Silent Night

THIRTY EIGHT

Sergeant Jake Hendricks was a fifteen-year man within the NYPD who took great pride in two things in his life. He had never taken a shortcut. And his five-man team were renowned as one of the toughest groups inside the entire Police Department.

His fierce hatred for any illegal activity stemmed from when he was a kid. He’d been walking home from the movies with his father on Halloween night when they were set upon by a gang on some sort of initiation. They’d kicked the absolute shit of his dad right in front of Jake, who’d watched on helplessly. His father had been hospitalised for the next six weeks, half of it in a coma. Every boy thinks his father is indestructible but that illusion had been stamped and trampled out of Jake by the gang that night. Sitting beside the hospital bed, watching his father lying there unconscious, the younger Hendricks had felt rage boiling inside him at the injustice of it all. And in the twenty six years since, he had never forgotten what had happened that night. It had been the impetus for him becoming a cop.

Criminals and gang-members often thought they had the upper hand when it came to the police because cops had to follow rules and they didn’t. So some of them saw it as a game. Hendricks viewed it as warfare. If you dealt drugs to kids Hendricks would see to it that you would be sucking your food through a straw for the next six months. You had girls working corners for you, he’d send them away and then send you to the Emergency Room. His ruthless reputation definitely preceded him, both in the Department and on the street. It had landed him in hot water a number of times, his superiors nervous of the legal ramifications or consequences of such ruthless justice. But deep down, Hendricks knew they all secretly supported him. He just had the balls to do what most others wanted to do.

He hadn’t applied to join the Counter-Terrorism Bureau. He’d been approached. Lieutenant General Franklin had called him in for a meeting at the beginning of the year and offered him his own hand-picked team. Franklin was old school and had policed New York when it was a far more dangerous place to live. He admired and respected Hendricks, especially in the no-nonsense way he tackled the streets. He’d operated the same way himself back in the day. Hendricks had thought long and hard then accepted the offer, taking four of the best people from his team at the 75with him, and they’d set up shop across the River in Queens. One of Hendricks’ informants told him later that once word spread through Brooklyn that he was moving on, a party had almost started.

Hendricks had been a cop for fifteen years and he’d been friends with Matt Shepherd for just as long. They’d started out as partners in their early twenties fresh out of training, riding a squad car together. Their families had shared many Thanksgivings and holidays and Hendricks considered Shepherd to be one of his closest friends. Knowing what had happened to Shep recently, Hendricks had been keen to help him out any way he could. Hendricks was a father too; he had two kids, a boy and a girl. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the pain that Shep and his wife were going through. It was an accident that could just as easily have happened to Hendricks himself. So if staking out and taking out this skinhead cesspit was what Shep needed, than that’s exactly what Hendricks and his detail would do.

He looked down through his binoculars at the gathering below. He and his team were hidden behind several boulders to the west on a slight elevation. He’d counted twenty three Chapter members down there, including the ATF man Peterson. They were all in the centre of the compound, long abandoned buildings behind them. It was a frosty night and the neo-Nazis had built a large fire in the middle of the concrete, burning anything they could find. Their cars and motorbikes had been parked around and behind them, forming a second layer to the circle. Someone had heavy metal music going, bottles of whiskey being passed around and a ragged circle of the thugs had formed around the campfire. Hendricks also saw many of them were carrying weapons. Not pea-shooters either. He’d counted six sawn-off shotguns, two M16s and a handful of what looked like modified Glock pistols.

That could be a problem.

Straight ahead behind the group were three caravans, Chapter members in protective gear ducking in and out, removing masks and sucking in breaths of fresh air. None of their activity had anything to do with the virus however.

These idiots were cooking meth.

Hendricks had encountered production of the drug like this before. They were called rolling meth labs. Handlers liked to use wheeled labs for a number of reasons. Firstly, they could be easily moved to a secluded location to unpack the crystals that had coagulated on the equipment inside. Also, the cooking process released strong toxic fumes that were easily noticeable in a residential area, so putting the lab on the road was a way of avoiding detection. And once the process was finished and the crystallised meth scraped up and bagged, all the toxic shit that was left could be dumped by the roadside or on abandoned ground like this. The interior of the caravans would be coated with a highly poisonous residue, endangering anyone who passed by within a certain radius. He knew that these a*sholes would leave the caravans here once they moved on, someone else’s problem to deal with.

Not tonight, he thought.

Hendricks watched as a man stepped out of the middle caravan, closing the door behind him. He pulled off his protective face mask, revealing a severe face and a beard. The process of cooking the drug was also extremely dangerous. The chemicals used to cultivate the methamphetamine were poisonous, unstable and flammable and propane was required for the process. Consequently there was a substantial red tank of the stuff beside each caravan. Given the mixing of certain liquids that went on inside these vans, the possibility of an explosion was high. It could happen at any moment. Pulling his cell and keeping the display hidden behind the rock, Hendricks scrolled through his phone book and found the number for HAZMAT. There needed to be a clean-up crew on stand-by. Virus or no virus, Hendricks didn’t want his people going anywhere near the meth trucks before they were secured.

He pushed the call button and put the phone to his ear, looking down on the estate through his binoculars and feeling his anger rise.



Archer opened his eyes.

He was lying down. He realised he wasn’t in the freezer anymore. His joints felt sore, but he didn’t feel cold. He felt warm.

Am I dead?

He was lying on his back, looking up at a white ceiling. He was warm. Very warm. He realised he was wrapped in what felt like three thick blankets. He grunted and sat up. He wasn’t dead. He was in an ambulance, outside on street level. The back doors were open to the sidewalk, and he could see police and HAZMAT teams outside on Amsterdam, the lights on their vehicles flashing in the night.

Amongst the crowd, he saw Josh. His partner saw him sit up and ran over.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, arriving by the ambulance.

‘Like a popsicle. Did you secure the room?’

‘CRT are up there now. They quarantined the entire building. They had to stabilise the lab and purify the air before they pulled you out. You guys got seriously lucky. It was close. A few minutes more and you’d be dead.’

Archer nodded. He had a pounding headache. ‘Where’s the doc?’

Josh pointed and Archer saw Maddy wrapped up in thick blankets in a second ambulance ten yards away. It seemed she’d woken up before he had. She was talking with a medic standing in front of her. She sensed him make eye contact and looked over.

For the first time since they’d met she smiled at him. He smiled back.

‘What the hell happened?’ Josh asked.

Archer rubbed his head. ‘We went into the lab. Someone had placed an electronic bug on the cabinet and taken the bio suits. We triggered the countdown when Maddy entered the keypad code and the doors locked behind us. If it wasn’t for the freezer, we’d be dead.’

‘Someone was trying to kill you.’

‘Not me,’ Archer said, nodding at Maddy. ‘Her.’

Josh went to speak, but spotted Shepherd walk out of the building. He saw them at the ambulance and walked over swiftly, arriving outside the doors.

‘You’re awake,’ he said to Archer. ‘Good. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I heard what happened.’ He looked over his shoulder at Maddy. ‘Someone wants her in a coffin.’

‘Where’s Dr Kruger sir?’ Josh asked.

‘I just called him. He’s on his way down here. Until this is over, both he and the woman stay with us at all times.’

‘Where’s Marquez?’

‘She’s inside, talking with the guard who was manning the desk.’

Rubbing his chest, Archer was starting to feel better. The headache was beginning to pass. Swinging his legs off the bed, he struggled to his feet, shrugging off the blankets. Josh grabbed his shoulder as he swayed.

‘Take your time,’ he said.

‘We don’t have time.’



‘Who came in this evening?’ Marquez asked the reception security guard.

The man shrugged. ‘Anyone who works here has a key-card. They can come and go as they please. Visitors have to sign in and out on the call-sheet. It’s on this board.’

He passed her a clipboard and she scanned the page. The list was long.

‘Busy for a Saturday.’

‘Always is. Upstairs we’ve got legal firms, office space, multi-million-dollar corporations, real estate agencies, bio-chemistry labs. This is New York. Saturday night here is like Monday morning to the rest of the world.’

Archer, Josh and Shepherd had just arrived beside her. She turned and saw Archer was back on his feet. She gave him a quick smile then looked back at the desk guard.

‘Any of them catch your eye?’

‘Not really. Girl with a nice ass came in. That’s about it.’

‘Anyone come in for Flood Microbiology tonight?’

‘No one who signed in.’

‘And this is the only entrance into and out of the building?’ Marquez asked.

‘Yes ma’am.’

Archer, Marquez and Shepherd scrutinised the sign-in board. Josh thought for a moment, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

‘This is a Hail Mary, but do you recognise any of these people?’ he asked, unfolding it and showing the four mug shots to the man.

The guard’s eyes suddenly widened.

‘Wait. Yeah. Yeah, I do.’

The team stared at him. The guard grabbed the sheet and tapped it. ‘I recognise this guy. He was in here tonight.’

He was pointing at Finn Sway’s photograph.

‘Are you sure?’ Shepherd asked.

‘Positive. We talked about football.’

The team scanned the check-in board but there was no Sway anywhere.

‘He must have signed in?’ Shepherd said.

The guard shook his head. ‘He swiped his way in. Like I said, only way to do that is with a valid key card.’

‘Did you see him leave?’ Marquez asked.

The guard nodded. ‘Yeah. He was only here for about ten minutes.’

‘What time?’

The guard thought for a moment. ‘Would have been 10:15 or so. The second half of the Giants game was going on.’

‘Hang on,’ Marquez said. ‘You’re imagining this. It’s impossible.’

‘No I’m not.’

Marquez shook her head, pointing at Sway’s mug shot. ‘This man couldn’t have been here. We had him in handcuffs downtown at that time.’

The guard shook his head, adamantly. ‘He was in this building, Detective. I’m positive.’

‘Impossible.’

‘No. You’re both right,’ Archer said.

‘How?’ Marquez asked. Then she thought for a moment and looked at Archer. ‘Oh shit.’

‘What?’ Shepherd asked, confused. ‘How could he be in two places at once?’

‘Because there are two Sways, sir,’ Archer said. ‘Finn Sway has a brother.’