After a few minutes he pushed himself above water, scanning the area to ensure a rogue party boat wasn’t about to decapitate him.
Sirens blared through the night sky, undoubtedly for him. He took another grateful breath of fresh air before disappearing under again, his mind flashing back to the muddy ravines he had crossed during his time in service, the way he could block out the horrors of his surroundings.
The river, as iconic as it was, was filthy, and after a few more minutes, as his lungs threatened to open in the water, he shot out once more, finding himself a few metres from the South Bank. The wailing of the sirens was everywhere, their shrill screams cutting through the night sky. A party boat was docked a short distance away, a stream of drunken patrons clambering aboard and indulging in the expensive alcohol and awful music. With his shoulder burning with agony, Sam swam towards it, reached up with his good arm, and grabbed a life support ring that was attached to the side.
With gritted teeth and extreme anguish, he pulled himself up to the side of the boat, hooking his foot onto the ring before reaching up and grabbing one of the decorative ropes that hung down in symmetrical loops beneath the railing.
With the adrenaline of knowing that he had figured out what was happening, and the net tightening, he hooked his arm over the railing and pulled himself upwards.
With the last of his strength, he rolled over the barrier and collapsed on the decking, breathing in as much air as he could. A few drunken lads cheered him, offering him a shot of tequila as he slowly got to his feet.
He took one, knocking it back to hopefully stave off the pain for a little longer before marching through the ship, ignoring a few other patrons before entering the gents’.
It was empty, and he sat in the cubicle with the door locked and allowed himself a moment of peace.
The boat departed, taking him away from the manhunt and inevitable capture. He needed to get back to Theo, collect his ‘rainy day fund’, and then go to see Derek Earnshaw.
He needed to get the facts right before he brought it all crashing down.
As he sat, drenched through and stinking like a burst sewer pipe, he waited patiently for the next full bladder. It only took a few moments before an inebriated man stumbled in, dressed in a shirt and sweater, jeans and shoes. He leant against the wall, eyes closed, making little effort to aim as he urinated around the urinal.
‘Good evening,’ Sam offered, causing the man to turn, cock still out and shock on his face.
A hard right hook and few minutes later, and Sam stepped from the bathroom wearing an ill-fitting shirt and jeans and waited patiently for the next pick-up point.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It had been a long day and Theo felt every moment of it as he stretched his back. His leather reclining chair was the most extravagant purchase in his modest living room, wedged into the corner of the room next to the bay window. To his side, a leather sofa stretched across the back wall, adjacent to the large HD TV that sat atop an oak cabinet. A WIFI router sat on one of the shelves, along with a few potted plants. On the wall above was a shelving unit fixed to the wall, lined with medals and photos of his distinguished career in the armed forces. Theo leant forward, allowing his vertebrae to creak loudly as he twisted out the ache.
‘You okay?’ Amy asked, sat on the end of the sofa. Her eyes pulled away from the documentary on the TV.
‘Yeah.’ Theo smiled. ‘I’m just old.’
Amy chuckled before quickly flashing a look to her lap. Andy lay, asleep, his head resting on her lap. She ran her fingers through his ruffled hair, thankful for the colour that was slowly returning to his cheeks. He had slept for most of the day, with Theo assuring her it was his body dealing with the shock and the blood loss. By the early evening he was awake, with Amy sat beside him, helping him to eat an entire bowl of soup. Theo then helped him down the stairs, surprising Amy with his strength as he carried her husband down to the living room.
Now, as he snoozed in the warmth of the front room, she once again took stock of what had happened. The guns pointed at her head. The bullet that had ripped through her husband.
Sam Pope, who had killed two men to save her life.
‘Are you okay?’
Theo’s concerned voice brought her back into the room, and only then did she realise a tear had trickled down her face. The PTSD was alive and kicking.
‘Yes,’ she uttered quietly, her eyes glancing to the folded duvet and pillow stacked in the corner of the room, which Sam had used earlier. ‘I’m just worried about Sam.’
‘Sam’s a big boy,’ Theo reassured, sitting forward and stretching once more. ‘He can take care of himself.’
Amy shook her head. ‘It’s not his problem. None of this. Or yours.’ She had begun to panic, the horrors of the last few days threatening to overspill. Suddenly, breathing became difficult.
‘Hey, hey.’ Theo pushed himself off the chair, leaning forward. ‘You’re fine, okay? You didn’t come knocking on our doors, did you? Sam knocked on yours, remember?’
‘But why?’ Amy shook her head. ‘Why is he doing this?’
‘Because he is a good man.’ Theo smiled warmly. ‘We were soldiers and damn good at it. We swore to protect, and that is what we are doing.’
After a few moments, Amy found her breath. She took it in deeply, letting her diaphragm rise and fall, feeling the oxygen whip around her body like a rollercoaster.
After a few more deep breaths, she looked at Theo.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Theo smiled again, pushing himself up so he was standing. ‘I fancy a drink. A proper drink.’
‘Wine if you have it,’ Amy said, allowing herself to smile. On her lap, her husband, though injured, was alive and safe.
They were safe.
‘Coming right up,’ Theo said, when suddenly the shrill ding of the doorbell cut through the house. Theo tutted. ‘That’s probably Sam right now. As soon as you mention wine, eh?’
Amy chuckled again as Theo headed towards the front door, feeling a true friendship blossoming. She gently stroked her husband’s hair and returned to the soothing voice of David Attenborough as he narrated a dolphin swimming through the ocean.
Theo approached the door, shaking his head joyfully as he yanked it open.
‘You weren’t gone too long, were you…?’
Theo stopped talking as he came face to face with a man he had never met before. The man was bald, a rugged face that looked like it had taken a fair few whacks in its time, with dark eyes that begged for more. He was broad, maybe carrying a few extra pounds that pressed against the leather jacket he had zipped to the collar, and stood with his feet planted, knowing he was unmovable. He gently rubbed his hands together, with Theo noticing the worn knuckles, clearly from a lifetime of fighting. Beyond, Theo noticed the two men sat in the Range Rover that was parked across the road, their eyes fixed on the house.
The bald man’s face broke into a terrifying smile.
‘Evening, Mr Walker.’ The man’s East-End accent shone through. ‘I’m looking for Sam Pope.’
‘Sorry, who are you?’ Theo asked calmly, pressing one foot slowly against the bottom of the door, ensuring it couldn’t be shoved open. However, by the size of the visitor, Theo wondered if it would even matter.
‘That doesn’t really matter, son.’
‘It does to me.’
‘My name is Mark. Mark Connor.’
‘You have a badge?’
‘Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.’
‘Me too,’ Theo said, his voice firm. ‘I’m pretty concerned right now, because I’ve got a strange man knocking on my door asking for someone I don’t know.’
Mark smiled again, the streetlights above reflecting off his shiny skull. The sky had darkened, giving way to a cool spring evening. The breeze jostled through the leaves on the nearby tree.
‘Come on now.’ Mark shook his head. ‘Samuel Pope, who you served with for a number
of years. The very same Samuel Pope who murdered two men and abducted a woman named Amy Devereux and her husband, and whose last known location was Bethnal Green Community Hall, your place of work. Now, please don’t insult my intelligence, Mr Walker. That wouldn’t be a good idea.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ Theo said purposefully, knowing it had zero effect.
‘I’m strongly suggesting,’ Mark warned, trying to look beyond Theo into the house. ‘So where is he?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.’
‘Who were you expecting?’ Mark’s voice was starting to turn colder, his brow beginning to furrow.
‘How did you find my address?’
‘Oh, you know.’
‘No, I don’t know. You’re not the police, and most detectives don’t have two thugs sat in a car watching their back.’ Theo leant forward. ‘So why don’t you leave, before I call the police?’
‘Is she in there?’ Mark asked, ignoring the threat. ‘It would be a wise idea for her to come with me.’
‘It would be a wise idea for you to leave.’
Theo refused to break Mark’s stare, feeling anger boil inside him as the bald intruder smirked once more in his face. For a moment, the only sound was the buzzing of the TV, the hallway bursting with intermittent colour as the image changed. Mark held the stare for a little while longer before raising both hands up in surrender and taking a step backwards up the garden path. Theo stood in the gap of the doorway, making himself as big as possible.
‘Fair enough, fella.’ Mark spoke as he headed to the gate. ‘Just remember, I tried to do this the polite way.’
With the barely disguised threat lingering between them, Theo watched as the burly man straightened the lapels of his leather jacket before striding through the gate and across the street. A few youths, dressed in their baggy hoods and tracksuit bottoms, watched from a nearby wall, all of them looking away as the man stared at them, daring them to say anything.
None of them did.
The man was dangerous.
He threw open the car door and turned once more, meeting Theo’s stare with a silent promise that this wasn’t over before the car roared to life and sped off up the road. Theo waited until it had rounded the corner and disappeared into the night before slamming the door shut and taking a deep breath. Within minutes, the entire situation had changed and the safe haven he had offered the Devereuxs was gone. He needed to speak to Sam, but more importantly, Amy and Andy needed to be moved somewhere safe. He pulled his phone from his pocket and found Sam in the contacts and pressed ring.
He heard the generic tone in the living room and as he walked back, and Amy met him in the doorway, the phone in her hand.
‘Shit,’ Theo uttered under his breath, pocketing both phones and running his hands over his shaved head.
‘We need to go, don’t we?’ she asked, fear spreading across her face like wildfire.
Theo offered a warm smile before following her back into the front room, where Andy was sitting up, his eyes glazed over as he tried to remember his surroundings.
Amy rushed to him, her fingers wrapping around his hand and gently stroking his wedding ring. ‘Andy, honey. Are you okay to get up?’
Andy slowly stirred and mumbled, with Amy stood in front of him, trying to guide him up.
Theo watched carefully.
Then he heard the sound of a car door slamming shut.
His eyes widened with terror.
‘Get down!’ he yelled, lurching forward and shoving Amy and Andy onto the couch as a stream of bullets, followed by the street-shaking roar of an automatic rifle, burst through the window. One of them sliced straight through Theo’s right shoulder, a burst of red spraying up the white wall and spinning him on the spot.
Another passed through his hip as he tumbled, both of them ripping out the other side of him and burying themselves in the blood-splattered wall.
He roared in agony as he hit the floor, blood oozing out and across the wooden slats. Amy screamed in terror as another avalanche of bullets pelted the house, embedding in the wall in a horrifying line. Amy pulled Andy off of the sofa and ducked down, frantically trying to attend to Theo, who was gritting his teeth and trying to apply pressure to two bullet wounds.
‘Kitchen,’ Theo yelled through quick breaths. ‘Now.’
Amy nodded, her cheeks shiny with tears as she began to drag Andy, who was sloppily trying to help, towards the kitchen. Outside the house, Theo could already hear the wailing of sirens, but he could also hear the unmistakable sound of a gun being reloaded.
He wished Sam was there, who would be more than a match for the onslaught, especially if he had access to his ‘rainy-day fund’.
With the pain becoming unbearable and the blood loss beginning to slow him down, Theo slowly dragged himself across the floor, leaving a smear of scarlet on the wood as he followed the terrified couple. In the kitchen, Amy, breathing heavily after dragging her husband through the house, was overturning the kitchen table and chairs. Theo, straining to pull himself forward, nodded to the panel beside the breakfast bar.
Amy ran her fingers across it, finding the ridge at the end of the panel and pulling with all her strength. Three slats lifted, disguised as kitchen tiles, revealing a few stairs and a small security bunker beneath the floor. Never, in all her years as a therapist, had she been so grateful for someone’s war-related paranoia. Theo, who was taking controlled breaths and wincing with pain, nodded for her to get in, and she guided her husband to the stairs. He navigated them woozily before collapsing underneath the breakfast bar in the dark room. Another spray of bullets littered the house, causing Amy to jump as she scurried down the few steps to check on her husband and Theo slowly dragged himself towards the opening.
Then he heard the sound of the metal bouncing into the hallway, the pin having already been pulled from the grenade. With Amy and her husband safely inside the bunker, Theo pushed himself forward and pushed the lid closed, drowning out Amy’s screams of horror at his action. He could imagine Mark stood outside, hands on hips, as his two thugs unleashed round after round of bullets on his house, the one that had been his home since he had left the army, and had required a woman’s touch ever since his divorce.
He thought about Denise and how they could have had a happy marriage had he left the army sooner, but his constant nights away had deprived her of the baby she had wanted and she had packed her bags before he had returned.
Theo thought of her face, her smile, and knew it was better served as a mother, which she was to three girls.
He thought of all the lives he had saved during his service, knowing full well the pain those men were going through as he pressed his hands against the bullet holes that plagued his body.
He thought of Amy and Andy, safely secured underneath his house.
Lastly, he thought of Sam, and the hell that would be unleashed when he found out what happened.
Theo then closed his eyes and moments later there was a giant flash of light and heat and everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was on a dusty side street in Baghdad that Sam had learnt how to hotwire a car, the unrelenting sun beating down on the Iraqi capital. He was being covered by Corporal Murray and Private Jensen, the latter fresh out of the academy, with more spots than facial hairs. But he was a good kid with an incredible brain, and it was he who showed Sam how to hotwire the vehicle. Sam had assumed Jensen learnt from a tough life on the streets, a past littered with petty crimes and needless gang culture.
He later found out, when Jensen was heading up the data analysis centre back in GCHQ, the large ‘donut’ building that housed the government’s military information and secrets, that Jensen knew how to hotwire the vehicle due to his incredible intellect.
He was a fine soldier, but his main weapon was his mind.
As Murray scanned the derelict alleyway, brushing his assault rifle left and right like a pendulum, Jensen had walked Sam through the pro
cess. Once he had jimmied the plastic panel beneath the steering wheel, Jensen had pointed out the bundles of wires, how they connected to separate parts of the car, and how to differentiate between them. It was simple science, but Sam was more comfortable pulling a trigger than pulling wires.
They segregated the battery and ignition bundle and Sam stripped some of the plastic casing of the battery wires with his pocket knife, which he returned to the pocket of his camo trousers. He twisted the exposed metal together before doing the same to the ignition wire. Jensen badgered him about being careful, the ignition wire holding a live current that could kill him.
Sam knew a life-and-death situation—he had been holed up in an abandoned factory with six Russian operatives hunting him less than two years before—but said nothing. With his confidence growing, he pressed the exposed wiring together, a spark leaping between them both and the engine letting out a guttering roar. Laughing with triumph, he pressed his foot on the accelerator, revving the engine as the car jolted to life.
The timing was impeccable, as a stream of bullets rocked the side of the car, with Murray diving into the back seat, returning fire through the shattered glass. Sam flipped the car into gear and accelerated, the car leaping forward and leaving nothing but the thundering of the enemies’ weapons and a large cloud of sandy dust behind.
Six years later and those skills had come in handy once more, as Sam drove the stolen car out towards New Malden. It hadn’t been too hard to locate Earnshaw—a quick stop at a twenty-four-hour internet café on Lambeth High Street had proven fruitful. Hunting down those criminals—or working the ‘night shift’, as Pearce had an annoying way of saying—had led Sam to a number of websites that weren’t strictly by the book. It allowed people to search for data that people had unwillingly or, more likely, obliviously allowed companies to take and sell on.
The Night Shift: A high octane thriller that will have you gripped. (Sam Pope Series Book 1) Page 16
