Tom Barber - One Way

Surviving the ordeal on the street and inside the building had earned her a hell of a lot of respect in the Marshals service as well as in the Miami-Dade Police Department, especially considering she’d not only kept her witness alive but had also taken down the four gang members and the ten-man response team with Archer’s help. Isabel had made the stand and buried her brother and his crew. They were all going away for several life sentences. Mike Lombardi had been picked up on Monday morning having been found handcuffed to a chair inside an NYPD safe-house in Midtown. He was shouting and hollering that a dark-haired cop had put a gun to his balls and assaulted some of his people at their bar in Tribeca. He’d kept up the complaints all the way to the stand, but no-one took any notice and Isabel’s testimony finished him. As it turned out, he had more than a few enemies inside. Reports had come through that he and his four friends hadn’t made it past their second night; Gino Lombardi’s influence had reached out from beyond the grave and for some men, you didn’t need to share the same blood to be considered family.

The funeral services for the fallen ESU team had all taken place. Funerals for Carson, Foster, Barlow and Helen had also taken place around two weeks ago. She’d missed Barlow’s for obvious reasons. The body count from that Sunday night had been high. A number had been killed in the explosion on the 8th floor apartment when the mob had come hunting but few people mourned them. After long debriefing and extensive statements from all parties, the DOJ had officially let it be known how impressed they were with Vargas’s performance in keeping the child and herself alive.

However, she’d made it very clear how it hadn’t all been down to her. Not by a long way.

As she cast her mind back to that evening, she remembered the conversation she’d had with Archer, before they ventured downstairs and realised the building was about to be blown up. She’d seen the look in his eyes; he knew he was going to die. He’d stayed with her and brought her back from when Denton had electrocuted her. No-one had ever made those kinds of commitments to her. Ever. She felt emotion rising in her throat, but swallowed it back down, blinking as she thought of him.

Glancing to her left, she saw someone approaching, moving through the people wandering around the Square. He was a young guy, early twenties, and was walking directly towards her. She’d seen him before, in a photograph.

She rose and they shook hands. He had his mother’s eyes.

‘You made it,’ she said.

‘Of course.’ Pause. ‘I’m Peter.’

‘Alice.’

He took a seat beside her. Together, the two of them watched Isabel in silence; she was having a good time, playing with her friend. Since that evening she’d been up and down, suffering from bad nightmares and delayed stress. A psychiatrist had warned things could get worse. However, he’d also offered some hope; although children were easily scared, they didn’t know the way the world worked yet. They were able to recover from trauma surprisingly well, given the right nurturing and care. Time would tell.

‘That’s the girl?’

‘That’s her.’

There was a pause filled by background noise from the Park and neighbourhood.

‘They told me a piece of shrapnel killed her,’ Peter said.

Vargas nodded. ‘That’s right. From a grenade explosion.’

Someone nearby heard this and looked up from their paper. Vargas caught his eye and smiled; the man returned his attention to the New York Post.

‘Must have been quick,’ Peter said.

‘Yes it was. She saved all of us. When we first took cover in there, she didn’t hesitate or tell us to leave. She let us in right away. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. Neither would Isabel.’

Pause.

‘I heard her talking when we were trapped up there. She was talking about you. How much she missed you and regretted what had happened.’

The young man blinked and swallowed.

‘But we’re alive because of what she did.’

Pause.

‘Have you spoken to your father?’

‘Not recently.’

‘Maybe give him a call.’

A pause. Their conversation was never destined to be a long one; she could see the young man struggling with emotion but holding it together. He was tough, just like his mother. He stood up and turned to her.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, offering his hand.

Vargas shook it. ‘You too.’

He walked away and she watched him go.

As he moved down the path, headed out of the Park, he passed another man who was coming the other way.

Vargas’ breath caught when she saw him.

Apart from a butterfly stitch over his eyebrow and some nicks and cuts on his arms, he looked normal. She watched him walking over; he was wearing a white t-shirt. As he moved, a gust of wind pushed the fabric against his stomach and she caught the outline of the bandage strapped to his lower torso, across the jagged wound which was healing nicely.

A pair of kids raced past him, almost knocking him over, but he swerved just in time and took a seat beside her. He looked over at her and smiled.

‘Hey Vargas.’

‘Hey Archer. You made it.’

‘Of course. I love this place.’ He glanced at the table beside them. ‘Let’s skip the chess, though.’

She smiled. ‘Agreed.’

He’d passed out on the roof from blood loss and exhaustion. An NYPD helicopter had arrived on the roof shortly after he’d fallen unconscious. Two men ran over, one of them saying his name was Shepherd and that he was Archer’s sergeant. They’d carried Archer onto the helicopter, watched anxiously by Vargas and Isabel, who’d climbed in after them. With the girl safely on her lap, Vargas had watched the building shrink as they moved away, the bodies of Calvin and the other two splayed out on the roof. Archer had regained consciousness in hospital the next day, an IV in his arm, his wounds cleaned and bandaged. Apparently they’d got him there just in time. He’d been discharged two days later and had been taking it easy since, letting his body heal up.

Vargas had met his NYPD partner Josh at the hospital, who told her Archer’s physical state after police operations was becoming a bit of a running theme. Apparently he’d been off for three months since Christmas and had been due back in the field the day after the incident at the building. Josh had taken to calling him Lazarus, but amongst the jokes and ribbing she’d seen how relieved he was that his friend was OK. That son of a bitch never gives up, Josh had told her the night Archer had been admitted and was unconscious, both of them sitting by his bedside. After everything that had happened, she could certainly agree with that.

The two of them watched Isabel doing cartwheels, sunbathers and people on office lunch breaks sitting around the pair of girls as they played on the grass. A kid having fun, far from danger and bloodshed. No-one watching would have any idea who she really was and what she’d been through. That was the way it should be.

‘So she’s all yours now?’ Archer said.

Vargas nodded.

‘No surviving family. No other guardians. It was me or the foster home. Something else I’m new at. Guess we’ll both have to figure it out.’

‘You’ll be fine. You’ve already done more for her than anyone else in her life ever has.’

Silence fell as they watched her play. Vargas turned to him.

‘So what now for you?’

He looked back at her. ‘At least my cough’s gone.’

The way he said it made her laugh.

‘I just got a text from Shepherd. He wants me in tonight. Apparently an op just came in. Some kind of security audit for Cinco de Mayo. Finally back on field duty.’