Green Light (Sam Archer 7) (32 page)

‘
Because they both love you. And that’ll bring them together.
That never stops, no matter where you are. And that means they’ll
always be with you, wherever you go. They’ll see everything you do,
everyone you meet, everything.’

Isabel
blinked, releasing the tears from her wide eyes as she realised
that Vargas was gone. ‘I can’t touch her anymore.’

‘
But she’ll never leave you. And you don’t need to touch her
for that.’

She
looked up, her wide brown eyes focusing on him through the
tears.

‘
Are you going to leave me too?’

He shook
his head, looking her in the eyes. In that moment, every
reservation he’d had about getting close to the child disappeared
forever.

‘
I’m never going anywhere. I promise.’

‘
Really?’

He
nodded, reaching forward and squeezing her hands. Silence fell
again as they looked at each other, the little girl sitting on the
edge of the table, him on the chair in front of her.

Then
Archer leaned forward and Isabel hugged him, her arms around his
neck, his own around her small back as she started to
cry.

Inside
his Wall Street apartment, Henderson was just doing a final
wipe-down with bleach, making sure he’d left no trace in case the
cops came looking.

He was
working methodically but fast; after what he and Tully had done to
the cops in the hospital they knew the net would be closing in.
Unlike Carlos Goya, who’d been easy enough to track to that
Scranton motel, and Santiago, who’d been at his apartment fresh
from lock-up when they came knocking, they wouldn’t leave a trail
for anyone to follow. The NYPD would never see or hear from them
again, their job finally done, disappearing like their victims
without a trace into thin air.

He
looked around the Financial District apartment, his home for the
past ten months. The apartment was basic, white walls, plain
furniture, black kitchen units. Like the warehouse they used as a
base, which was rented under a front company selling pipes, this
place was leased for a twenty four month period under a fake name
for just over $1.1 million; he still had four months of the lease
to go, but Santiago and Goya’s killing of the escort four weeks ago
had brought that departure forward. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t
exactly strapped for cash.

They’d
set out on this path six years ago in San Diego after Lister was
released from prison and had been reunited with Henderson and
Tully. Each had a different perspective from the same horrific
experience, but they’d all agreed on a mutual objective and had set
out east.

They’d
stopped a thousand miles into their journey in Denver, realising
that if they were going to do this they’d need money. It’d been
Lister’s idea to take over a sex-trade operation; she’d realised
how lucrative it could be, making thousands of dollars a day with
the right girls and clients. Pimps pushed girls and boys out onto
the corner for one thing; money. The higher class the service, the
more money flowed in, particularly if you threw blackmail into the
mix. Most pimps wouldn’t care who they worked for; if they were
paid enough, they’d sell their own mother for cash.

So the
three of them decided to target one of the more successful
operations in the city and take it over.

Lister
had assumed they’d just shoot their targets and dump their bodies
somewhere but Henderson and Tully had said different. Just before
they’d left California, the pair had taken up with a Mesa cartel
meth cooker who’d taught them about lye and the best way to dispose
of a corpse. Their first target had been a lucrative East Colfax
sex gang and when they’d killed the six men who’d headed up the
operation, Henderson and Tully had demonstrated to Lister just how
well the magic marinade worked. She’d been impressed. No evidence
to incriminate them.

When the
six men had been disposed of, Henderson, Tully and Lister took over
the operation, the middle-men not caring who was running the show
as long as they received their cut. However, the money made from
the escort service hadn’t been enough for them. They were after the
big fish and with their blackmail operation soon up and running, a
john didn’t end up just paying for that one trick.

That
year in Denver, the trio had earned just over two million dollars.
Changing the operation from high-class hookers into a top-quality
escort service, the girls had some pretty important clients
captured on camera. Professional athletes, politicians, lawyers;
their careers and reputations potentially ruined if their less
reputable activities were made public.

Selecting their targets carefully, the money soon started to
roll in, tens of thousands each week as they made a fortune from
their blackmail racket, their victims having no idea who they were
and so unable to exact revenge. A prominent Nuggets player had
called their bluff, refusing to pay, and Lister had immediately
sold some very interesting photos to the city papers for almost
seven figures. His expensive divorce a few weeks later had also
been big news.

The
girls never met the trio running the show; their pimps did, but
they knew better than to talk, taking their extra cash their new
bosses were paying them and doing exactly as instructed. They were
well aware their previous top guys had disappeared when these three
had suddenly turned up and taken over the operation, and none of
them wanted the same thing happening to them.

However,
things went sour when a prominent politician who had everything to
lose hired some people to track down who was behind the extortion
racket and take care of the problem. Henderson had killed them
both, but hadn’t had time to dispose of the bodies, discovering
late that night when watching the news that they were ex Denver PD,
which meant he’d just opened up a huge can of worms.

Within
thirty six hours, the two pimps who’d worked for the three of them
were both dead and the trio were out of the State, two million
dollars richer and their operation immaculately well honed. They
left the hookers; they’d never seen them and therefore couldn’t
identify them.

A
thousand miles later, Chicago was next, and by that point they knew
exactly what to do. They picked out a similar South Side operation,
taking out the guys at the top and leaving just four lowlifes on
the street, the pile of money the group was accruing growing by the
day. Most people had secrets; however, for the clients snared in
their traps, Henderson or the other two were there with a camera to
catch theirs.

They’d
stayed in Chicago until the beginning of the year when they’d moved
on to their final target, Pittsburgh. However, when they’d arrived
they’d discovered things had changed and their ultimate target
wasn’t in the city anymore. It’d taken time to find out where
they’d gone, but they’d finally tracked the leader to New York
City. When the trio had arrived in NYC it’d been business as usual,
sourcing a successful operation but then there’d been a totally
unexpected development. This had worked in their favour, their team
gaining a fourth member who’d proved invaluable.

Although
the most unexpected and unlikely of unions, the foursome had worked
together like clockwork; after all, they were all bound by a mutual
hatred of the same group, an enemy that had brought them
together.

The Russian
Prizraki
in Little Odessa.

THIRTY NINE

The Little Odessa
Prizraki
were a whole new ballgame; they were vicious,
tough and ruthless, other gangs in the city steering well clear of
their area by Coney Island. Like Henderson, Tully and Lister, the
Russians were also pretty adept at making people disappear so the
trio knew going after them was extremely dangerous; if they were
caught, they’d pay a very heavy price. However, they’d relished the
challenge; this was their ultimate goal and one they’d been
planning for years.

Over the
last ten months, they’d managed to liquefy eleven Russians, the new
member of their team providing invaluable information and helping
make the process a whole lot easier. Achieving that number of
disappearances without being caught or leaving a trace had been one
hell of a feat, but with meticulous planning, inside knowledge and
seamless execution they’d pulled it off.

But then
the entire operation had been jeopardised by Carlos Goya and Alex
Santiago.

Henderson, Tully and Lister had had a rule; never go after
cops unless it was absolutely, one hundred per cent necessary.
They’d made that mistake in Denver and having only just got away
with it, ensured it was the one thing they made crystal clear to
the pimps who worked for them. They figured most police departments
wouldn’t lose too much sleep over some missing gang members but
losing one of their own was a different issue entirely.

However,
that was exactly what Goya and Santiago had done. The escort Leann
Casey had checked herself into rehab over the summer, which had
pissed them all off; they’d already lost three months of earnings
from her this year after she got busted and was sent to Rikers for
a ninety day sentence, and with this latest stunt they were going
to lose yet more money with her out of the game. However, instead
of giving her a beating when they heard she was planning to bail on
them, those two brain-dead idiots had decided to kill her. Then,
not only had Goya shot her in a public space but he’d also managed
to hit two cops in the process. That had been the real icing on the
cake.

A team
who only operated in the shadows was now the focus of an entire
police department.

And they
hadn’t completed their task yet.

Their normal evac time was thirty six hours; that was long
enough to dispose of everyone they’d come into contact with who
could identify them, but when the shooting took place there’d still
been eleven
Prizraki
left alive and no way were Henderson, Tully, Lister and their
new accomplice leaving without taking care of them.

They
also had to dispose of Goya and Santiago. However Carlos had gone
on the run, laying low somewhere, and Santiago was doing twenty one
days upstate for a public order offence, the police with no idea
that they had a perpetrator in a police shooting already locked up
in a cell.

Steps
had been taken by Henderson, Tully and Lister to buy themselves
some more time to waste the last few Russians and find the last
hooker by setting up the cops and their families. They’d also found
two pimps from another neighbourhood and framed them for the Casey
shooting using the murder weapon Goya had had with him at the
Scranton motel. They’d killed Carlos on Wednesday, framed Valdez
and Carvalho on Thursday and had hit Santiago today, twenty four
hours after he was released from County.

However,
today had to be their last day in the city. Despite their delaying
tactics, the police investigation had changed hands and the new
team had an impressive track record, not only for getting results
but for the speed at which they worked. These cops had proved much
harder to deal with and they’d be totally focused now that they’d
lost Detective Vargas.

Kneeling
by the door, Henderson pushed a rug to one side and used a key to
open a safe sunk into the floor. Reaching inside, he withdrew
several keyed bricks of hundred dollar bills, each one ten thousand
in total, and put them into the pockets of his coat. Relocking the
safe and pushing the rug back in place, he rose and took a last
look at the apartment, loading his silenced pistol then
double-checking he had his knife in his pocket.

Satisfied, he hitched his sleeve and switched off the light,
stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Grinning, he pulled
his baseball cap down over his forehead and continued down the
corridor towards the stairs, thinking of the last four
Prizraki
sons of bitches
who were going to die.

He’d
been waiting a long time for this.

Once
Isabel started hugging Archer she seemed incapable of stopping. He
wanted to stay here with her but knew he had to leave; the last
thing he needed right now was Royston causing another
scene.

Rising,
Archer carried her out of the Conference Room, down the walkway and
into an empty office. A couch was pushed up against the far wall;
walking forward, he laid her down carefully, Isabel finally
releasing her hold on him as she lay back. Taking a blanket someone
had left at the foot of the couch, he unfolded it and laid it over
Isabel, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

‘
I have to go out into the city for a bit,’ he told her. ‘But
I’ll be back soon.’

‘
I don’t want you to leave.’

‘
Me neither. But you’ll be safe. This is one of the safest
places in the city. No-one can get to you here.’

Archer
glanced at his watch.

‘
Anyway, you must be tired,’ he said. ‘It’s way past your
bed-time.’

‘
Am I a curse?’ she suddenly asked.

‘
What?’

‘
Everyone around me dies,’ she said quietly. ‘Am I a
curse?’

Archer
smiled.