Read Return Fire (Sam Archer ) for Free Online Page B

him and hung up, tucking the phone back into his jeans and walking over to take a seat beside Archer.
    ‘That was Travis,’ he said. ‘Still no match on the fourth sample. Spanish police have been informed that we’re heading to London and have asked that we keep them fully updated on any progress.’
    Archer nodded but didn’t reply, the silence filled by the quiet murmur of muted conversations around the room.
    ‘There’s something else too, Arch,’ Shepherd said, settling back in his chair.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘We’re going to need a Command Post and base when we get to London, and a hotel room isn’t going to cut it. Is there any chance your old colleagues could help?’
    As Josh and Marquez walked over, each carrying two cups, Archer realised he’d been so focused on Stanovich and Payan that he hadn’t given any thought to where they were heading.
    London; his old stomping ground.
    Checking his watch, he saw it was past 10am in the UK, and pulled his cell phone as Josh and Marquez sat down.
    ‘Any news?’ Josh asked, passing Shepherd a cup of coffee.
    Taking the drink, Shepherd didn’t reply, watching Archer who was looking at the screen of his phone. Reading a text message that had come in a few minutes earlier without him noticing, Archer fired back a quick reply then pocketed the phone, taking a cup of tea from Marquez.
    ‘That was Chalky, one of my old team-mates,’ he said to Shepherd. ‘He’s an officer at the ARU. He said we ’ve got a Command Post ready and waiting for us after we land.’
    ‘At your old HQ? Already? How did they know?’
    ‘Apparently Ethan called ahead at Lieutenant Franklin’s request and informed Director Cobb about the situation. He’s very keen to help. He’s offered us space at their base and the use of their resources to help apprehend Stanovich and Payan.’
    ‘Great,’ Josh said, drinking from his tea.
    Shepherd nodded. ‘That’s good of him.’
    Archer didn’t reply, glancing at his watch again as he looked at the quiet Lounge around him, feeling impatient.
    Just o ver an hour until flight time.
    Now all they could do was wait.
    *
    Three thousand four hundred miles away, the sun had already come up over London on a bright July Saturday morning, but the light beating through the apartment window was giving the scarred Middle Eastern man with the broken nose a thumping headache.
    His mood sour, the man took a mouthful of pizza, the act of chewing causing his face to throb with every bite; he was sitting inside an apartment in the south of the city with Milo Stanovich and a South African man who was standing near the window watching the street below. They had an open Dominos box on the floor beside them, half of the contents already eaten, not a typical choice for breakfast but convenient and providing the ample calories they were possibly going to need today.
    Stanovich had paid for the food but the South African had picked it up. Finishing the crust of his second slice, the Middle Eastern guy squinted against the light coming in through the window.
    ‘Draw them for me, will you?’ he asked the South African. ‘Feel like I’m being interrogated.’
    By the window, the other man nodded and twisted the handle on the blinds; the room suddenly became darker. He then walked forward and took another slice of pizza.
    ‘Breakfast of champions,’ he said, his accent infused with a Johannesburg lilt, breakfast sounding like blekfust . Taking a bite, he bumped Stanovich’s shoulder with his other hand. ‘You not hungry, Stan?’
    Stanovich didn’t reply. Chewing and stepping back, the South African shifted his attention to the man with the broken nose.
    ‘How’s the beak?’
    ‘Think the bitch broke it,’ he replied, gently feeling the swollen surface.
    ‘You bled out, right?’
    He nodded. ‘ The cops will be all over the samples by now.’
    Breathing in through his mouth, he shifted his attention to Stanovich.
    ‘That means they’re going to be