Green Light (Sam Archer 7) (18 page)

As she reversed into another space outside her neighbour’s
house, she saw the display inside the car indicating an incoming
call,
Josh
flashing on the screen. Applying the handbrake, Michelle
switched off the ignition as the kids undid their seatbelts and
piled out, slamming the doors behind them.

She
pulled her cell phone from her bag and pressed the green button as
she climbed out of the car. Locking the vehicle, she turned towards
her house and lifted the phone to her ear.

‘
Hey baby,’ she said. ‘Did you find Archer?’

His reply was drowned out by the noise of a police car with a
blaring siren as it suddenly screeched around the corner ahead of
her off 8
^th
Avenue. The sound caught her and her kids by surprise, all
four of them swinging round at the unexpected noise.

Her
phone still to her ear, Michelle frowned as she recognised the
fast-moving vehicle.

It was a
Counter-Terrorism Bureau Ford.

As they rounded the corner on 9
^th
, having boxed Columbus Circle
to get here faster, Josh, Archer and Marquez could see Michelle and
the three kids on the street outside the house, looking in their
direction.

But then
to their horror, two large black haired men in dark jackets and
jeans suddenly appeared from the Blakes’ front door, carrying
automatic weapons.

And
before Josh could brake or shout a warning, the two men were
already lifting the guns, aiming them straight at Michelle and the
three kids.

TWENTY

The car
was still moving when Archer opened his door, pushing it back with
his foot whilst racking a round into the Mossberg. He leapt out and
aimed the shotgun at the two gunmen in one fast fluid movement but
there was a major problem which stopped him from pulling the
trigger.

The two
men were standing on the lowest step of the Blake front
porch.

But
twenty five feet in front of Archer, Josh’s two sons were standing
directly in his line of fire.

Michelle
and the boys had frozen like deer in headlights. The two gunmen had
free shots.

Then
Archer noticed a large porch-light directly above them.

Lifting
his aim, he fired. As the shotgun exploded and kicked back into his
shoulder, the lamp took the shell full on, blasting the glass which
showered down onto the men. It only distracted them for a few
seconds but gave Marquez the opportunity to move away from the car
and get a better angle to fire her pistol. However, the two men
recovered fast and swept their weapons back up which meant she
didn’t have any more time. She had to fire right now.

As Josh
shouted at his wife to get down, Michelle turned just as Marquez
pulled the trigger. The 9mm round missed Josh’s wife but hit one of
the two gunmen straight in the shoulder, thumping him back as he
let off an involuntary volley from the suppressed UMP into the sky,
the bullets ripping into a building across the street, peppering
the red-stone brickwork.

The
other man managed to get a burst off, his muzzle flashing; taking a
hit, Michelle spun in a pirouette and fell to the ground. Josh
shouted with rage and instinctively unleashed a volley of fire at
the gunman with his Sig, walking down on him, forcing the guy to
run for cover as the kids crawled towards their injured
mother.

Suddenly
two more gunmen appeared from the house, immediately opening fire
with silenced sub-machine guns. Josh dived for cover behind a
parked car as the sudden onslaught forced Marquez and Archer down,
the rounds ripping around them, the two men’s rate of firepower so
far the winner in this exchange. Using that brief advantage the men
ran for their vehicle, maintaining their assault but their aim now
more erratic.

Archer
grabbed that opportunity to look out from around the car he’d
ducked behind. He took aim but before he could pull the trigger one
of the gunmen unleashed another volley directly at him, forcing him
back as the man jumped into the vehicle seconds before it took off,
speeding away towards Central Park West.

Rising
from between the two cars, Archer aimed his Mossberg and managed to
put a shell into one of the tyres, blowing it out. Racking the
pump, he went to fire again but the car slid around the corner and
was gone, car alarms set off, dogs barking, the sounds of the
speeding car fading.

Beside
him, Marquez was already running towards Josh, who was kneeling by
Michelle. Beside them the three kids were crying and clutching
their mother who was on her side holding her arm, her eyes wide
with shock. As Josh started to compress the wound and Marquez
pulled her cell to call for an ambulance, Archer raced towards the
front door and sprinted up the steps.

The
smoking shotgun in his shoulder and gunpowder stinging his eyes, he
snapped inside, clearing the lower level. Things had been knocked
over, doors kicked in and ornaments smashed.

Seeing
there was no-one there, he immediately sprinted up the
stairs.

‘
Isabel!’
he called, reaching the
1
^st
floor.
‘Isabel!’

He
looked around, praying that she’d hidden just as he’d told her to
and he wouldn’t see her small body lying on the floor
somewhere.

‘
Isabel!’

He
couldn’t see her anywhere and there was no response. His heart
pounding, he saw a load of shell casings on the floor in the
bedroom. Walking forward, he could see the lower portion of the
guest bed had been shot to pieces; someone had fired under the bed,
aiming at someone hiding underneath.

Kneeling
down slowly, he exhaled and looked under the frame.

Just as
he bent, the door to the kids’ bathroom on the landing opened from
behind him. He spun round and saw Isabel appear, dressed in her
pyjamas. He just had time to lean the shotgun against the bed
before she flung herself into his arms.

Archer
ignored the pain from the cut to his chest as relief poured through
him, realising she was unhurt.

‘
It’s OK, they’re gone,’ he told her. ‘You’re safe.’

She
didn’t reply as he stood up, her arms wrapped around his neck and
her legs around his torso, her body trembling. As he held her and
rubbed her back comfortingly, Archer looked into the bathroom and
saw the lid to the clothes hamper was open.

‘
That was a good hiding place,’ he told her, leaning back and
smiling at her.

‘
I’ve used it before,’ she said quietly.

Outside,
Marquez ended the call for an ambulance then put her cell back in
her pocket and knelt down by Josh’s three kids, all of whom were
starting to show signs of shock, brass shell casings all over the
sidewalk and scattered on the road. Josh was cradling Michelle,
talking to her reassuringly and trying to keep her conscious, his
hand clamped over the wound as the sound of sirens came
closer.

Curtains
on windows along the street were flickering, people who’d taken
cover from the gunfight risking a look outside to see what had
happened now it had gone quiet. The flashing lights on the hastily
abandoned Ford were illuminating the dark street with a pulsing red
glow. Focusing on Michelle, Marquez pulled off her jacket and laid
it over the injured woman.

‘
An ambulance will be here any minute,’ she said. ‘You’re going
to be fine, OK?’

Michelle
nodded quickly but didn’t reply, her eyes wide and her breathing
ragged as the pain and shock kicked in. Doing her best to help Josh
and comfort the kids, Marquez suddenly saw Archer appear from the
house, Isabel on his hip, dressed in her night clothes and with her
head buried in his neck.

She rose
and walked quickly up to them, resting her hand on Isabel’s back.
‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’

Isabel
nodded, not letting go of Archer as emergency vehicles started to
arrive on the street. Marquez turned and went to follow Archer down
the step when her foot kicked against something.

Looking
down, she saw a cell phone half concealed in the shadows on the
second step. Kneeling, she hitched her sleeve over her hand to
protect against smudging any fingerprints and picked it up. Pulling
her other sleeve over her left-fore finger, she pressed one of the
buttons and clicked into the device.

Just in
front of her at the bottom of the steps, Archer watched the
arriving squad cars as they ripped round the corner from Central
Park West and pulled to a halt on the street, officers climbing out
and running towards Josh and Michelle.

‘
Jesus Christ, where the hell is the ambulance?’ he
said.

Marquez
didn’t reply, staring at the phone in her hand. Archer turned to
look at her.

‘
Lisa?’

Suddenly
she thrust the cell at Archer, leapt down the step and took off
towards their car.

‘
Warn Shepherd and Hendricks!
’ she
shouted at him, ripping open the driver’s door to the
Ford.

Archer
watched in astonishment as she fired the engine and took off down
the street, passing an ambulance coming in the opposite direction
as she roared out onto Central Park West and disappeared out of
sight.

‘
What’s wrong?’ Isabel asked, seeing her go.

‘
I don’t know,’ Archer said, looking down at the phone Marquez
had virtually thrown at him. On the screen was an open text
message, a series of names and addresses.

Then he
saw why Marquez had bolted. The first address was
Josh’s.

Then
Marquez’s.

Then
Shepherd’s, and Hendricks’.

And
finally, his.

It
wasn’t Lisa’s cell.

One of
the gunmen who’d just escaped had dropped it.

TWENTY ONE

Like many other cities in the United States, New York was
adapting its approach to prostitution. In the past, those who were
paid for sex were viewed as criminals but the outlook had changed,
those in authority starting to realise the bleak, dangerous lives
these people led, most of them with little chance of escape.
Operation Losing Proposition
had been the Department’s first major step in trying to strike
a balance, seeking to target the johns rather than the girls;
arrests had been plentiful, including some of the providers, but it
was a step in the right direction.

Another was Covenant Housing, nationwide secure hostel-like
shelters where residents could be admitted for a thirty day
rehabilitation program with the intention of getting them off the
street and into a safer life. Located in Midtown on
42
^nd
Street, the New York branch was one of the main refuges for
victims of the sex industry and that Friday night, three of the
project’s employees were working together at the front desk when
the front door opened and a man in jeans, jacket and a sweater
wandered in.

The
moment he entered the building, all conversation ceased, the three
of them recognising the look on the new arrival’s face. The vacancy
and despair that was so familiar was clearly visible, his face
pale, his head buzz-shaved. Women weren’t the only sex being
trafficked and sold on the street. The man was slightly built,
around five ten and a hundred and sixty pounds, someone who without
a lot of confidence would be easily controlled.

He
shuffled towards the front desk, the female shift leader walking
forward to meet him. There was a pause.

‘
I’ve got nowhere else to go,’ he said eventually, staring at
the counter.

She
nodded, putting her hand on his back reassuringly.

‘
It’s OK,’ she told him. ‘We have space.’

More than a hundred blocks uptown, the car carrying the four
armed
Prizraki
had
stopped at their next address, that of
L
Marquez
on 120
^th
Street. The journey had been
a frustrating ride, hindered by one of their tyres being blown out
in the shootout on 76
^th
Street, but they’d still managed to make it up
there fast, knowing the cops would be onto them.

Staying
where he was inside their car, Marat gritted his teeth and clutched
his shoulder, feeling a searing pain coursing through his body,
blood staining his hands. The bullet was still in there and
grinding against the bone. He swore at his stupidity as he sweated
and bled out; not only had he got shot but he’d dropped his cell
phone, which meant those cops who’d shown up would have it by
now.

He
should have tossed it down a storm drain or deleted the message as
soon as he’d memorised it; his desire for bloodlust and revenge had
made him sloppy and he knew that could cost them dearly. He wasn’t
planning on telling the other guys or Bashev though; as a
newly-promoted right-hand man, it wouldn’t exactly build trust and
respect and he had no desire to end up in a coffin with his wrists
broken for his carelessness.