Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,101

doing in one of these things, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to get in the air in the first place. He’d know how to land it, assuming that he didn’t want to kill them all.

Peering around the tank, Archer saw that both of them had their head-gear on, completely distracted and unaware of their uninvited guests. He stepped out from being the tank, his Sig held tightly in his hands. Beside him, he looked at the six canisters, a pesticide hazard sign slapped on the side.

Quietly, he crept towards the cabin, his pistol trained on the back of Rourke’s head.

He had to give it to them. They were smarter than then they looked. Using Sway’s brother as an alibi when Jacobs was killed. Sending a decoy to the estate so the ATF and the NYPD would be tailing the wrong van. Flying over the State borders. This was never about terrorism. This was about money. The whole time they’d been here, they’d separated themselves from their Chapter and done their own thing. The Chapter’s presence was just a diversion. Keep attention off what they were doing. And law enforcement had taken the bait. It was only by luck and intuition that Archer was here.

With the sights of his pistol on Rourke, Archer heard Agent-in-Charge Faison’s words echo in his mind.

The most intelligent criminals put distance between themselves and the crime.

Even if they get caught, it’ll never get traced back to them.

And suddenly, Archer paused.

Something from earlier had been bothering him all night, It had never settled with him all day. It hadn’t rung true when he’d first heard it and it still didn’t now.

Dr Tibbs.

When everyone had him fingered as the missing link, Archer hadn’t been convinced. Neither had Maddy and he trusted her instincts.

He was such a quiet, gentle guy, she’d said. I can’t believe he’d do this.

Then Jacobs’ phone had rung and everyone had forgotten what she’d said. But she was right. Mixing with neo-Nazis seemed totally out of character for a quiet scientist who was a loner.

The most intelligent criminals put distance between themselves and the crime.

Even if they get caught, it’ll never get traced back to them.

Archer froze.

Comprehension dawned.

And he realised a second too late that he’d been played.

He went to turn, but felt the cold barrel of a pistol press up hard against his neck.

‘Drop the gun,’ Kruger said, his finger on the trigger.

Archer glanced to his left. He saw a Beretta 92. Behind it, Kruger’s cut-up, bruised face had hardened.

He wasn’t looking for guidance anymore.

‘Drop the gun,’ he repeated.

Behind him, Archer saw that Maddy was unconscious, bleeding from a cut to her head. Kruger had levelled her the moment Archer turned his back.

‘Drop the gun,’ he said again. ‘Or I blow your brains out.’

Archer felt the cold metal pressed in behind his ear. He didn’t have a choice. He dropped the Sig and it clattered to the cabin floor of the plane.

Kruger whistled and Rourke and Drexler turned.

Archer saw astonishment on their faces. Rourke said something to Drexler, then undid his belt and moved down into the belly of the plane as she took over the controls. Archer stayed motionless, the barrel of the pistol driven into the side of his neck.

‘Holy shit,’ Rourke said to Kruger, genuinely surprised. ‘How long have you been there?’

'We got in when you dumped the van.'

‘I sent Wicks to come and get you, but he said you had two pigs outside your apartment. I thought you were staying in New York?’

‘This doos was sniffing around,’ he said, the gun into Archer’s neck. ‘Thought I'd hitch a ride.'

Rourke looked at Archer. ‘Is he a pig?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So kill him.’

Kruger shook his head. ‘Not here. The bullets will put holes in the cabin.’

Rourke tilted his head and saw Maddy lying unconscious on the floor. ‘OK. Wait till we’re over countryside. Then throw them both out.’

Kruger suddenly pistol-whipped Archer hard, knocking him to the floor of the plane. Rourke grabbed a set of handcuffs from Archer’s hip and cuffed his hands behind him to a metal hand-hold. He also took the time to hit Archer in the face several times afterwards, his fists smashing into his already busted nose. That done, Rourke gave him a final kick, then turned to Kruger.

‘We’re on course. I set up the first pit stop in North Carolina.’

Kruger nodded, then took a seat across the cabin from Archer. Rourke kicked Archer again, then headed back to the cockpit. Archer spat blood out of his mouth and looked