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Shepherd turned to his three detectives.
    ‘It’s just past 3:15am. You three, go home and get a change of clothes, your passports and then get your asses over to JFK immediately. I’ll meet you there.’
    As the trio rose, he took a last look at the two sex traffickers on the screen who’d kidnapped Vargas.
    ‘We’re going to London.’
     
     

 
    SIX
    Just over an hour and a half later, Shepherd, Archer, Marquez and Josh were all together again inside JFK’s Terminal 4 as the clocks inside the building ticked past 4:50am. The Terminal was subdued and quiet, none of the long queues so typical later in the day, but the British Airways booths had already been opened, checking in passengers for the 6:20am flight to London.
    The four NYPD detectives had already collected their boarding passes, and were now moving through the security points that stood between them an d the Gates on the other side. Watching Marquez and Josh walk through two rectangular metal detectors, Archer waited his turn in the queue.
    He’d changed into light blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a checked grey and white shirt over the top, the first things that had come to hand in his wardrobe. After Josh had made a flash pit-stop at his own place to grab a bag and his passport, he’d driven Archer back to his apartment in Queens and waited as he gathered his own gear. Archer hadn’t concentrated as he’d changed his clothes, working on autopilot, but as he’d pulled the shirt he was wearing from a hanger inside his closet, he’d seen Alice’s clothes lined up neatly beside his and caught the scent of her perfume. Quickly closing the wardrobe door, he’d thrown a spare set of clothes into a holdall, secured his pistol and after grabbing his passport, had walked out of the apartment and re-joined Josh in the car, the two of them heading straight for JFK.
    Just ahead, Marquez and Josh were both cleared through security and they joined Shepherd on the other side, the trio waiting for Archer and all dressed similarly to him. An official beckoned Archer forward, and he stepped through the rectangular detector, his bag, shoes and valuables placed on a grey plastic tray and going through the x-ray machine to his left. The scanner didn’t bleep, satisfying the TSA team, and he was allowed to continue forward, the security team shifting their attention to the next person in line.
    Despite the hassle, Archer felt reassured by the safety of the whole process as he pocketed his phone, wallet and NYPD badge then pulled on his black and white Converse shoes, tying the laces. However, at that moment he was less comfortable with the absent holster and Sig Sauer pistol that usually resided on his hip. Seeing as the NYPD quartet were travelling to another country, they’d each had to leave their side-arm behind at home.
    G iven the circumstances and the reason for their trip, Archer didn’t feel especially comfortable about it and he knew the others would feel the same.
    With his shoes back on, Archer scooped up his holdall and re-joined Shepherd, Josh and Marquez. The team then headed up a few steps into the inner heart of the Terminal, immediately surrounded by Gates, wandering travellers, Duty Free shops selling alcohol, fragrances and gadgets beside several overpriced news vendors offering refreshments at twice the normal price.
    The place was subdued and quiet, just like the four NYPD detectives. Walking forward, Archer checked his watch. 4:57 am. Their flight wasn’t for another hour and twenty three minutes, which meant all they could do now was sit and wait. He immediately set off towards a row of empty seats up ahead but Shepherd caught his shoulder and pointed to his left.
    ‘Ethan booked us into Club Class,’ he reminded him. ‘Let’s use the Lounge.’
    Turning, Archer followed the others as they cut a direct path through the Terminal towards the entrance to the British Airways Lounge. A perk of their more expensive seats, the Lounge was a