The Getaway

THIRTEEN

‘I made contact with him ten days ago,’ Katic explained, as Archer listened closely. ‘He’d been sent from D.C anonymously. No one in our office knew he was here. His superiors knew that he and Gerrard were old friends. Something wasn’t adding up with our numbers, and everyone in the Bureau knows about it. It’s an embarrassment. The NYPD Chiefs were aware of it from the reports and were using it as cannon fodder, taking shots at our organisation, like bragging rights. So they sent your father down here to investigate. Stay in the shadows and find out what the hell was going wrong.’

‘How did you know he was here?’

She paused.

‘Because I followed Gerrard home one night.’

‘What? Are you serious?’ he asked. ‘That could get you fired, Katic. You could get in some serious shit for this.’

‘I know. But I picked up something else instead. I saw your father, in a car outside Gerrard’s apartment. I recognised him from D.C. Couldn’t miss him, face like his. I approached him, tapped on the window, and asked if we could go for a coffee. He said yes. When we got there, we spoke. I outlined my suspicions straight away, put all my cards on the table. And he agreed with everything I just told you and told me why he was here. He agreed that something definitely wasn’t right. Bank robbery clearance rates in major cities are usually bad, but never this catastrophic. Something was very wrong.’

She paused.

‘And he agreed with you about Gerrard. He was so mad that the Assistant Directors thought that Gerrard could be doing something shady. It made him even more upset that they’d wanted to send him down here to tail him. It’s all bullshit, he told me. Gerry would never do a thing like that. He was adamant. I think he took the post because he wanted to build a case to show that Gerrard hadn’t flipped. That was his intention.’

She paused.

‘Anyway, he called me last Thursday. Late, around 10 pm. Told me he’d found something, solid proof that Gerry wasn’t the guy. He wouldn’t tell me what it was over the phone. Said I’d find out soon enough, and that he was leaving later on that night. But before morning, his body was found in the parking lot in Queens. He found something on someone. He confirmed it to me, over the phone. And the timing tells me that whatever it was got him killed.’

Archer leaned forward, cursing quietly. Katic looked at him, concerned.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘I think you’re telling the truth. Because Farrell told me the same damn thing. He said someone out of your team slotted my father before he left town.’

He paused and looked over at her, the pistol still in his hand.

‘But maybe it was you.’

‘How so?’

‘You were here before the others. Clearly you are tough and career driven. I’m guessing you wanted that promotion as head of the Task Force really badly. But they passed you over, probably not because you’re a woman, but you probably thought that was why. I don’t see a wedding ring, so you’re single. Not much money. So you decided to work with Farrell. You picked up my dad and tailed him, covering your tracks. My father called you and told you he’d found something and you killed him before he could tell anyone what it was. Then you decided to rip Farrell off, and hold me up for the cash in the trunk.’

She didn’t answer. Silence filled the car. He looked over at her. She’d been wearing that exact same expression on her face the first time he ever saw her, at the funeral a week ago. He was pretty good at spotting a liar, but this woman wasn’t lying. She looked too worried to be faking. She wasn’t a professional actress. She looked just like an FBI agent who was in some extremely deep shit.

‘It’s not me,’ she said. ‘All I can do is promise you. But someone in the team is for sure.’

‘Not Gerry.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m just looking at every scenario. But this thing could go up way above me, Archer. I was doing this with your father before he got killed. Now I’m doing it alone.’

Silence.

Both of them sat there, a thousand thoughts racing through each of their minds.

Archer went to speak, but a phone suddenly rang, breaking the silence in the car.

It was Katic’s.

She pulled it from her pocket. He saw her glance at the display.

‘It’s Siletti,’ she said. ‘He’s off duty. Maybe he can help?’

The phone continued to ring. She looked at Archer, her face asking permission because of the gun in his hand.

‘OK. Answer it,’ he said.

She pressed the button and lifted it to her ear.

‘Hey.’

Archer heard murmuring the other end.

After a moment, Katic frowned. ‘What?’

‘What is it?’ Archer asked quietly.

She listened further, then covered the lower half of the phone, turning to him.

‘He’s saying the NYPD have been informed that you are a suspect in the heist. Every cop in the city is searching for you.’

She lifted her hand and turned back to the call.

‘No, I’m with him,’ she told Siletti. ‘He’s innocent. He was working with Gerrard.’

Archer didn’t move. From his seat, he heard a quiet murmuring over the receiver as Siletti continued to talk down the line.

‘Where is he?’ Archer asked.

Katic heard this, then asked Siletti. There was a pause.

‘Columbus Circle.’

‘There’s a cinema by 67and Broadway. Loews. Tell him to meet us there in fifteen minutes.’

Katic looked at him, covering the receiver. ‘That’s the other side of the Park? Why not around here?’

‘Just tell him.’

She thought about it, then nodded and told Siletti the plan. Beside her, Archer pulled his own phone from his pocket and tried Gerrard again, lifting it to his ear, silently pleading for someone to pick up.

But there was no response.

No one picked up.



67 and Broadway was a logistical problem for Katic and Archer to get to, being the other side of Central Park. Katic wanted to drive there in the cop car, but Archer refused. He knew the plates would be going out over every NYPD radio in the city. They wouldn’t even get halfway there before someone made the stolen vehicle and pulled them over. Katic argued, saying that all she had to was show her badge, but Archer demanded they left the vehicle parked where it was.

Archer didn’t tell her, but he was more worried than he was showing. Not only was every cop in the city looking for him, but the FBI were all-powerful here. If any of them were on the wrong side or had their own agenda, it would only be a matter of time before they tracked them down. And considering everything they now both knew, it was a certainty that someone out there would be desperate to silence them for good.

So the three options for transport were either walking, subway or taxi. The subway was out, as was walking. Both would take too long and Archer didn’t fancy getting cornered underground on a platform as they waited for a train. So they opted for a taxi.

Before they left, Archer quickly changed out of the cop uniform, pulling on a grey t-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of black Converse sneakers he had stashed under the front seat of the car. He grabbed a thin navy blue-raincoat from the back-seat to go over it all, a cheap one he’d picked up at JC Penney’s the other day. It was a warm night, but he needed it to help conceal his pistol. He pulled it over his shoulders and stepped outside onto the sidewalk and shut and locked the car.

Katic had also wanted to take the money with them, but Archer had refused that too. Strange as it felt, the money would be safer here. They couldn’t walk around the city carrying duffel bags containing almost a million dollars The car looked like any other amongst all the others on the kerb, save for the fact that it was a cop car. No one would ever guess what was in the trunk, and car-jackings were close to non-existent up here, especially on a NYPD squad car. So, much to Katic’s displeasure and against her sense of duty, the money stayed where it was. It felt unnatural to leave it here, but she realised it was the right thing to do in the circumstances.

There was another reason why Archer demanded they leave it behind. It had been a chaotic night so far, and from now on, he didn’t trust anybody but himself. Archer wanted to find someone they knew they could trust before handing over a single dollar. From what Katic had told him, everyone could be a suspect. And that included this guy Siletti.

As he locked the car, she walked to the sidewalk and stood beside him.

‘Ready?’ he asked, tucking the keys into his pocket.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Your pistol.’

‘What about it?’

‘I need it.’

He looked at her, ready to refuse.

‘You can’t be running round town with a gun, Archer,’ she said. ‘You’re in deep shit already. You shoot someone, nothing I can do or say will help you.’

He looked at her for a long moment, weighing her up.

‘Can I trust you?’ he asked.

‘With your life.’

He believed her. So he pulled the Sig from his belt and passed it over.

If she was the rat, he was a dead man. She’d kill him right there and then and make off with the cash.

But she nodded a small nod of gratitude and tucked it into the back of her waistband, checking the safety catch was on first.

Archer hid a small smile.

Their level of trust had just gone up a notch.



Once they headed up the hill and up 92 to 2 Avenue, it took a couple minutes of walking downtown before a taxi passed. Archer was on his guard, looking for any cops on patrol or any squad cars speeding down the road, but they didn’t encounter any law enforcement. Katic hailed the cab, which slowed and pulled to a halt on the kerb beside them. They both climbed inside, Archer pulling the door shut behind them. Katic told the driver their destination and the vehicle moved off downtown, headed south towards 59 where they could pass under the Park and move up the other side in a big U. As they moved down the Upper East Side, the occasional police car flashed past the window but Archer kept his face looking inside the cab. They sat in silence. Neither wanted to talk within earshot of the cabbie, so Archer took the chance to get a closer look and sense of the woman beside him.

She was a great combination, tough and feminine, long dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail and rich brown eyes. Her name was Eastern European, Croatian maybe, but her accent told him she was the product of an upbringing in the States. Not New York or New Jersey. She didn’t have the twang. He guessed somewhere else, like Chicago or Philly. She had the street-smarts of a city girl and the strength and resolve of her predecessors, folks who had most likely packed their meagre belongings and headed to the United States, for a new life sometime in the last century after World War II. He imagined she’d broken a few hearts in her time but figured she also took precisely zero shit from other guys at the Bureau who wanted to test her out. From here, he could smell her perfume and could see her tanned legs protruding from the black skirt of her work-suit. She was a scorcher, that was for sure. God had been in a very good mood when he made this woman.

As they moved through the mid-60 streets towards 59, Archer’s thoughts turned from Katic to Gerrard. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat and tried calling him yet again, but it rang straight through and went to voicemail.

This wasn’t good.

Everything Katic had told him could conceivably make sense, but it was so unlikely Gerry was the fall guy that Archer just couldn’t believe it. Gerry was a good man. He’d been caring and thoughtful to Archer the boy and had extended the same courtesy to him as a man, and had always been a good friend to James Archer. There were a number of reasons why he could not be picking up his phone, and not all of them were bad. If he was in D.C, stuck in meetings and debriefings, he wouldn’t have a chance to answer any calls. He’d be back tomorrow, and Archer figured he’d just have to make it through the night till he returned. Gerry would have an explanation and a solution for all this. It wasn’t his fault his bosses pulled him from the city tonight.

But he wasn’t picking up his phone.

And that didn't sit right.

This past week, Gerry had always answered his phone, usually by the third ring. Archer’s father had been duped by someone, and shot in the back of the head. Archer sent up a silent prayer that Gerry hadn’t suffered the same fate, and that someone wouldn’t suddenly find his body in a parking lot missing a head. Good men didn’t deserve to die like that. Especially not men like James Archer and Todd Gerrard.

They turned right and started heading along 59 towards Columbus Circle, the Park sliding past Katic’s window on the right. To the left were a series of absurdly expensive-looking buildings and hotels that ran all the way along the street. 59 was where the thoroughfare of Midtown offices ended and the wealth of Uptown Manhattan started. Archer didn’t want to think how much dinner and a night in a hotel in one of the places up here would cost. Probably more than a month’s salary for him.

To the right, the Park looked surprisingly foreboding. During the day, nothing was more pleasant than a stroll inside, but at night it looked like a place that no one would want to enter. He’d heard stories from the past when armed gangs would wait in the shadows to mug pedestrians, and there had been a fair amount of murders in there back when the city was a far rougher place to live. Archer looked at the Park move past the window, all shadows and darkness. He was going to be on the run all night, and if it came down to it, he figured he could always hide out in there.

But he’d make sure to get his Sig back from Katic first.

The car arrived at Columbus Circle and held at the red light. After a few moments, it flicked green and they moved around the circular roundabout from the left. Archer watched the water splash in the fountain below the marble statue of Christopher Columbus as they slid around him and headed up Broadway. They were seven blocks away, and the driver headed up Broadway towards the Upper West Side, past the Lincoln Center to the left, past the Julliard School.

‘Drop us off on 70,’ Archer told the driver. Katic turned to him as Archer saw the driver’s head nod.

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘The cinema is on 67.’

‘We’ll come in from the top. I want to see what we’re walking into.’

‘You don’t trust Siletti?’

He shook his head.

‘Tonight, I don’t trust anyone.’



They stopped on the corner of 70 and Broadway as requested and Katic paid the fare. The two of them stepped out, shutting the doors and the taxi sped off uptown, leaving them there alone.

The streets were relatively busy, not heaving, but there were quite a few pedestrians, headed to bars and the cinema or just outside enjoying the warm night air. Archer stepped up onto the sidewalk beside Katic and didn’t move. He stared down the street ahead, looking for anything unusual. It didn’t matter if Siletti was clean or dirty, he could still have called for back-up. Up ahead, he saw a big digital clock in red letters, mounted on a CNN building on the south side of Columbus Circle.

10:15 pm.

‘What do you think?’ he asked Katic.

She nodded.

‘Let’s go.’

They walked down slowly, side-by-side, checking for anything unusual. Any vans or people sitting in cars. Anyone nearby wearing an earpiece. Any sign of a trap or foul play.

‘Recognise any vehicles?’ Archer asked her.

She shook her head and turned to him.

‘Relax, Archer. We can trust Siletti. He’s one of the good guys.’

‘Even if he is, he might have called for back-up.’

‘That’s OK. We’ll go downtown and I can explain what the hell is going on.’

They crossed the street, twenty yards from the Loews cinema, ahead to their left. Archer looked up and saw the names and show-times of different movies scrolling across a digital black background in red lettering. All the summer blockbusters, still on show, the studios eager to squeeze every cent they could from the paying public before they pulled the movie reels from the cinemas and started packaging them into DVDs. The first door to the large dark foyer of the cinema appeared on their left. Archer quickly checked both ways up and down the street, then opened the door and letting Katic precede him, followed her inside.

Inside, it was dark and busy. There were people all over the place. A long queue had formed in front of the ticket desks, people waiting in line to purchase stubs for whatever movie they were seeing, whilst others were walking to the escalators near the two newcomers and stepping onto the metal steps, making their way upstairs and towards the concession stands and screens. The place felt like a disco or one of those laser tag places Archer had gone to as a kid, dark with occasional glowing lights piercing the gloom. Katic stepped into the north-west corner, Archer beside her. They were in a good spot, an exit either side of them, inconspicuous, not attracting any attention but with a good view of the place. Nevertheless Archer still felt on edge and uneasy. All of a sudden he was starting to regret handing his pistol to Katic.

He guessed who Siletti was the moment he saw him. He was a slim, wiry guy, tall, six two or three maybe. He was dressed in a suit that was a bit too big for him, with shirt and tie, and had a thin moustache over his upper lip and freshly slicked-back dark hair. Katic mentioned her team had been given the night off, so his attire seemed unusual, but maybe he had just dressed up before he left his place, anticipating a long night at Federal Plaza.

Archer’s suspicions that he was looking at an FBI agent were confirmed when he saw the man clock Katic across the room. He stepped through the line of people queuing for tickets, and made his way swiftly towards them. Concern was written all over his face. He glanced over at Archer in the darkness, and Archer saw his right hand was by his hip, close to a pistol that would be surely tucked under the suit jacket. Archer eased himself back a hair. If Siletti pulled it, Archer could probably grab the Sig from the back of Katic’s waistband before she reacted.

‘There you are,’ he said to Katic.

He glanced at Archer, hostile.

‘He’s on our side,’ Katic said, reading the look in his eyes. ‘Like I told you, he’s been working with Gerrard.’

‘No way,’ Siletti said, his hand still by his hip.

‘Yes way. Take your hand away from there. You pull your gun, I’ll pull mine and we’ll be stuck here wondering what to do next.’

Siletti stared at Archer for a long moment.

Archer stared straight back.

Eventually, Siletti turned his attention to Katic.

‘You’re in deep shit, Mina. Why the hell did you hitch a ride and not just take him in? And where the hell is the money?’

‘In a safe place. Look, I had to intervene. I think someone on our team has flipped.’

‘What?’

‘Someone’s flipped.’

He stepped closer to the corner, lowering his voice. Archer looked past him, seeing if anyone was watching, making doubly sure the guy had come alone.

‘Who?’ Siletti asked.

‘I don’t know. But think about it. Surely you’ve got your suspicions. Farrell and his crew have been one step ahead of us every time.’

‘Yeah, I know. But to say one of us is working with them? That’s pretty extreme.’ Siletti said.

‘Just hear me out. Look, I promise you I’m legit. And I can trust you, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘So it’s either O’Hara, Lock, Parker. Or Gerrard.’

‘Gerrard. Are you nuts?’ Siletti said, still not convinced. ‘He’s head of the Task Force. He’s an SSA. Guys like that don’t turn on their own. It’s unheard of.’

‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’

‘Thursday. Why?’

‘We’ve been trying to call him for over a day now but we can’t get through. Whoever the leak is might have got to him first.’

Siletti shook his head.

‘You’re serious about all this?’

‘As a heart attack.’

He cursed and ran his hand back over his slick hair. Then he looked over at Archer.

‘Speaking of deep shit, I should take you in right now. You’re on the casebook of every cop and Federal agent in the city. I could land a promotion by bringing in your ass.’

‘Go ahead and try.’

‘He’s good,’ said Katic, interjecting as the two men stared at each other again. ‘I can vouch for him.’

Siletti kept looking at Archer, then turned back to Katic.

‘OK. So how much was in the car?’ he asked.

‘Close to a mil,’ Archer said.

In the darkness, Archer saw Siletti’s eyes widen.

‘Jesus Christ. So where is it? That’s stolen money. It needs to be returned straight away,’ he said. ‘Right now, you two count as thieves. Badge or not, Mina, you’ve still got almost a million stolen dollars in your possession. That’s as illegal as you can get.’

She nodded and looked at his suit.

‘Were you at the Plaza?’

He nodded.

‘So do you know what happened with Farrell and his crew?’

He nodded again. ‘The cops took them at the Garden. The operation’s over.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Let’s go get the money, head downtown and sort this all out.’

Katic looked at Archer for approval, encouraged.

‘C’mon, my car’s a couple blocks away,’ Siletti said.

They headed outside, pushing open the doors. Katic looked to Archer, reassured, but noticed he didn’t seem as upbeat. The trio headed up the street. Siletti drove a small Mercedes, and it was parked on the kerb, an FBI badge on the dashboard. He pulled a set of keys and the lights flashed as it clicked open.

‘Let’s go get the cash first,’ he said. ‘We need to get it in safe hands as soon as possible. Where did you stash it?’

Archer went to reply, but his phone suddenly rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the display. Private Number.

Oh shit. This could be Gerry.

He clicked Answer quickly, hopeful.

‘Hello?’

‘I’m going to kill you, you piece of shit,’ a voice said.

It wasn’t Gerry.

It was Farrell.



Katic and Siletti had opened their doors, but turned, watching Archer take the call. He hid his shock at hearing Farrell’s voice and smiled.

‘Oh hey, how are you?’ Archer said, warmly, his mind racing.

‘You’re a dead man.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘You ditched us.’

‘Really?’ he said, still cordial, thinking hard.

‘Where are you?’ Farrell asked.

‘Around.’

‘Bring us the money and I’ll let you live.’

Archer smiled, as he looked at Katic. His mind was racing as fast as he’d driven from the Garden, Katic’s gun in his ribs.

‘OK. I’ll be in touch,’ he said. He ended the call.

‘Who was that?’ Katic asked.

‘Just a friend. Let’s go.’

Siletti looked at him for a moment, his face unreadable. Archer didn’t make eye contact.

He took another look at the man’s suit instead.

They all climbed into the car, shutting the doors.

And what happened next was fast and violent.

In the front passenger seat, Archer smashed his left forearm into Siletti’s face, then slammed his head forward against the wheel as hard as he could. He wasn’t ready for it and his head smashed into the wheel like they’d been in an accident, and he pulled back, gasping from the pain. Archer grabbed Siletti’s pistol from the holster on his hip, jamming into the man’s ribs, like Katic had done to him. It was an Heckler and Koch USP, not FBI issue, not his service weapon. He flicked off the safety catch and pushed it into the man’s side hard, grabbing him by the slick hair.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Katic yelled. She pulled her own pistol and put it on Archer. ‘Drop the gun!’

‘That was Farrell. They’re not locked up. He called me from the street.’

‘What?’

Archer looked at Siletti, who was covering his nose, blood leaking through his fingers and soaking his thin moustache.

‘He’s lying, Katic. They didn’t take down the thieves. They’re still out there. He’s the rat. Did you murder my father?’ Archer asked, jamming the gun into his ribs harder, causing him to gasp. Siletti’s nose was bleeding profusely, staining his shirt. ‘Was it you?’

‘You’re a dead man,’ he said. ‘We’re going to kill you.’

Archer punched him with his left fist, hard, spraying blood from Siletti’s nose onto the dashboard. Then Archer hesitated for a split-second.

He’d said We.

‘Who are you working with? Who else is in on it?’ he demanded.

‘What are you going to do, kill a Federal agent? You just assaulted me, a*shole. You’re screwed.’

Archer paused, thinking, as Katic watched from the back, her Sig still aimed at Archer. He then jerked forward and grabbed Siletti’s tie, pulling it off roughly.

‘Keep a gun on him,’ he told Katic. She looked at him, confused. ‘Do it.’

She complied, and nestled her pistol in Siletti’s lower back.

‘Hands at 10 and 2,’ Archer said. Siletti swore at him and spat blood. Archer hit him again, hard, and reeling from the blow, Siletti complied, blood spilling from his nose. He grabbed the tie and wrapped Siletti’s hands up, tying them to the steering wheel and pulling the knots tight.

Next, he grabbed the keys and turned to Katic, who looked scared and confused.

‘We’re out of here.’

‘You can’t hide. We’ll find you,’ Siletti told him, spitting out blood.

Both of them froze and looked at him as they heard this. Archer hit him again, then he and Katic stepped out, slamming the doors. But before she did so, Katic holstered her pistol, and Archer pushed the magazine release catch on Siletti’s weapon and caught the mag as it dropped from the weapon. He pushed the top-slide, catching the bullet that popped out, and then tossed the unloaded pistol on the backseat, tucking the mag and spare round in his pocket. Stepping outside, Archer slammed the door and moved to the trunk of the car and slid the keys into the lock, Katic beside him, confused. He twisted and pulled it open and they both looked inside.

There were a number of items in the trunk. Items that alone wouldn’t have cause concern, but at that moment painted a terrible picture.

A roll of duct tape.

Ten or so red bricks.

A load of plastic bags.

And a power saw.

The sharp serrated blade of the saw was red with wet blood.

It had been used recently.

Beside him, Katic gasped. A taxi passed them on the right and Archer hailed it. The driver stopped, and looked through the open window.

‘Where to?’ he asked.

‘Anywhere,’ Archer said. The guy looked at him, then shrugged and nodded.

Archer and Katic climbed in quickly, and the vehicle sped off down the street and into the night.