get inside and watch the fight. Amongst the fight crowd was the usual mix of people out on a Saturday night, headed both ways down 33 and 8 Avenue. People making their way to bars with friends. Couples headed to an AMC cinema complex, just the other side of 8 on 33. Or simply those just walking past, headed somewhere else, but adding to the constant thoroughfare of activity.
Inside a police car parked on 33, facing east and dressed in an NYPD officer’s uniform, Archer checked the clock on the dashboard and wondered what the hell he was doing here.
9:47 pm. The fight would start in thirteen minutes.
Which meant that Farrell, Ortiz and Regan had just gone inside.
He scanned the streets, looking for any sign of extra law enforcement. There were cops behind and to his right, near the stadium. Archer counted eight scattered outside, not including the security that would be stationed at the gates and turnstiles inside, which meant twenty five others were somewhere else in the area. Although he was parked on the kerb next to the stadium, none of the cops on the street approached the car, and rightly so. It was giving no cause for suspicion. He had pulled up less than a minute ago, and had left the engine running, like he was waiting for his partner or had just stopped momentarily on the kerb. The car had been stolen earlier in the day, the plates changed, and Farrell had left it in a parking lot in Queens for Archer to pick up, with a uniform concealed inside.
To his left, traffic moved past, headed down 33 towards 7, Broadway, 6 and the Empire State Building. He peered through the front windshield and looked at its tall, unmistakeable outline up ahead on the left. There were some LED lights set up on the upper levels, illuminating them with three different colours, and tonight it was red, white and blue. Patriotic and proud. Speaking of which, he peered through the windshield, looking for any possible FBI agents lurking, tooled up, ready to pounce. People wearing earpieces, or hanging around near the vicinity of the car.
No one he saw gave him suspicion.
Hopefully they were all inside, ready and waiting for the three thieves.
Nevertheless, Archer felt extremely uneasy.
He couldn’t back out now.
He’d been trying Gerrard all night on the cell phone but he still wasn’t picking up. Archer had spent the last twenty four hours high up in his hotel room deciding whether to go through with this, his phone in one hand, the 9mm Sig in the other. He’d been up most of the night thinking about it. Anyone thinking clearly and sensibly would jump ship in a heartbeat.
But he’d decided yes.
Farrell knew who killed his father.
Archer needed to stay close to him to find out who did it.
And he owed it to Gerry to take down the thieves. They’d come too far. He couldn’t pull the rug from under him now.
If he’s even still alive.
Looking down the street ahead, he took a deep breath and reasoned with himself.
It’s fine. Gerry’s just being debriefed. He can’t have his phone on because he’s in meetings all day. He’ll be in touch soon.
If Gerry had managed to brief his team, Archer realised that the agent who’d flipped might expose him or herself. He could kill two birds with one stone, and take the agent down as well as Farrell and his team. If he hadn’t managed to brief them, Archer would get the three thieves and the cash out of here then take matters into his own hands. Somehow get the drop and subdue the three of them, then call the FBI or NYPD straight away, returning every stolen dollar.
So, against all his instincts telling him to bail and against his instincts as a cop, he decided to go through with it.
Stay cool, stay in control.
If he played his hand correctly, he could bring down the whole team in one night, and get Farrell to tell him who the rat was.
He checked the clock again. 9:48 pm.
They would be inside the concessions stores now, the door closed, subduing the guys inside and packing up the cash.
Archer hadn’t driven here with the other three. They’d all arrived separately to avoid any NYPD suspicion, legitimate officers wondering who the hell these four strangers in uniform were. He glanced either side of the car again, but he still couldn’t see any sign of an FBI ambush. When to approach the thieves was