Green Light (Sam Archer 7) (2 page)

Somewhere below the Bridge, Archer was already making rapid
progress through the Q train. The service was moderately full, not
overcrowded, twenty or so people sitting or standing inside each
carriage. At this hour most people were leaving the city, not
entering it, but there were still way too many potential fatalities
here on the city-bound service.

As he
moved through the train, Archer rapidly scanned each person as he
passed, his hand lingering near the Sig Sauer P226 pistol resting
in its holster. He couldn’t see the suspect or the bag
anywhere.

Up
ahead, the doors to the carriage suddenly whooshed open and an MTA
employee in glasses and a blue uniform appeared and started walking
towards him. Moving forward quickly, Archer met him halfway and
pulled his badge from his hip.

‘
I need you to stop the train right now.’

‘
What? Why?’

‘
Just do it,’ Archer ordered quietly, looking around, aware
that they were in earshot of those immediately around them. ‘And
get everyone towards the rear of the train as quickly as you
can.’

As the
man pulled his radio, Archer turned to the carriage, showing his
badge to everyone inside. The vest strapped across his torso had
already attracted the attention of more than a few.

‘
Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Detective Sam Archer,
NYPD. We have an incident on board; I need you
all to start moving towards the rear of the train
immediately.’

As
people looked at him uncertainly, hearing what he’d said but not
immediately reacting, some who were listening to music quickly
realised there was something unusual going on and pulled out their
headphones.

‘
Why?’ a woman asked.

‘
As I said, we have an incident. For your own safety, everyone
please go, right now!’
he ordered, not
wanting to waste any more time.
‘And tell
everyone you pass to do the same.’

Picking
up on his urgency and his tone of command, people started to do as
they were told, standing up and moving towards the other end of the
train. Beside him, a workman picked up his toolbox as he rose from
his seat. Archer grabbed his shoulder.

‘
Got pliers? Or a knife?’

The man
nodded, thankfully not using up valuable time asking questions; he
put the box on the bench and opened it up, passing over a small set
of pliers. As he took them, Archer glanced at a green and white
plaid shirt hooked across the box and pointed to it.

‘
Can I borrow that too?’

The man
nodded; taking the garment, Archer quickly pulled it on and did up
the buttons, hiding his NYPD vest as the workman walked down the
train. Watching him follow the others, Archer rolled up the sleeves
on the shirt then realised the noise level had changed.

They’d
just entered Manhattan.

At Canal Street, Matt Shepherd and the fifth and final member
of his Counter-Terrorism Bureau investigation team, Lisa Marquez,
were rapidly clearing the platform of passengers who’d just
disembarked from a train on the Uptown-bound Q platform, working
fast with the help of scores of back-up officers. A thirty two year
old Latina 3
^rd
Grade detective, Marquez was only five foot six
and a hundred and thirty pounds but more than made up for it with
her no-nonsense, commanding attitude.

‘
Let’s go!
’ she shouted, herding
people out.
‘Move it!’

People
instinctively responded to her tone, making their way quickly up
the stairs and out onto the street above. An MTA employee standing
close by listened to a message coming over his radio then turned
and looked over at Shepherd who was further down the platform, also
directing people out.

‘
Control say it’s not slowing down!’
he shouted.
‘It’ll be here in under a
minute!’

Swearing, Shepherd turned and ran towards the front of the
train standing in the platform, the driver peering out of his
window anxiously, waiting for instructions.

‘
Get out of here right now!’

On the
approaching train, Archer was starting to sweat. He’d cleared all
but one carriage, sending people down towards the rear, but the
suspect was nowhere to be seen.

He heard
the doors open behind him and the MTA guy reappeared, having
successfully shepherded the passengers down to the other end of the
train.

‘
Why are we still going?’ Archer asked. ‘I said we need to
stop!’

‘
I tried!’ the man said. ‘I called the driver but he’s not
responding.’

Archer
looked at the man for a moment then turned and stared up towards
the front of the train, focusing on the closed door to the driver’s
cab in the next and last carriage. Pulling his pistol, he
approached the connecting link between his carriage and the first.
As they thundered through Canal Street, he saw a blur of cops and
emergency personnel on the platform, but he barely registered
them.

Holding
his Sig Sauer double-handed, he entered the front carriage; he had
no trouble attracting the attention of the passengers this
time.

‘
Everyone get out,’ he said quietly. ‘Go down the train as far
back as you can go. Don’t take anything with you.’

The
frightened passengers made no attempt to argue, the drawn weapon
having an instant effect as they scrambled past him. A few moments
later both he and the MTA employee were alone, the connecting doors
closing behind the last passenger to leave.

Now just
the two of them, Archer checked the door to the driver’s cabin
ahead, looking for any cameras.

‘
Can he see u-’

Before
he could finish asking the question, a burst of bullet holes
suddenly appeared through the driver’s door ahead of them. Archer
instantly threw himself to the floor, dragging the MTA man down
with him, and fired back twice with his Sig. Keeping down as
another burst of gunfire came from the cab, Archer saw the door
swing open, revealing the driver on the floor with his hands over
his head, the suspect standing beside him and firing wildly with
some kind of compact sub-machine gun, lighting up the
cab.

Firing
back and aiming high to try and put the gunman down but avoid
hitting the driver, Archer scrambled up and pushed the MTA man
towards the carriage behind them.

‘
Archer!’
the MTA man’s radio said,
bursting into life.
‘Archer, it’s
Shepherd, can you hear me?’

As they
moved into the second carriage and the doors closed behind them,
Archer snatched the receiver just as the suspect let fly with
another barrage of gunfire, smashing the glass out above their
heads.

‘
Suspect located; he’s in the cab!’
he
shouted as he pulled the other man down, his voice fighting to be
heard over the wind now howling through the train.
‘But he’s got an automatic weapon; I’m pinned
down!’

‘
The driver?’

‘
Still alive!’

‘
Have you found the device?’

‘
It must be in there with them. I can’t get near enough to
find out!’

Up on street level, Josh and Vargas screeched to a halt at the
top of Union Square on 16
^th
Street, bailing out of their
car and moving as fast as they could into the station, the place
heaving with evacuating commuters coming the other way. Forcing a
path through the crowd, the pair headed for the N/Q Uptown track
where they knew the train would be arriving any second.

As they
appeared, two cops standing with an MTA employee ran towards them,
one of them holding a radio receiver.

‘
Your guy on the train found the suspect!’ one of the cops told
them. ‘But he can’t get near him. The son of a bitch is pinning him
down with some kind of machine gun.’

As Josh
grabbed the radio, Vargas heard the sound of the train approaching
the Q rails below. Knowing they were out of time, she pulled her
Sig Sauer and sprinted down the stairs that led to the middle of
the platform.

As she
reached the last step, the train roared into view and the brakes
started to screech, the bomber arriving at his destination. Seeing
the suspect in the cabin as the train ploughed along the track
towards her, Vargas pushed two remaining members of the public out
of the way and fired twice, straight at the driver’s windows, the
sound of the gunshots and splintering glass lost in the noise of
the approaching train.

Holding
on as the train ground to a halt, Archer went to fire into the cab
again but then realised the sub-machine gunfire had ceased. Peering
round his cover, he saw the suspect was slumped on top of the
cowering driver on the floor.

Standing
up slowly and stalking forward, his sights never leaving the
gunman, he saw the man had been shot twice in the head. Seeing the
blond man approach, the driver wriggled his way out from under the
dead gunman, crawling over shell casings and broken
glass.

Reaching the cabin, Archer saw two bullet-holes in the front
window, the train only stopping because of the dead man’s lever.
The front of the Q train had moved through the
14
^th
Street station and was now partially in the tunnel, dark gloom
ahead illuminated by the occasional light; but Archer wasn’t here
to admire the view.

‘
Where’s his bag?’ he asked the driver quickly.

‘
What?’

‘
He must have had a bag. Where the hell is it?’

As the
man stared at him, shocked and confused, Archer turned away to look
around the cab. Fifteen feet behind him, the doors to the carriage
were forced open, Josh and Vargas climbing inside with their
weapons ready to fire and saw their team-mate in the
cab.

‘
Arch!’
Josh said urgently.

Archer
didn’t respond; instead, he dropped down, turned the dead suspect
over and pulled open his jacket; frisking him down, he paused, then
pushed up a sleeve.

The guy
had cylinders of ball bearings taped to his limbs.

‘
Jesus Christ,’ Vargas said quietly, bending down beside
Archer.

Working
fast, Archer patted down the gunman’s torso and frowned. Quickly
pushing up the man’s shirt, he froze.

‘
What the-?’
he whispered.

The
suspect had fresh, angry-looking stitches covering his stomach; the
skin was lumpy and inflamed, dried blood visible from the crude
needlework.

The
explosives were sewn under his skin.

As the
detectives stared at the man’s torso in disbelief, they saw a
flashing green light just under the skin, accompanied by a quiet
beeping sound.

And both
had just started to quicken.

‘
Go!’
Josh ordered the two MTA men,
who not needing to be told twice, turned and stumbled away down the
train.

Not
wasting a second, Archer rose and pushed open the driver’s side
door, which swung out into the dark tunnel. Turning back, he
grabbed the suspect’s arms and pulled him towards the exit, Vargas
and Josh picking up the man’s legs.

They
manoeuvred him awkwardly out of the train, the flashing light on
the man’s stomach getting faster, the three of them frantically
searching for somewhere to dump the body before the explosives
detonated. However, there were no obvious access doors, nowhere
they could put the body, just dark dirty tunnel stretching onwards
uptown.

Holding
the dead man’s arms, Archer looked around, the speed of the beeping
and flashing under the stitches increasing by the
second.

‘
Shit!’

Glancing
down, he suddenly spotted a circular manhole cover a few feet in
front of him on the lower level of the tracks, camouflaged with
dirt and grime from the tunnel.

‘
There!’ he said, Josh and Vargas following where he was
looking.

Knowing
they only had seconds, they quickly carried the dead terrorist
towards the manhole cover; Archer lowered him gently to the ground,
grabbed the cover with both hands and heaved it off.

The
flashing was now going as fast as a drum roll.

Without
ceremony, they stuffed the guy inside the hole, Josh and Vargas
holding onto his ankles as they lowered the dead man onto several
thick pipes, all three of them praying to God they weren’t gas
mains. With him safely placed, Josh and Vargas stepped
back.

‘
Let’s go!
’ Vargas said.

Grabbing
the lid, Archer quickly lowered it back in place then sprinted back
to the train behind the other two, taking care not to step on the
tracks.

Pulling
themselves up into the cab, they ran through the carriages, trying
to put as much distance between themselves and the manhole as they
could.

Suddenly
there was an enormous muffled explosion, throwing the three
detectives to the carriage floor. The whole station seemed to
shake, dust and brick falling from the walls, the train rattling
like a tin can caught in a tornado. Coughing, Archer looked up
through the dust and to his relief, saw the other two
moving.