sarah coughed and tried to draw oxygen into her lungs, but the smoke burned her throat and chest, nothing there to breathe. Using all her strength to push the debris off, she rolled and started to drag herself towards the stairs, every attempted breath continuing to burn her lungs.
‘Sam?’ she called out desperately. ‘Sam?’
There was no reply.
He wasn’t there.
In the building next door, Archer was jerked upright again, coughing and sucking in air, tasting paint thinner from the can which the men were using to pour the water over the rag. But that was the least of his problems.
