Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,37

specifications tests for shotguns and it wasn’t an outlandish claim. The 590A1 was sleek, smooth to load, didn’t have too much kick and had the stopping power of a Claymore mine. Well, eight mines technically, considering the ammunition in the magazine.

Josh finished loading the shotguns. He tossed one to Archer, who caught it and racked the pump and within twenty seconds the entire detail was gathered with Shepherd by his car, NYPD vests on their torsos and Mossbergs in their hands. This extra gear was Department procedure for a house breach of this kind. They had no idea what kind of weaponry they were facing inside and that meant they needed sufficient firepower to counter it.

‘What’s the plan, sir?’ Josh asked.

‘The taxi company put out a call to their drivers,’ Shepherd said. ‘Apparently two men matching our guys got dropped off around the corner at Number 18. The house is registered to a Hurley Bleeker. Rach is running a check and trying to locate the third man.’

‘Do we know the layout?’ Marquez asked.

‘Doesn’t matter. We go in through the front door. We don’t have time to waste. One of their team is still out there.’

‘It could be a bottleneck,’ Josh said. ‘They’ll be expecting. They could drop us one-by-one.’

‘Hold up,’ Archer said.

The team turned and saw where he was looking.

A mail van had just pulled up across the street, a woman stepping out of the truck and heading over to one of the properties to deliver a parcel.

‘I’ve got an idea.’

Inside the house, Donnie and Bleeker had finished packing and were standing in the kitchen making sure they had everything they needed. They’d have to leave Hurley’s Remington here. No way they could carry a 12 gauge shotgun covertly on a train, but they still had the Beretta in case things got physical.

‘I’ve got the last two vials,’ Bleeker said. ‘We get out to Long Island, then take the train south. When we’re out of the state I’ll put the word out about what we’re selling. We can hook up with Chapters in Pittsburgh or Baltimore.’

Donnie nodded.

‘What about our guest?’ he asked, pointing to the main bedroom.

Bleeker turned, having momentarily forgotten about the man inside.

‘Shit. Good catch. I’ll take care of him.’

He pulled the Beretta from his holdall, flicking off the safety and walked into the room.

A man was sitting in a chair, tied up, his mouth gagged. His eyes widened as he saw Bleeker walk in and grab a pillow. Bleeker held it to the man’s face then pushed the barrel of the pistol into the other side.

‘Time’s up.’

But before he could pull the trigger, there was a sharp knock at the door down the hall.

‘Delivery.’

Bleeker froze, the gun and pillow held to the gagged captive’s face. The man was squirming and making muffled sounds under the gag.

There was another knock.

‘Delivery. C’mon man, it’s cold,’ the voice called. Female. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

Bleeker looked at Donnie. He took the pillow off the captive’s head then passed Donnie the Beretta, grip first. The younger man took the weapon, then moved down the corridor. He walked towards the door slowly and risked a glance through the spy hole.

A dark-haired woman was outside on the step, dressed in UPS gear, wrapped up against the cold.

‘Who’s it for?’ he asked.

He watched her look at a package in her hands. ‘Hurley Bleeker.’

Donnie thought for a moment, then opened up.

‘I’ll take-’

Suddenly, the woman dropped the package and rammed the door back hard, throwing Donnie off balance and sending him reeling down the corridor. She pulled a Sig Sauer pistol from underneath her coat, an NYPD bulletproof vest on her torso.

‘NYPD! Don’t move!’

Bleeker was watching from the kitchen as Donnie fell to the ground. He ducked out of sight as Donnie, flat on his back, quickly raised his pistol and aimed at the woman’s legs.

NINETEEN

Marquez saw the guy lifting the gun but she was faster. She shot him twice in the chest and watched him thump back to the floor, dead. She moved inside the house swiftly and kicked the gun away from his hand, his palm open and his fingers loose. She focused her attention down the corridor to where the other guy had been standing as Jorgensen and Shepherd moved in behind her, Mossbergs in their shoulders.

‘NYPD!’ she shouted, looking through the sights of her Sig Sauer. ‘Come out with your hands up!’

There was movement up ahead.

Something appeared around the corner.

The barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun.

Jorgensen and Shepherd were already diving for