Silent Night

FORTY SEVEN

As shouts of ‘ATF!’ and ‘NYPD!’ suddenly filled the estate, Hendricks and his squad moved in from the left as the ATF came in from the right. They were approaching fast. Down below, scores of the skinheads were starting to react, pulling weapons from cars or retrieving them from wherever they’d been left around the camp.

‘NYPD!’ Hendricks shouted, moving past the skinhead he’d just taken down, closing in on the camp. ‘Drop your weapons!’

Instead, the neo-Nazis started to fire.

The night quiet of the estate was instantly shattered by the echoes of automatic and semiautomatic weapons. The ATF agents and NYPD detectives were forced to take cover as bullets and shotgun shells started smashing into rocks and trees around them.

However, Hendricks didn’t withdraw, firing his Mossberg and racking the pump. He edged forward, keeping low, seemingly unconcerned as bullets whizzed past him as he returned fire. Straight ahead was a big neo-Nazi, one of the meth cookers, a modified Glock 17 in his hands. It seemed most of them had this weapon. The guy was aiming it at Hendricks which gave him no choice. He pulled the trigger and the shotgun boomed, hitting the goon in the chest and blowing him back.

As Hendricks racked the pump, he realised the Latina detective Marquez was right by his side. Around them, the gunfight was escalating, agents and detectives taking cover, but she seemed completely unfazed. She fired her shotgun at a man running towards them, the blast hitting the guy in the chest and punching him off his feet. She racked the pump and fired again, hitting another man. Hendricks and Marquez’s determined approach was causing the skinheads to take cover. The ATF and other NYPD detectives moved up to join them, firing down at the camp. Although the gunfight was now in full savage swing, momentum was swinging the law enforcement’s way.

Hendricks and Marquez had worked their way to the edge of the camp but were forced to take cover around the corner of a building on the edge of the estate as they came under sustained attack. Hendricks risked a glance, but bullets from automatic weapons and shotgun shells drilled into the wall beside him, chalk and dust spraying into the air. They were pinned down. None of the neo-Nazis were surrendering. It was a full-on shootout, automatic weapons and pump-action shotguns on each side, the air filled with the sound of gunfire and the stink of cordite. Hendricks and Marquez’s position had been spotted and the two of them were under heavy fire.

To their right and further back, some of Hendricks’ team saw their boss pinned down and increased the rate of fire, giving him an opportunity to peer round the wall.

He saw bullets hitting the three meth trucks at the back of the campsite, smashing the windows and drilling the walls as scores of the Chapter members returned fire from behind cars or bikes. The caravans were directly behind the neo-Nazis so hitting the labs was unavoidable but extremely dangerous. They could go up in a second.

And just then, Hendricks caught sight of the white-haired guy who’d arrived in the van. Wicks. He was firing off rounds with a silenced pistol. When it clicked dry, he ducked behind one of the cars, the wheels either side of him bursting and deflating as rounds took them out.

Hendricks watched him yank open the trunk and pull something out from the back. It was a case.

He opened it up, and Hendricks’ blood turned cold.

It was an RPG.

Hendricks raised his Mossberg, centred on the man and pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed.

‘Shit!’

He dropped down, gunfire chipping the wall beside him, spraying chalk all over him. He saw the blond man sliding a rocket-propelled grenade into the launcher, clicking it into place. Hendricks cleared the breech, but it was taking forever.

‘C’mon!’

He watched the blond man turn, using the car as cover and aiming the weapon at the group of ATF agents moving in. He was behind the car. Hendricks couldn’t hit him.

But ten yards behind the man was one of the eight pound propane tanks used for cooking the meth.

And there was a lit cigarette five feet from the tank.

His weapon emptied, the jam cleared, Hendricks racked a shell and aimed at the tank as the blond man centred the RPG on the ATF Task Force.

He pulled the trigger.



Across the state, inside the Shepherd family home, Finn Sway had the bitch gagged and tied up. She was on the hall floor, her eyes wide with fear, muffled whimpering coming from under her gag. He had his gun to the kid’s head, both of them facing the front door.

‘What time does your dad come home?’

‘In about an hour.’

‘Call him.’

The kid didn’t react. Finn cuffed him with the butt of the pistol, and the woman made a noise under the gag.

‘Call him or die.’

Mark pulled his phone and pushed Redial, his hands shaking.

‘Put it on speaker. You send him a signal, I shoot your mother.’

The call rang twice.

‘Mark?’

The kid didn’t respond. Finn pushed the pistol harder into his temple.

‘Hey Dad.’

‘Everything OK?’

Pause.

‘Yeah. Was just wondering when you were coming home?’

‘I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.’

Across the hall, the woman was making sounds. Sway turned to her, pointing the gun. ‘Shut your mouth, bitch.’ He looked over at the television and saw a freeze frame of the family at what looked like a high school event.

He looked at the face of the man who’d killed Reese, smiling on the screen.

Finn would make sure that he never smiled again.



Although he’d only just turned nine, Mark Shepherd already knew how to handle himself. Being that Dad and his friend Mr Hendricks were both cops, they’d put all four of their kids through bully-proof classes. Dad had also devoted some time to teaching his sons self-defence. Mark was a typical boy, interested in sports and hanging out with his friends, but he also relished the fact his father taught him things other kids his age didn’t know. With the gun to his head, Mom tied up behind him, his heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst out of his chest. He felt like he was going to throw up. He could smell alcohol and smoke on the man behind him. He felt the cold metal of the pistol against his temple.

But as the man had turned to Mom, Mark had glanced to his right down the hall, and seen something at the window.

Dad.

He was outside. He made eye contact with Mark and then quickly disappeared from view. Mark sensed the man with the gun turn his attention back.

‘How long does it take him to get home?’

‘About twenty minutes.’

‘Well one of you gets to live until then. Who’s it going to be?’

Mark shivered. He looked over at his mother, helpless on the floor, her eyes pleading with the man with the gun.

‘Guess it’s you kid.’

Given Mark’s height, the man was slightly stooped over him. One arm was encircling Mark’s neck, the other holding the pistol. Mark reached behind him and suddenly grabbed the man’s balls, just like Dad had taught him.

Then he twisted as hard as he could.

The man with the gun screamed in pain. Not letting go, Mark ducked his head down then reared up hard, the top of his head hammering into the underside of the man’s chin like an uppercut. The man fell back onto the floor.

Shouting in pain and fury he lifted his pistol, aiming it straight at Mark.

‘Get down!’ a voice shouted.



In agony, clutching his groin with one hand, Finn was just about to pull the trigger when he heard the shout.

The kid hit the floor.

And behind him, outside the hall window, was Shepherd.

A pistol in his hands was aimed straight at Finn.

Oh shit.



Shepherd fired three times, smashing the glass of the window. The three gunshots thumped into Sway, laying him out and knocking the machine pistol out of his hand. His head lolled to the side, facing Beth who stared at him, their faces an inch apart.

His eyes were lifeless.

He was dead.