Silent Night (Sam Archer 4) (18 page)

In front of the men, one of the bartenders ended a phone call then grabbed a remote and flicked the television above the bar from an ESPN pre-game show to the news channel. Drinking from their beers, the trio watched in silence. There were several headlines rolling on the screen. It seemed like some crazy stuff had gone down in
Manhattan
that morning just the other side of the
Hudson
. There'd been some kind of bomb threat at Macy’s and a chemical accident by the South Street Seaport that had killed almost sixty people.

As the three skinheads watched the television, the one in the middle whistled.

‘Holy shit.’

The man to his right nodded in agreement. The guy on the left drained his beer and rose from his stool. The man beside him turned.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Smoke.’

The man walked to the door, heading out of the front of the bar. He pulled a pack of Marlboro from the pocket of his jacket and slid one into his mouth, sparking the end. Tucking the lighter and pack back in his pocket, he took a draw and examined the area around him, blowing out the smoke. Traffic was coming around the corner from the right, but across the street he saw two cops had pulled someone over. One of them was by the woman’s window, talking to her quietly, his partner returning from their squad car with her licence and registration.

The skinhead drew on the cigarette and watched them.

‘Hey. Pigs.’

They didn’t hear him.

‘Hey, piggy, piggies.’

They heard him this time. The officers turned simultaneously and saw him across the road by the bar.

He grinned, standing face on, willing them to take the bait.

The two cops looked at him for a moment. Then they passed the woman’s details back to her and started walking towards him. A red light had hit, so the street was clear. They moved across the road with the absolute confidence and authority that their badge and gun provided. Stepping onto the sidewalk, the two cops walked up to him, standing close.

‘You say something?’ one of them said.

The skinhead grinned, but didn’t reply. His two friends had sensed something was happening and were watching the exchange from their seats inside the bar.

‘I’m sure you just said something.’

The skinhead didn’t reply. He took a long draw on the cigarette instead.

‘It sounded like you just called us pigs.’

Turning to the man on his right, the skinhead suddenly blew the smoke in the cop’s face.

The police officer blinked, momentarily blinded.

Then the skinhead dropped the cigarette, swivelled and sucker-punched the other cop in the face.

‘So what do you think?’ Shepherd asked, addressing Marquez, Archer and Josh. ‘You think Gunnar’s telling the truth?’

They were outside Briefing Room 5, standing beside the railing that looked out over the lower level and detective pit. Given that Rach was already occupied, two analysts across the building were pulling up full profiles on the four names Gunnar had given them. They’d already drawn one, the man Gunnar had said was missing,
Ray
Creek
. He had an address in his name on
33
rd
Street
in Sunnyside,
Queens
. Shepherd had sent Jorgensen over there with two other detectives to check it out.

‘I think he is,’ Marquez said. ‘He doesn’t know what they were up to.’

‘Agreed,’ Josh said.

‘He could be lying,’ Shepherd said.

‘He seems too smart,’ Marquez said. ‘He wouldn’t be involved in this shit.’

‘We could get a polygraph in?’ Josh suggested

‘What do you think?’ Shepherd asked Archer. ‘You were in there with him.’

‘We got the four names from him but that’s all we’re going to get. We don’t have time to chase down blind alleys. He’s a dead end.’

There was a pause. The team looked at the detective pit down below and saw Dr Kruger sitting with Maddy Flood by Shepherd’s desk. Their chairs were pulled to the side and they were close enough for their knees to touch, talking in low voices. Kruger was holding her hand comfortingly. Maddy nodded at whatever he was saying, wiping away some fresh tears.

‘Let’s take a rain check,’ Shepherd said, thinking. ‘We need to start building a web here. We have two objectives. Number one is locate this last vial. And number two is find out how the hell Bleeker knew about this virus in the first place.’

He turned to Marquez.

‘Work with Rach up here. She’s trying to find out who took Hansen into that restroom and broke his neck. The moment you have something, I want to know.’

She nodded, stepping back into the briefing room and joining Rach by her computer terminal. Shepherd turned to Archer and Josh.

‘I want you two downstairs with the doctors. Find out everything they know. Take one aside each.’

‘What about Gunnar, sir?’ Josh asked.

Shepherd thought for a moment. ‘Let him go. You’re right. He’s not involved in this.’

Dr Glover was sitting in the lab at
Kearny Medical
when the lift doors opened again. He saw the terrifying man and woman who had kidnapped him unloading a series of canisters from the lift, dragging them across the polished tiles towards the lab. The man with the machine pistol rose from his chair and started speaking with them on the other side of the glass. The trio talked for a moment, the woman scraping the sides of her boots on the white floor, taking off some mud.

Earlier, Glover had been given exact orders as to what was required and why he was here. He’d been informed in graphic detail of the consequences if he failed and had spent the last hour both waiting for these canisters to arrive so he could get started and also praying that police officers would suddenly appear and save him.

But they hadn’t.

He watched the trio talk. Then they simultaneously turned and looked over at him. The large man walked over to the lab, his machine pistol in his right hand. He reached into his pocket with his left and pulled out the vial containing the virus. The doors slid open and he walked towards Glover.

‘We’re ready to begin.’

Not far away, the neo-Nazi who had sucker-punched the cop was hauled into the Hoboken Police Department, his hands cuffed behind him and an officer gripping him on either side. One of them was the cop he’d sucker-punched. The guy’s nose had just about stopped bleeding, but it was going to swell up nicely by the morning. They dragged him over to the booking desk, both of them using more force than was necessary and slammed him against the counter. The cop behind the desk looked up as if he’d seen this a thousand times before. He probably had.

‘Name,’ he asked with a bored, monotone voice.

‘Listen,’ the skinhead said. ‘I need my phone call right now.’

‘Name?’

‘Will Peterson.’

The cop started writing.

‘Listen to me guys, I need to make this phone call. It’s urgent.’

‘Shut the hell up,’ the guy he had punched said, dabbing at his face. ‘You broke my nose, you asshole.’

‘Date of birth and home address?’

‘Phone call.’

‘Date of birth and home address?’

‘Phone call.’

‘Screw you,’ the cop with the busted nose said.

Peterson cursed. ‘Listen to me. I know my rights. Just give me my call. Then you can lock me up for the rest of the month.’

‘Jesus Christ, just give him his damn phone call,’ the cop behind the counter said, rubbing his temples.

The two cops looked at each other then dragged the skinhead across the reception area to a payphone by the wall. When they got there one of them pulled Peterson around and undid the cuffs, freeing his hands momentarily.

‘One call. You’ve got thirty seconds.’

‘Enjoy it,’ the guy with the busted nose said. ‘You’re gonna be in jail ‘til next Christmas.’

Peterson pulled two quarters from his pocket quickly, tucking them into the slot. He pushed a number, fast. It was one he always dialled from memory, and one he dialled often.

C’mon. Pick up
.

He was in luck. It rang twice then was answered.

‘John, it’s me,’ Peterson said. ‘Listen. I need your help and I need it right now.’

As the clock ticked on into the afternoon, Archer carried two cups from the drinks machine over to Shepherd’s desk. To the right, Gunnar was just being released. He’d been taken out of the interrogation cell and was being led towards the exit. Archer felt the man’s gaze upon him and was relieved to watch the giant go.

Kruger was sitting beside Shepherd’s desk, alone, his head in his hands. Josh was across the detective area, sitting with Maddy Flood at his own desk and talking with her quietly. Archer placed a coffee in front of Kruger then took a seat, drinking from his tea. Kruger looked up, glancing around the building, and Archer took the opportunity to examine him. The medic had patched him up, cleaning off the dried blood and applying some butterfly stitches, but he’d taken a serious beating. It looked like he’d gone twelve rounds for the world title.

‘How’s the face?’

‘Sore as hell.’ Kruger reached forward and picked up his cup of coffee. ‘Thanks.’

‘Has anyone told you about Dr Tibbs?’

Kruger glanced down and nodded.

‘I heard.’

There was a pause.

‘So what’s your story?’ Archer asked, changing the subject. ‘You said Dr Flood recruited you from
South Africa
?’

Kruger nodded. ‘We met at a conference in
Cape Town
twelve months ago, almost to the day. I’m a virologist.’

He saw the blank look on Archer’s face.

‘I study viruses and how they work.’

‘OK.’

‘Anyway, Peter told me over dinner about his recent research. He was very excited. He told me that he’d designed a whole new way of encapsulating radioactive isotopes in the protein shells of a virus. He called it
radio viral therapy
. His vision was that it could morph into a ground-breaking treatment for lung cancer, if it had the right cultivation of course. And that was where I came in. He wanted me to come and work with him on the next phase of his project.’

‘Which was?’

‘Peter had the blueprints as it were. Given my background in viral genetics, he needed me to put everything together and basically grow the virus at his lab on
66
th
Street
. He offered me a position, working alongside him. I packed my bags and arrived in
New York
three days later.’

‘That’s a big move.’

‘I jumped at the opportunity. Peter was very well known in his field. And it looks as though Maddy is going to be just as successful. She’s brilliant.’

Archer glanced over Kruger’s shoulder at her. She was sitting facing them.

She sensed Archer looking over at her and glared back.

‘Our work continued throughout this year,’ Kruger continued. ‘The early period was spent finding a suitable base for the virus. Viruses can only grow inside living cells. These can be animal or plant cells, but most are typically bacteria. Given that this was a treatment designed to be administered by inhalation, I found that the only organism capable of culturing Peter’s radio virus was TB. Tuberculosis. Understand?’

Archer nodded. ‘I think so. But I thought TB was potentially lethal.’

‘It is. However, I modified the strain to be fast growing but not capable of harming the lungs. Remember this was supposed to be medicinal, not a weapon. And the longer I worked on the project, the more I realised Peter’s vision could actually be feasible. It was very exciting. A virus that would irradiate a cancerous tumour from the inside. Genius. And ground-breaking too.’

He paused, drinking from his coffee.

‘However, once we tested it on mice a few weeks ago I realised we must have badly miscalculated somewhere, probably with the radiation and its effect on the virus. I implored Peter to throw in the towel and quit.
It’s over,
I told him.’

‘But he refused.’

‘Not only that. He demanded that I culture six separate samples of it and store them. He felt that the cure was only one mistake or one stroke of luck away. A happy accident, if you will. I agreed, reluctantly. But I could see Peter was starting to unravel.’

He paused, thinking. Archer drank from his tea and continued to listen closely.

‘Have you ever heard of a man called Dr Ronald Mallett, Detective?’ Kruger asked.

Archer shook his head.

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘He is the world’s leading expert on time travel. He’s convinced that it will happen before the end of this century. Although he’s over sixty years old now, Dr Mallett has made it his life’s work, devoting all his energy towards research and theory concerning its possibility. But do you know why?’