Tom Barber - One Way

Dalton was mid-briefing when Hendricks and Shepherd approached him. He sensed their urgency and broke off from what he was saying, motioning to his team to give him one moment. He moved off to one side with the two men, Dalton’s team watching him expectantly.

‘What’s going on?’ Shepherd asked.

‘We’re going in.’

‘That’s not wise. They put down ESU with Claymore mines and a rocket launcher,’ Shepherd said. ‘Who knows what kind of weapons they’ve got in there?’’

‘We have no alternative. It’s time to end this thing.’

‘Listen. These men aren’t after the child,’ Hendricks said. ‘This is something else.’

Dalton looked at him. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

‘I went downtown; grilled Mike Lombardi. He has no idea what this is about.’

‘Are you kidding me? You went down there and told him the whereabouts of our only witness in his trial?’

Hendricks didn’t reply. Dalton’s expression changed, hardening.

‘You know what, from now on we’ll handle this,’ he said. ‘This is a Federal situation; stay the hell out of it.’

‘Listen to him, James,’ Shepherd implored. ‘These men aren’t who we thought they were. They’re here for one of your people.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I don’t know. But I think you do.’

Dalton didn’t reply. Behind him, his team waited expectantly, ready to go.

‘Stand down and stay the hell away,’ he repeated. ‘That’s a Federal order. We’re going in.’

On the 12th floor, Archer and Vargas were in the corridor, the two of them standing back to back, covering each other in the now familiar pattern. The hallway was quiet but they both felt vulnerable, as they’d done the entire damn time they’d been here. Being inside one of the apartments gave momentary protection and slight security; out here, there was nowhere to hide.

There were no more people left on this floor; the place was eerily empty.

And in the quiet, the constant beeping over the intercom continued.

They couldn’t waste a second; if the Marshals managed to breach the front door, the Claymores hidden behind the desk would blow them to pieces.

Moving fast, the pair entered the stairwell and started making their way down, ready and fully prepared to encounter the SRT team or the guys from the street and take them out head-on.

Hendricks and Shepherd watched Dalton re-join his team.

‘This isn’t smart,’ Hendricks said. ‘They annihilated the ESU task force. They’ll do the same to them.’

‘What else can we do, Jake? He won’t listen.’

‘Last time they came in from above,’ Hendricks said. ‘This time, they know it’ll be from the ground. It’ll be a massacre.’

Shepherd glanced at his friend and saw him staring up at the top of the building. He realised what he was thinking. Hendricks turned to him.

‘You with me?’

Shepherd nodded. Without another word, the two men ran from the sea of NYPD vehicles and jumped into Shepherd’s car, Hendricks pulling his cell as Shepherd fired the engine.

They needed a chopper ASAP.

Archer and Vargas moved down the stairs quickly. By now they’d become accustomed to each other’s movements and patterns, strangers from mere hours ago who were now relying on each other to stay alive.

5.

4.

3.

The lower apartment block was like a ghost-town. Everyone was either gone, hiding out or had been killed in the gas explosion on 8 when the mob of residents had found them. Pausing on the 3rd floor stairwell, they both glanced down the corridor.

It was deserted. There was no-one about.

Including the response team.

Down on the street, Dalton’s task force stepped past the barriers and shot-up cop cars, moving slowly forward. Four men at the front of the group were holding bullet-proof riot shields, the same type that had saved the Hostage Rescue man’s life when he’d tried to get a phone inside earlier. The raids and busts they performed as an agency often weren’t smooth and they were accustomed to this kind of drill. They were approaching in a group like a Roman tortoise, an ancient defensive manoeuvre but still highly effective.

Watching them approach the building, Dalton realised Hobbs was beside him, looking anxious. Any cause for argument they’d had earlier had been blown up with the ESU team and their chopper.

Dalton glanced at Hobbs.

‘Here we go.’

Archer and Vargas arrived onto the 1st floor. It was empty, no-one around, like all the others. However, they knew the team of Miami cops were using these floors, so Archer pulled open the door, Vargas going through, wanting to clear it quickly before they continued down. Halfway along the corridor, Archer passed a room with an open door that looked different. It was some kind of maintenance office, no one inside. Expecting an ambush at any moment, he ducked into the room, followed by Vargas. They both saw an intercom panel on the wall, but the button wasn’t pushed down.

There must be another somewhere else in the building, Archer thought.

Vargas looked at him and pointed down. He nodded. They couldn’t waste any more time. They quickly cleared the rest of the corridor and the north stairwell. As they moved down to the ground floor, ready to fire, they saw a load of dead bodies slumped on top of each other. They’d all been shot, blood on the floor and on the walls behind them. Climbing over them, with no time to spare, Archer and Vargas paused by the door. He looked at her and nodded.

Ripping the door back, they aimed into the lobby, ready to fire.

But none of the gunmen were there.

The man Archer had strangled was still dumped in a heap by the elevator but there was no-one else. The place was deserted. Archer looked over at the mass of Claymores aimed at the door and winced. He approached the jammer by the wall and flicked a switch; it seemed to shut down.

Vargas had already pulled her phone, looking through the shattered window, seeing a task force of Marshals approaching the door.

‘Put your hands up!’ one of them bellowed, seeing Archer through the gap and aiming at him with a shotgun.

Outside, the Marshals were eight yards from the door. Behind the cop car barrier twenty yards away, Dalton watched.

Suddenly, his phone rang. They were two yards from the door.

‘Hello?’

‘Sir, it’s Vargas! Do not enter! I repeat, do not enter! The door is rigged to blow!’

Dalton took off and started running towards the building with no regard for his own safety, people watching from the crowd and wondering what was happening.

The Marshals team were at the door.

‘Stop!’

The other side of the door, Archer saw the Marshals task force by the blown-out glass. Two of them were training their weapons on him. He saw a dark-haired man suddenly appear from behind, running forward and shouting at his team to lower their weapons. He had a phone to his ear. Dalton . Vargas saw him and ended the call, moving forward as close as she could get without touching the Claymores.

‘You can’t get in here, sir,’ Vargas told him. ‘There are enough Claymores here to kill everyone on the street.’

‘Are you OK?’ Dalton asked. ‘Where’s the child?’

‘She’s upstairs. She’s fine. These men are the cops from Miami; they’re here for me.’

Dalton stared at her. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive. This door’s trip-wired, sir. You’ll have to come in from the roof!’

Inside the lobby, there was a noise from the north stairwell. Vargas spun and swept up her M4A1, pointing it at the door. She and Archer both eased their way towards it. Pulling the door back, they aimed their weapons up the stairs past the dead bodies, but no one appeared, no other sound except the continuous beeping.