it. Sealing the case and package he’d scooped it up and promptly left the empty apartment, heading for the stairs.
He got down to the ground floor in less than twenty seconds. Pushing open the door, he walked into the building lobby. It was empty, no reception desk and more importantly no CCTV. He placed the rectangular parcel by several others by the mail drop-off point so it was instantly camouflaged.
Pushing open the door to the street he heard sirens and faint screaming in the distance.
Turning in the opposite direction, the shooter pulled up his collar and disappeared into the night.
Upstairs at the club, Archer and Josh were with the injured woman, blood pulsing from the wound to her arm. Josh was calling for an ambulance whilst Archer pulled off his hoodie and wrapped it around the woman’s bicep, knotting the sleeves and cinching it tight in a makeshift compression bandage. He clamped his hands either side of the wound. The hoodie was made of thick cotton, but blood slowly started to stain the grey red. She was bleeding badly but the makeshift tourniquet was doing its job.
‘Ambulance is on its way,’ Josh said, putting his phone back in his pocket. Archer looked over his shoulder at the city rooftops.
‘Son of a bitch,’ he said. ‘It was like target practice. He knew this was a set-up.’
In the mayhem, Josh looked at his partner and noticed his bleeding nose for the first time.
‘What the hell happened to you?’
THIRTY THREE
Ten minutes later the wounded girl was on her way to Murray Hill Medical. The CSU were up on the third floor, snapping photographs of the crime-scene and Jacobs’ body and trying to establish where exactly the shot had come from. The three neo-Nazis who’d come after Archer had been taken outside and bundled into several police cars. None of them were saying anything. Whilst Jorgensen and Marquez were downstairs talking with backup, Archer and Josh were up on the roof, watching the CSU work. Shepherd moved up the last flight of stairs and walked over to join them.
‘How are we doing, sir?’ Josh asked.
‘Every cop in Manhattan is looking for Sway and Rourke. We’ll get them.’ Shepherd looked at Archer’s nose. ‘You OK?’
‘That bitch Drexler tagged me. Didn’t see it coming.’
‘Sure it was her?’
‘Positive.’
‘She must have got out in the stampede after the shot. We missed her.’
The three men looked over at Jacob’s body.
‘Shit,’ Shepherd said. ‘There goes our lead.’
‘And we’re no closer to getting our hands on that virus,’ Josh said.
Archer grabbed a bottle of water from a table and poured it over his hands, washing off some dried blood, his and the girl’s.
‘Any word from Hendricks or the ATF?’ he asked.
Shepherd shook his head. ‘Not yet. They’re all in place. We’ve got more people watching that camp than a damn soccer game. This virus sample has to show up somewhere tonight.’
Suddenly, Marquez’s voice came up on each man’s earpiece. ‘Sir?’
‘Yes?’
‘Good news.’
‘What is it?’
‘A man was just picked up and arrested ten blocks from here.’
She paused.
‘It’s Finn Sway.’
‘Take these off me, pigs!’ snarled Sway, his hands cuffed in front of him. He’d been dumped in the back of a Bureau Ford Explorer outside the club. Marquez, Archer, Josh and Jorgensen were standing there watching him, a street officer in the car beside Sway to make sure he didn’t try to escape.
‘Where’s the rifle?’ Marquez asked.
‘What rifle?’
‘You’re a bad liar.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Don’t waste our time. Where is it?’
‘Shut your mouth, bitch. I don’t deal with your kind.’
‘HEY!’ Jorgensen said, pointing at Sway. ‘Cool it.’
Sway glared back at him. Standing next to Marquez, Archer studied Sway. Although they were yet to confirm that he was the shooter he certainly fit the profile. Peterson had given an accurate description of the guy. He was tall, six-three on the file, and was dressed in blue jeans and a thick cotton coat. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but Archer recognised the distinctive short sides and long-top haircut from his ATF file.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Sway asked.
‘A man was just shot dead on the roof of this nightclub with a rifle,’ Archer told him. ‘And we know you were coming to meet him.’
‘No I wasn’t.’
‘Bullshit,’ Marquez said. ‘You’re in the area ten minutes after the shooting.’
‘So?’
‘Damn coincidence, isn’t it?’
‘Guess that’s exactly what it is.’
He looked at Archer.
‘You got a murder weapon, pretty boy?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What time was the guy shot?’
Marquez rolled her eyes and answered. ’10 o’clock.’
Sway smiled. ‘Then I couldn’t have killed