The Getaway - By Tom Barber Page 0,100
any cages or cases that were locked up, and any that were still intact needed just a hard kick to open them.
Outside on the grass, through the visor of his bulletproof helmet, Farrell checked his watch.
‘Thirty seconds,’ he shouted.
Ortiz was just finishing zipping up the third bag. She passed them up to Regan, who tossed them to the grass, Farrell loading them into the car. Ortiz packed up the fourth bag, pushing it up to Regan, who tossed it onto the grass then reached down, pulling her up. Ortiz dropped down to the grass, but on top of the truck Regan looked ahead on Perimeter Road.
‘Oh shit!’
An NYPD squad car, the lights flashing, was bearing down on them, having pulled in fast from the east entrance.
Without a second’s hesitation, Regan lifted his M16 and fired, the weapon tight in his shoulder. The fire-rate was set to automatic and he emptied the magazine into the front of the car. The bullets shredded through the windshield, stitching the two cops in the front seats and killing them instantly, blood spattering all over the windshield, the glass and headlights smashing from the hail of bullets, the car slewing to a halt forty yards away. The harsh sounds of machine gun fire echoed around the park, breaking the silence.
As Regan reloaded his empty clip, Farrell stowed the last bag in the car. Regan dropped down from the truck and ran over to the getaway car, pulling open the door. Just then, another NYPD squad car appeared, moving fast, pulling off the road onto the grass to move around the first car.
Still on the grass, Ortiz raised her M16. She emptied the mag into the front of the police car, then moved to the second attached weapon on the front of the M16 under the stock, the 203 grenade launcher. She aimed and pulled the trigger and the grenade landed smack on the windshield. It exploded on impact and the shockwave reacted with the petrol in the fuel tank, exploding into a fireball and erupting with a force that made her look away and shield herself.
She ran over to the car, jumping into the front seat, Farrell behind the wheel, Regan in the back, the money in the trunk.
‘GO! GO!’ Ortiz shouted, pushing the catch on the M16 to let the old magazine drop and smacking a fresh one inside, doing the same with the grenade launcher. Farrell put his foot down and the car sped forward. He moved off the road and onto the grass. Any witnesses and onlookers were already out of the way, screaming and running for cover, so the path was clear.
‘Woo!’ Regan said, pumped up and excited from the back seat. ‘Home stretch, baby!’
Farrell sped along the grass, the Industry Pond approaching on their right. They needed to get out of the Park and head north on the Van Wyck, straight to the turn off for the abandoned Flushing Airport and their last ride out of here.
But suddenly, five more cars roared into view from the entrance, blocking their path.
Four NYPD squad cars and a black truck.
Farrell looked closer and swore.
There were three letters printed in white on the side of the black vehicle, three letters that alone meant nothing but together spelt a shitload of problems.
ESU.
Things just got a hell of a lot harder. They hadn’t been expecting this. The NYPD standard-issue Beretta and Ithaca shotgun wouldn’t get through their Aramid and steel plate body armour, but ESU was the NYPD’s SWAT team. The officers inside the truck would be armed with sub-machine guns and assault rifles that stood a far greater chance of getting through their armour. Farrell shouted with frustration, and braked hard, grabbing his weapon and climbing out. The other two joined him, and together, all the frustrations and anger of the failed Garden heist reappeared.
And together, the trio opened fire.
The police cars and the ESU truck had pulled to a halt. They were forced to, as the three thieves just unleashed a lethal hail of bullets. The officers ducked for cover and rolled out the far doors, shielding themselves from the barrage of bullets, as the sound of automatic gunfire echoed around the Park.
Ortiz was fired up and angry. She walked forward, firing down on one of the squad cars. Two of the cops started firing back with their pistols and she drilled them both, emptying her magazine and shredding their car. Behind the other four cars, the other officers started leaning over the vehicle