primary. Chalk, secondary.’
Archer nodded, appreciating the responsibility. Primary meant he’d be the first man through the door. Each man checked his weapon and went to open the doors.
‘Oh, and Chalk?’ Mac added.
The younger man paused, his hand on the door handle.
‘Be careful what you wish for.’
Inside the house, the three men hadn't moved from the table, smoking their cigarettes and still playing cards.
But suddenly, there was another hard pounding on the door.
Three stiff knocks.
But this time it wasn’t Saqib’s brother.
‘POLICE! OPEN UP!’
For a split second, the three men sat there frozen, staring at each other, wide-eyed with fear and shock.
How the hell did they find us? their faces said.
Then they bolted into action.
One of them grabbed the two bags of cocaine, throwing them under the couch in a frenzy as the other two rushed to grab the weapons scattered around the room.
They were trapped, with no way out.
But they weren’t going down without a fight.
Outside the front door, the four officers could hear the sudden commotion inside the house.
Without hesitation, Archer stepped back and kicked the front door as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge.
He tried twice more quickly. Nothing.
He put everything he had behind the fourth, and threw his body weight behind it.
This time, it worked and the door splintered open.
Pushing it all the way back, he moved into the house, followed by his three team-mates, shouting as he held his MP5 to his shoulder, tight in the aim.
‘Police! Nobody move!’
Sweeping through the front hallway, he turned right, arriving in the doorway of the living room. The place was dark and dirty, like a seedy den.
But in the shadows in that split second, he saw three men standing there.
One of them was holding a pistol. This one wasn’t a toy.
Immediately, Archer could tell it was the real deal.
But things got a hell of a lot worse.
He saw a second man across the room holding another weapon.
A pump action twelve-gauge shotgun.
The guy had it in the shoulder.
And it was aimed at Archer’s head.
SIX
As a kid, Archer had always been bad at football, or soccer as his Dad used to call it. For the life of him, he could never kick the damn ball properly. Other boys his age had taken to the game with ease, able to seamlessly perform elaborate tricks and passes while Archer struggled to master the most basic of skills. But during one game at school, when he was about ten, he’d discovered that there was one thing he excelled at. Goal-keeping.
He’d been stuck in the goal-mouth by a coach during a school practice, probably to keep him out of the way of the more talented kids. But then during the game, the other team suddenly couldn’t score. They’d thrown everything at him, but he stopped the ball every time. He’s got hands like buckets , his coach had enthused upon seeing the boy’s hidden talent. But even then as a kid, grateful as he was, Archer knew his gloves weren’t the key to his success between the posts.
It was his reaction speed.
On this occasion, that same rapidity was going to save his life. Before the gunman had time to pull the trigger, Archer was already diving behind the far wall for cover.
‘Shotgun!’ he screamed, to his three fellow officers.
They all threw themselves back in the hall as the guy fired the weapon. There was a deafening explosion; white plaster and dust burst from the wall behind where Archer had been standing as it took the full brunt of the shell.
On the floor, his ears ringing, the young policeman looked up and saw one of the other two suspects fleeing frantically up the stairs ahead of him. Scrambling to his feet, Archer pursued the other man, chasing him down.
The wall shielded him from the guy with the shotgun, so he was momentarily safe.
The other officers had fallen back into the hallway, taking cover from the force of the blast. Chalky was the man immediately behind Archer,
Archer nodded, appreciating the responsibility. Primary meant he’d be the first man through the door. Each man checked his weapon and went to open the doors.
‘Oh, and Chalk?’ Mac added.
The younger man paused, his hand on the door handle.
‘Be careful what you wish for.’
Inside the house, the three men hadn't moved from the table, smoking their cigarettes and still playing cards.
But suddenly, there was another hard pounding on the door.
Three stiff knocks.
But this time it wasn’t Saqib’s brother.
‘POLICE! OPEN UP!’
For a split second, the three men sat there frozen, staring at each other, wide-eyed with fear and shock.
How the hell did they find us? their faces said.
Then they bolted into action.
One of them grabbed the two bags of cocaine, throwing them under the couch in a frenzy as the other two rushed to grab the weapons scattered around the room.
They were trapped, with no way out.
But they weren’t going down without a fight.
Outside the front door, the four officers could hear the sudden commotion inside the house.
Without hesitation, Archer stepped back and kicked the front door as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge.
He tried twice more quickly. Nothing.
He put everything he had behind the fourth, and threw his body weight behind it.
This time, it worked and the door splintered open.
Pushing it all the way back, he moved into the house, followed by his three team-mates, shouting as he held his MP5 to his shoulder, tight in the aim.
‘Police! Nobody move!’
Sweeping through the front hallway, he turned right, arriving in the doorway of the living room. The place was dark and dirty, like a seedy den.
But in the shadows in that split second, he saw three men standing there.
One of them was holding a pistol. This one wasn’t a toy.
Immediately, Archer could tell it was the real deal.
But things got a hell of a lot worse.
He saw a second man across the room holding another weapon.
A pump action twelve-gauge shotgun.
The guy had it in the shoulder.
And it was aimed at Archer’s head.
SIX
As a kid, Archer had always been bad at football, or soccer as his Dad used to call it. For the life of him, he could never kick the damn ball properly. Other boys his age had taken to the game with ease, able to seamlessly perform elaborate tricks and passes while Archer struggled to master the most basic of skills. But during one game at school, when he was about ten, he’d discovered that there was one thing he excelled at. Goal-keeping.
He’d been stuck in the goal-mouth by a coach during a school practice, probably to keep him out of the way of the more talented kids. But then during the game, the other team suddenly couldn’t score. They’d thrown everything at him, but he stopped the ball every time. He’s got hands like buckets , his coach had enthused upon seeing the boy’s hidden talent. But even then as a kid, grateful as he was, Archer knew his gloves weren’t the key to his success between the posts.
It was his reaction speed.
On this occasion, that same rapidity was going to save his life. Before the gunman had time to pull the trigger, Archer was already diving behind the far wall for cover.
‘Shotgun!’ he screamed, to his three fellow officers.
They all threw themselves back in the hall as the guy fired the weapon. There was a deafening explosion; white plaster and dust burst from the wall behind where Archer had been standing as it took the full brunt of the shell.
On the floor, his ears ringing, the young policeman looked up and saw one of the other two suspects fleeing frantically up the stairs ahead of him. Scrambling to his feet, Archer pursued the other man, chasing him down.
The wall shielded him from the guy with the shotgun, so he was momentarily safe.
The other officers had fallen back into the hallway, taking cover from the force of the blast. Chalky was the man immediately behind Archer,
Similar Books
