Night Sun Read online

  Night Sun

  By

  Tom Barber

  *****

  Contents

  Night Sun

  Night Sun

  The Sam Archer thriller series

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  THIRTY NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY ONE

  FORTY TWO

  FORTY THREE

  FORTY FOUR

  FORTY FIVE

  FORTY SIX

  FORTY SEVEN

  FORTY EIGHT

  FORTY NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY ONE

  FIFTY TWO

  EPILOGUE

  About the author:

  Sam Archer thrillers

  Night Sun

  Copyright: Archway Productions

  Published: 13th March 2021

  The right of Tom Barber to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by he in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For info on all new releases

  The Sam Archer thriller series

  by

  Tom Barber

  NINE LIVES

  26 year old Sam Archer has just been selected to join a new counter-terrorist squad, the Armed Response Unit. And they have their first case. A team of suicide bombers are planning to attack London on New Year’s Eve. The problem?

  No one knows where any of them are.

  THE GETAWAY

  Archer is in New York City for a funeral. After the service, an old familiar face approaches him with a proposition. A team of bank robbers are tearing the city apart, robbing it for millions.

  The FBI agent needs Archer to go undercover and try to stop them.

  BLACKOUT

  Three men have been killed in the UK and USA in one morning. The deaths take place thousands of miles apart, yet are connected by an event fifteen years ago. Before long, Archer and the ARU are drawn into the violent fray. And there’s a problem.

  One of their own men is on the extermination list.

  SILENT NIGHT

  A dead body is found in Central Park, a man who was killed by a deadly virus. Someone out there has more of the substance and is planning to use it. Archer must find where this virus came from and secure it before any more is released.

  But he is already too late.

  ONE WAY

  On his way home, Archer saves a team of US Marshals from a violent ambush in the middle of the Upper West Side. The group are forced to take cover in a tenement block in Harlem. But there are more killers on the way to finish the job.

  And Archer feels there’s something about the group of Marshals that isn’t quite right.

  RETURN FIRE

  Four months after they first encountered one another, Sam Archer and Alice Vargas are both working in the NYPD Counter-Terrorism Bureau and also living together. But a week after Vargas leaves for a trip to Europe, Archer gets a knock on his front door.

  Apparently Vargas has completely disappeared.

  And it appears she’s been abducted.

  GREEN LIGHT

  A nineteen year old woman is gunned down in a Queens car park, the latest victim in a brutal gang turf war that goes back almost a century. Suspended from duty, his badge and gun confiscated, Archer is nevertheless drawn into the fray as he seeks justice for the girl. People are going missing, all over New York.

  And soon, so does he.

  LAST BREATH

  A Federal manhunt is underway across the United States. Three people have been shot by a sniper, and he’s gone to ground somewhere in Washington D.C., his killing spree apparently still not over. As riots engulf the city and the manhunt intensifies, Sam Archer arrives in the city to visit his family.

  Or so it would appear.

  JUMP SEAT

  A commercial airliner crashes into the Atlantic Ocean with hundreds of people on board. When another follows three days later, Archer and the rest of the team are assigned the case. At any moment, they know another plane could go down.

  And to try and solve the case, Archer’s going to have to go 35,000 feet up in the sky.

  CLEARED HOT

  A female CT Bureau detective and colleague of Archer’s is shot in the head in an empty pool in Astoria. Archer learns she’s been re-examining a strange case from seventeen years ago. On the morning of Tuesday September 11th, 2001, a FDNY firefighter showed up to work and committed suicide.

  But no-one has ever figured out why.

  TRICK TURN

  At a pre-July 4th carnival in New York, an eleven year old girl is almost killed when a knife slams into a wall, missing her by a hair’s breadth. No-one saw who threw the blade, but Archer and his NYPD team can guess why.

  Her dead father was one of the most powerful mobsters in the city.

  And someone seems hell bent on reuniting the girl with him.

  NIGHT SUN

  As Archer is sent to a federal prison to help transport an old foe to another facility, a situation erupts that leads to the escape of some other, extremely dangerous prisoners. One of them is an inmate with just six days left on his sentence.

  But for a reason that quickly becomes clear, those are six days too many.

  Also:

  CLOSE CALLS

  In a collection of three stories, familiar characters from the Sam Archer thriller series look Death right in the eye and don’t blink first. Moments that forged the people they are today.

  Moments they can never forget.

  Their close calls.

  HAND OFF

  In this prequel novel, featuring two familiar characters from the Sam Archer thriller series, an investigation involving a dead famous athlete, another assaulted in a seedy strip club toilet and a vigilante going out at night delivering street justice draws the NYPD’s attention.

  Despite their junior status, Officers Matt Shepherd and Jake Hendricks are drawn into the case as quiet, unofficial investigators.

  But also, as suspects.

  For Isobel.

  PROLOGUE

  Vehicles were starting to back up on Pennsylvania’s Interstate 90 highway, the hold-up caused by a roadblock ahead.

  Using a finger to wipe away sweat from under his sunglasses in the early September heat, a PA State Police trooper stepped back from a gray GMC Acadia seven-seater and gave three fellow Staties a nod to let the vehicle proceed. The people carrier had to drive forward in a s
low S-shape to negotiate two barriers placed thirty feet apart to block the road, but it performed the maneuver smoothly and as the car moved onto the open stretch of highway, the deputy waved at the next vehicle in line to roll forward.

  Six troopers were stationed at this particular checkpoint, on a highway which entered north-western Pennsylvania from Ohio, snaked across the state on a fifty mile stretch of road and then passed into New York State, the border lying ten miles from their current position. Traffic was only clogged up on the lanes heading to New York, the fugitives the police were looking for considered highly unlikely to be going the other way. A similar roadblock had been set up south on the next closest highway, I-86, and helicopters had just started doing periodical sweeps of the spaces in between, with SWAT teams, other armed response and fugitive task forces on standby. Twenty six innocent people had been killed in the past two days across a number of states, including nine members of law enforcement. The suspects were wanted dead or alive.

  The next car in line to be checked, a white Audi SQ8 with Ohio plates, came to a halt beside the lead trooper, a colleague standing slightly further back with the stock of a Colt AR-15 rifle in his shoulder. The trooper taking lead inspection duty reached the driver’s window and pointed down with his forefinger. The previous vehicle, the large GMC, had held a family of six heading up to Toronto for a vacation before attending a wedding next weekend, but this one only contained two men. The guy behind the wheel was in his mid-to-late thirties and wearing spectacles, a blue Wrangler shirt and jeans. ‘Where you coming from?’ the trooper asked.

  ‘Columbus.’

  The Statie bent slightly and looked past the driver at the other man in the car. This individual was dressed more formally in a dark suit and white shirt with no tie, and looked to be around the same age as the driver but olive skinned, dark-eyed and with thick dark hair pushed back off his face. The trooper eyed him silently. Photos of the wanted suspects had been distributed to all the checkpoints across Pennsylvania and had been appearing on TV for most of the morning. ‘Afternoon.’

  The man nodded, slowly chewing some gum. ‘Trooper.’

  ‘Hot day for a suit.’

  ‘We’ve got the A/C running.’

  ‘Where you both headed?’

  ‘A conference in Syracuse,’ the driver told him.

  ‘License and registration.’ The driver reached slowly into his jeans pocket; the sunglasses hid the trooper’s eyes as they remained on the passenger, but the man watched his companion calmly as he pulled out his wallet and passed over his ID.

  ‘May I go to the glovebox and retrieve the registration?’ the driver asked.

  The trooper nodded, studying the license. Barrington Marsh, the name read. He was about to ask the passenger for his ID too, but then heard whining coming from his right and turned to see a K9 sniffer dog on a leash indicating at the rear of the car. ‘Pop the trunk,’ the trooper ordered, keeping hold of the license. He walked around to the back of the vehicle, his fellow Statie with the rifle joining him from the other side, a third trooper approaching to cover the Audi with a Remington pump-action. The dog’s behavior had caught their attention. ‘Says they’re heading to a conference in Syracuse,’ the lead trooper told his colleague holding the AR-15.

  ‘Conference for what?’

  With the ID in his left hand, the trooper pulled up the lid of the trunk with his right and the dog showed even more interest. ‘Step out,’ he said, going back to the driver’s door and opening it. ‘You, stay there please, sir,’ he told the man in the passenger seat, who remained where he was.

  Barry Marsh did as he was asked and walked around to the rear of the vehicle with the trooper. They reached the trunk and stood there together, looking at the contents. The Statie pointed at six large, sealed cardboard boxes. ‘What’s inside?’

  ‘Something which’ll explain his reaction,’ he said, glancing at the dog who was straining at his leash. The trooper nodded to his colleague, who slung his rifle over his shoulder and used a knife to slice the tape on the nearest box. He opened it, and the parted flaps revealed rows of cans and some foil packets, neatly stacked inside.

  He took one out. ‘Dog food?’

  ‘I can leave a couple for your fellow officer, if you like,’ Marsh said, nodding at the K9.

  ‘Why you driving around with all this?’

  ‘I’m a rep for a pet food company in Ohio. Conference in Syracuse tomorrow is for people in the industry. Biggest event of the year outside of the annual national forum in Kansas City. This is our new line of products.’

  The trooper leaned in a bit closer, then straightened. ‘Why does the car smell so strong? These cans are sealed.’

  ‘I dropped one of the boxes loading it into the car. Guess a can must’ve split. Happens sometimes. Gives off worse in the heat.’

  The trooper who’d opened the box cut the seal on another two, revealing one full of more cans and sampler packets, this time for cats, the other box full of dog food like the first they’d opened.

  ‘You mind me making an observation?’ the lead trooper told Marsh quietly.

  ‘No. What would that be?’

  ‘You seem nervous.’

  ‘Not good around guns, Trooper. Never have been.’

  ‘I understand. But can I tell you something else?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Your friend in the front seat kinda looks similar to someone we’re looking for.’

  ‘That’d be one of the fugitives I’ve been hearing about on the radio?’

  ‘Correct. Latest reports are they’re in this area. And if he isn’t who he claims he is, you don’t have to say a word.’ The trooper’s voice lowered. ‘All you’d have to do is give me an indication right now while he’s sitting up there. He can’t hurt you with us here. He won’t even have a chance to get out of the car.’

  ‘Is every driver who passes through this checkpoint getting that same advice?’

  ‘Only the ones I got a feeling something ain’t right with.’

  Marsh smiled. ‘Stephen’s a lot of things but he isn’t a thief and definitely not a killer. He works for the company with me. Has done for a couple years. We’ve gone on conferences like this before together.’

  ‘Why’s he wearing a suit and you aren’t?’

  ‘Said it saves him packing it. There’s a meet and greet tonight and he’ll be the one charming potential new clients.’

  The trooper studied him for a moment longer, then nodded to his colleague, who went to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door. ‘Step out please, sir.’

  The man did as ordered and joined the group at the back of the car. As he stood there, the K9 sniffed at his shoes and suit pants but quickly lost interest and sat beside his handler, his eyes focused once again on the back of the vehicle.

  ‘Mind if you open that jacket and we frisk you?’ the lead trooper asked. The guy shrugged, turned and rested his hands on the roof of the Audi. The Statie with the AR-15 patted him down twice, before reaching into his pockets. He came out with a small wad of money, an Ohio driving license and a pack of gum.

  ‘Sixty four bucks,’ he said, counting the cash.

  ‘If that’s how much was stolen, your suspects need to rethink their business strategy,’ the man said.

  ‘Who said anything about money being stolen?’ the lead trooper asked sharply.

  ‘We’ve been listening to the radio. Heard what happened in Cleveland yesterday. Guessing that’s why you guys are here.’

  The trooper didn’t reply, looking at his two fellow Staties who were carefully sizing up both men. They’d been instructed by their corporal when setting up position here less than half an hour ago to look out for traces of blood on clothing and under people’s fingernails. Police in Ohio had put it out that the woman from the group of fugitives they were looking for had been shot so wherever she was, she’d be bleeding.

  But they couldn’t see any evidence of blood on either’s man clothing or anyw
here else. The horns of several cars caught up in the line along the highway sounded impatiently. After a few more seconds, the trooper passed Barry Marsh his license back, then nodded to his Statie with the AR-15, who returned the other man’s license along with the cash and gum. ‘Have a good day,’ the trooper said as the two men climbed back into their car, the Staties already focusing on the next vehicle in line.

  The pair reclipped their seatbelts before Barry navigated past the blocks, then he drove on towards the Pennsylvania-New York border, the long breaks in traffic meaning they had their side of the highway pretty much to themselves.

  Once Barry Marsh had paid the toll and driven on for another ten minutes, the man beside him in the passenger seat looked behind to check there were no police cars following.

  The road was clear.

  He turned to face front again and checked a cell phone he retrieved from the center console. ‘Take the next exit,’ he told Marsh, who did as ordered. They drove down the off-ramp, then following more instructions, Marsh turned onto another quieter road, skirting around a town called Ripley. The passenger then directed them down a dirt track where there was no-one around. ‘Stop here and pass me the keys.’

  Barry did, his heart starting to race. ‘I did what you-‘

  ‘Just do me a favor and pull those boxes back,’ the man interrupted, exiting the car and going to one of the back doors. Marsh opened the trunk and did as asked, lifting the dog and cat food boxes out to remove their weight from the flattened rear seats. The passenger then folded the seats back up to full height and took away a blanket that had been spread across the two footwells.

  It revealed a slim white-faced, red-haired woman lying there, holding a revolver and with dried blood staining her white shirt. There was a black holdall jammed into the space at her feet; the man with the fake ID took the strap and pulled the bag out before tossing it clear onto the dirt behind him. The zipper was open, blood having stained some of the stacks of bills and jewelry boxes it contained.