Silent Night (Sam Archer 4) (30 page)

‘
Someone will find us. Just hang on.’

Silence.

They both looked outside. The laboratory air still had that yellow haze, laden with the virus.

‘Thank you,’
she said quietly, trembling.

‘For what.’

‘For saving my life. For a while, anyway.’

Pause. Each moment of conversation was followed by longer moments of silence.

‘Dad said we were going to die. He was right.’

‘We’re not going to die. Someone will find us.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone.’

Pause.

She nestled her head into his chest, mist coming out every time they both exhaled.

Archer didn’t tell her, but he was worried.

Downtown, still outside Tonic East, Josh withdrew his phone from his ear and looked down at the screen, confused. Just as she was climbing into a car with Jorgensen and Shepherd, Marquez noticed Josh’s hesitation and paused. She stepped out, slamming the door and turned to Shepherd, who was firing the engine.

‘I’ll ride with Josh.’

Shepherd nodded, pulling off the handbrake and the Ford moved off. Marquez walked over to Josh, who was trying to make the call again.

‘Everything OK?’

‘I can’t get through to Archer.’

Marquez noticed the tone in his voice.

‘I’ll drive,’ she said.

All conversation in the freezer had stopped. Maddy was huddled in under Archer’s arm, wrapped up in the folds of her coat. All their movements had slowed, the cold making them sleepy. Archer was feeling warmer which he knew was a bad sign. It didn’t matter that they had cheated the virus. If they didn’t get help, they would both be dead in fifteen minutes.

Suddenly Maddy spoke.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘For being…so hostile to you today.’

Pause.

‘I just…’

She paused again. The cold was fragmenting her sentences. Talking was becoming harder and harder.

‘He died…And I wanted it to be…someone’s fault…other than his.’

Silence.

‘And I never…got a chance…to say…goodbye.’

Pause.

‘He must have been…so scared.’

Every time she exhaled, her breath turned to mist as the temperature condensed the water vapour.

Archer didn’t reply.

He just hugged her close, both of them shaking.

A long moment of silence followed.

‘Tell me…about you.’

He looked down at her.
‘What…do you want…to know?’

‘Anything. Tell me about your family….Do you have…any… brothers or sisters?’

‘A sister.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What about…your parents?’

‘They’re gone.’

Silence.

‘How?’

‘My mother had cancer. My father was…murdered.’

Pause.

‘I didn’t get to…say goodbye either.’

Silence.

Frost had gathered on the edges of their clothing and in their hair. There was a rustle as Maddy tilted her head, looking up at him. He met her gaze.

She was pale.

‘I just…realised something.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t even know your name.’

He forced a smile.
‘Archer.’

‘No…I mean…your first name.’

He looked down at her. Her lips were looking blue.

‘Sam… it’s Sam.’

He felt her move into him slightly closer. He felt warm, and sleepy.

Talk, idiot.

Stay awake.

If you fall asleep, you won’t wake up again.

‘Hold on,’
Archer whispered. ‘
Won’t…be long now.’

They sat there in silence.

Shivering.

Waiting.

*

Having pulled up outside the building, Josh and Marquez moved into the lobby seventeen floors below. The night security guy was at his desk, engrossed in a
New York Post
. The guy flicked his eyes up from the rear pages then looked back down.

‘What floor is Flood Microbiology?’

’17 and 18,’ he said, not looking up from the paper. ‘You got an appointment?’

Annoyed by his attitude, Marquez pulled her badge and showed it. ‘We don’t need one.’

That got his attention. He snapped up in his seat, putting the paper away. ‘I’ll buzz you in.’

‘Thank you.’

Inside the freezer, Archer’s eyes were just about to close when he saw movement the other side of the lab in the main corridor.

It looked like Josh and Marquez.

Both figures were staring at him, pressed up against the glass, Marquez with her phone to her ear. Josh was up close to the glass, shouting something, but Archer couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Shit, I’m dreaming,
he thought.

It can’t be them

They’re downtown.

Under his arm, Maddy had gone quiet and still. She wasn’t shivering any more.

I’m dying
, he thought.

No, you’re not.
Keep your eyes open.

I’m about to die in a damn deep freeze.

I’ll just close my eyes.

Just for a second.

Sergeant Jake Hendricks was a fifteen-year man within the NYPD who took great pride in two things in his life. He had never taken a shortcut. And his five-man team were renowned as one of the toughest groups inside the entire Police Department.

His fierce hatred for any illegal activity stemmed from when he was a kid. He’d been walking home from the movies with his father on Halloween night when they were set upon by a gang on some sort of initiation. They’d kicked the absolute shit of his dad right in front of Jake, who’d watched on helplessly. His father had been hospitalised for the next six weeks, half of it in a coma. Every boy thinks his father is indestructible but that illusion had been stamped and trampled out of Jake by the gang that night. Sitting beside the hospital bed, watching his father lying there unconscious, the younger Hendricks had felt rage boiling inside him at the injustice of it all. And in the twenty six years since, he had never forgotten what had happened that night. It had been the impetus for him becoming a cop.

Criminals and gang-members often thought they had the upper hand when it came to the police because cops had to follow rules and they didn’t. So some of them saw it as a game. Hendricks viewed it as warfare. If you dealt drugs to kids Hendricks would see to it that you would be sucking your food through a straw for the next six months. You had girls working corners for you, he’d send them away and then send you to the Emergency Room. His ruthless reputation definitely preceded him, both in the Department and on the street. It had landed him in hot water a number of times, his superiors nervous of the legal ramifications or consequences of such ruthless justice. But deep down, Hendricks knew they all secretly supported him. He just had the balls to do what most others wanted to do.

He hadn’t applied to join the Counter-Terrorism Bureau. He’d been approached. Lieutenant General Franklin had called him in for a meeting at the beginning of the year and offered him his own hand-picked team.
Franklin
was old school and had policed
New York
when it was a far more dangerous place to live. He admired and respected Hendricks, especially in the no-nonsense way he tackled the streets. He’d operated the same way himself back in the day. Hendricks had thought long and hard then accepted the offer, taking four of the best people from his team at the 75
th
with him, and they’d set up shop across the River in Queens. One of Hendricks’ informants told him later that once word spread through
Brooklyn
that he was moving on, a party had almost started.

Hendricks had been a cop for fifteen years and he’d been friends with Matt Shepherd for just as long. They’d started out as partners in their early twenties fresh out of training, riding a squad car together. Their families had shared many Thanksgivings and holidays and Hendricks considered Shepherd to be one of his closest friends. Knowing what had happened to Shep recently, Hendricks had been keen to help him out any way he could. Hendricks was a father too; he had two kids, a boy and a girl. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the pain that Shep and his wife were going through. It was an accident that could just as easily have happened to Hendricks himself. So if staking out and taking out this skinhead cesspit was what Shep needed, than that’s exactly what Hendricks and his detail would do.

He looked down through his binoculars at the gathering below. He and his team were hidden behind several boulders to the west on a slight elevation. He’d counted twenty three Chapter members down there, including the ATF man Peterson. They were all in the centre of the compound, long abandoned buildings behind them. It was a frosty night and the neo-Nazis had built a large fire in the middle of the concrete, burning anything they could find. Their cars and motorbikes had been parked around and behind them, forming a second layer to the circle. Someone had heavy metal music going, bottles of whiskey being passed around and a ragged circle of the thugs had formed around the campfire. Hendricks also saw many of them were carrying weapons. Not pea-shooters either. He’d counted six sawn-off shotguns, two M16s and a handful of what looked like modified Glock pistols.

That could be a problem.

Straight ahead behind the group were three caravans, Chapter members in protective gear ducking in and out, removing masks and sucking in breaths of fresh air. None of their activity had anything to do with the virus however.

These idiots were cooking meth.

Hendricks had encountered production of the drug like this before. They were called rolling meth labs. Handlers liked to use wheeled labs for a number of reasons. Firstly, they could be easily moved to a secluded location to unpack the crystals that had coagulated on the equipment inside. Also, the cooking process released strong toxic fumes that were easily noticeable in a residential area, so putting the lab on the road was a way of avoiding detection. And once the process was finished and the crystallised meth scraped up and bagged, all the toxic shit that was left could be dumped by the roadside or on abandoned ground like this. The interior of the caravans would be coated with a highly poisonous residue, endangering anyone who passed by within a certain radius. He knew that these assholes would leave the caravans here once they moved on, someone else’s problem to deal with.

Not tonight
, he thought.

Hendricks watched as a man stepped out of the middle caravan, closing the door behind him. He pulled off his protective face mask, revealing a severe face and a beard. The process of cooking the drug was also extremely dangerous. The chemicals used to cultivate the methamphetamine were poisonous, unstable and flammable and propane was required for the process. Consequently there was a substantial red tank of the stuff beside each caravan. Given the mixing of certain liquids that went on inside these vans, the possibility of an explosion was high. It could happen at any moment. Pulling his cell and keeping the display hidden behind the rock, Hendricks scrolled through his phone book and found the number for HAZMAT. There needed to be a clean-up crew on stand-by. Virus or no virus, Hendricks didn’t want his people going anywhere near the meth trucks before they were secured.

He pushed the call button and put the phone to his ear, looking down on the estate through his binoculars and feeling his anger rise.

Archer opened his eyes.

He was lying down. He realised he wasn’t in the freezer anymore. His joints felt sore, but he didn’t feel cold. He felt warm.

Am I dead?

He was lying on his back, looking up at a white ceiling. He was warm.
Very warm. He realised he was wrapped in what felt like three thick blankets. He grunted and sat up. He wasn’t dead. He was in an ambulance, outside on street level. The back doors were open to the sidewalk, and he could see police and HAZMAT teams outside on
Amsterdam
, the lights on their vehicles flashing in the night.

Amongst the crowd, he saw Josh. His partner saw him sit up and ran over.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, arriving by the ambulance.

‘Like a popsicle. Did you secure the room?’

‘CRT are up there now. They quarantined the entire building. They had to stabilise the lab and purify the air before they pulled you out. You guys got seriously lucky. It was close. A few minutes more and you’d be dead.’

Archer nodded. He had a pounding headache. ‘Where’s the doc?’

Josh pointed and Archer saw Maddy wrapped up in thick blankets in a second ambulance ten yards away. It seemed she’d woken up before he had. She was talking with a medic standing in front of her. She sensed him make eye contact and looked over.