Long Road Home: A pulse racing action thriller you won't want to put down. (Sam Pope Series Book 3)

by Robert Enright

  They stepped past him, the wife uttering something in German that Marsden couldn’t understand. The idea of a young family being caught in the crossfire turned his stomach and made him think of all the other senseless deaths that had happened.

  Could still happen.

  He was certain that his mission would lead him to his death, but after what he’d exposed, what he’d uncovered, he knew he had to do what any good soldier would do.

  His duty.

  To protect.

  Marsden came to his cabin, and he slid the key card into the door and a little green light accompanied the click. He slipped into the room, the tiny space offering him at least somewhere to think. The limited floor space lead to an uncomfortable looking bed built into the wall, a small door to his left opened up into a cubicle with a toilet and sink. A large window welcomed him, the darkness of the tunnel presenting him with his own reflection once more, before instantly blasting him with the light from outside as they emerged from the darkness.

  The sudden change skewed his vision for a few moments before he eventually lowered himself onto the solid mattress, feeling every ache and pain in his aging body. Marsden had been a soldier for over three decades, engaged in numerous combat situations and had even fought for his life a couple of times. The toll on his body was slowly being collected by Father Time and he felt it with every creak of his joint, or every crack in his movements.

  Despite his storied career, Marsden had never been severely injured, due to accepting a safer role as a senior figure, training and pulling together elite squadrons.

  Project Hailstorm may not have been his baby, but he damn sure nurtured it to existence.

  It was why he felt compelled to do what he was doing. All the pain and suffering it had caused. The realization of what he’d helped create.

  The near death of Sam Pope.

  Marsden knew he couldn’t wash all the blood off his hands, but he knew he could at least try to wipe some of it clean. The USB stick in his pocket wasn’t a clean slate, but it was at least a slither of redemption.

  Because that was really what they were all after. Every soldier who had fought his way through Afghanistan. Every soldier who had shed blood in Iraq.

  All the killing.

  All the bloodshed.

  All any of them wanted when the shooting stopped, was redemption.

  Marsden knew he may not be able to offer it to them in person, but with what he had in his possession, he could at least make those in charge face their demons. When what he had was made public, Wallace and the rest of them would never get out alive.

  It was why he was on the run.

  It was why he had an elite team of mercenaries hunting him through Europe.

  As the train shunted along the track, rain clattered against the window behind him, the thin glass rattling in its frame. Wind was escaping through the gaps, the pane almost sliding from its position. Marsden slid the rucksack from his back and dropped it between his legs, reaching over with a heavy hand to open it. Inside were his documents, a spare change of clothes, and some toiletries. He’d decided to travel light, it had been five days since he’d abandoned his post in Switzerland with the information and had been purchasing new clothes each day. He’d cleaned out his account, trading it all in for euros and ensuring there was little paper trail.

  It hadn’t mattered, as much as he had suspected.

  They’d hunted him down and now, most likely, would eliminate him on the very train he sat on.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out a Glock 19 pistol, the clip fully loaded and the grip a familiar feeling in his hand.

  He’d spent his entire life fighting for the freedom, liberation, and safety of humanity.

  Now, with the net tightening, Marsden was ready to fight for it one last time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rocky and Evans walked calmly through the centre of the carriage, offering welcoming smiles and assured nods of the head to any interested passengers. They knew they stood out like a sore thumb, their matching polo shirts and bomber jackets may as well have been a uniform and they were conscientious about their firearms. Both of them had a Glock 19 strapped under their arm, fastened into a leather holster.

  The train whipping in and out of tunnels as it moved further away from Berlin had rendered their earpieces useless, but the two of them knew the mission.

  Stop Marsden.

  Blackridge would ideally want Marsden brought back alive. Sims was a political parasite, and the idea of handing Marsden over to the British authorities undoubtedly gave him a hard on. Evans didn’t particularly like Sims, and he couldn’t give a damn about the political ladder. His office was out in the field, gun in his hand and putting the bad guys down.

  In his mind, sticking a bullet between the eyes of the treacherous bastard was the most likely option. Plus, he was pretty sure Marsden would put up a fight.

  ‘Hey, chief, the cabin is clear.’

  Rocky grunted, her dark red hair tied back tight and covered with a bandana. She was without a doubt the toughest soldier, male or female, that Evans had ever come across. She hit harder than any man he’d met, and she was twice as vicious. If he wanted to put a bullet in Marsden’s skull, she would want to carve it open and shred the insides.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he uttered, offering a smile to a young kid who stared at him with fascination. Without raising suspicion, the two of them stepped forward into the small waiting area between the two carriages. Outside, rain splashed against the speeding train, rendering the vista nothing more than a wet blur. As Rocky reached out with a gloved hand for the connecting door, the door swung open and the conductor stepped through the gap between the carriages. Startled by the intimidating twosome, he tried to gather himself, straightening the creased shirt that clung to his rotund body and he cleared his throat.

  ‘Ticket, bitte?’ he asked, a small, black scanner in his hand. Rocky shook her head and dismissively waved him off. Evans flashed him a white grin, opened his jacket, and revealed the handle of his gun. The colour drained from the conductor’s face and his eyes darted around in a panic.

  ‘Sprechen sie Englisch? Evans asked calmly, knowing full well most Germans working in the tourist or transport industry were bi-lingual. The man nodded, sweat dripping down his brow and he patted his thin, whispy hair. Evans reached out and gently rested his gloved hand on the man’s shoulder, with enough weight to intimidate. ‘We are United States Special Forces. We believe a terrorist is on this train.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ the man stammered, his eyes watering as the fear set in. Rocky chewed her gum, looking at the pathetic man with disdain. Just another confirmation that men were useless for everything.

  ‘The man is black, about six foot tall. Grey hair.’ Evans gestured to his jaw. ‘Grey beard too.’

  ‘Ja. I see him,’ the conductor said enthusiastically. ‘He is in private cabin. Nummer seiben.’

  The man turned and pointed through the door he’d entered through and instantly Rocky reached for the door handle. She yanked it open and bolted through, her hand reaching to the inside of her jacket as she stepped onto the next carriage. Evans held a finger up to his lips, demanding the man’s silence, which he offered with a feeble nod of the head.

  ‘Danke,’ Evans said coldly, before following Rocky through to the next carriage, the door slamming shut behind him and protecting him from the short blast of freezing wind that he’d stepped through. The carriage was longer, with a narrow walkway along one side. The rest of the carriage had been separated into a number of small, private cabins. Although no bigger than a broom cupboard, having a bed and a private bathroom on a long-haul train was certainly appealing.

  The walkway was clear, and Evans followed behind Rocky, who now held her pistol firmly between her fingers, aiming it low to her side as she strode along the carriage. Strapped to her waist was a seven-inch blade, her go-to weapon when Blackridge decide to have a little fun. Well, they did have a sixteen-hour train journey
.

  Evans chuckled at the idea and then slowly brought himself to a standstill. Rocky stood to the side of door seven. She flashed Evans a look with her dark-brown eyes and then reached forward with her left hand and gently pulled down the handle.

  The machine clicked and flashed a red light.

  ‘Fuck,’ she uttered under her breath, before taking a step back and with the force of a prize horse, shunted her foot directly onto the handle. Her military grade boot shattered the card reader and the door flew open, her momentum carrying her in, her pistol raised and ready to execute. She almost pulled the trigger, but realized it was just her reflection on the window.

  The room was empty.

  As she turned to open the bathroom door, it flew open, the door slamming into her wrist and smacking the gun from her hand. As she stumbled back in shock, Marsden leapt forward, colliding into her and both of them hit the wall of the cabin. The impact felt like it shook the entire carriage as they fell to the floor, Rocky’s elbow slammed into the cabin door, driving it back into Evans who was fast approaching.

  Angered, Evans readjusted, raised his gun and went to kick the door open to murder Marsden. It was that blind rage that had caused his guard to slip.

  It meant he didn’t hear the footsteps in time.

  After disposing of Ray in the now defunct rest room, Sam had begun his march through the train. As ever with his training, he committed every detail to memory.

  Thirty separate rows.

  Four seats per row.

  Seventy-six passengers.

  Fifty-three steps to clear the carriage.

  It was what made Sam so efficient, his attention to detail. Not just around his targets, but every aspect of his life. He studied and monitored everything and ever since he’d lost Jamie, he’d retargeted that focus on his quest for justice. It had brought down the High Rise and exposed the police bombing of the London Marathon. It had brought down the Kovalenko trafficking empire and severed their ties with the English political scene.

  Now it had brought him to a train, speeding through Germany on its way to Rome, where two very dangerous people were zeroing in on his mentor.

  Sam shot through the connecting door and into the next carriage, moving with haste among the seats. A few passengers raised their heads to watch, having already seen other people stride past. Nothing caused fear more than seeing people acting suspiciously on public transport and Sam held his hand up to try to lower the rising tension. As he passed through, he almost collided with a portly, middle aged man, his shirt covered in sweat. The man held a ticket machine in his hand and looked clearly flustered. Before Sam could speak, the man leant in, his body odour immense, as he whispered.

  ‘Your friends are already at the carriage.’ He jerked his head towards the door. ‘Cabin seiben.’

  Sam smiled and patted the man on his damp shoulder, marching towards the door as the conductor began speaking to passengers in his native tongue, trying his best to quash any fears. Sam pulled open the door and stepped through the cold and onto the next carriage, ahead of him he could see Rocky break the door down with a thunderous kick, before disappearing into the room. Sam walked as quietly as possible, keeping himself against the side of the cabin and hopefully out of Evans periphery. A large crash echoed from the room and the door slammed back, colliding with Evans who angrily stepped back. With a furious crack of his neck, Evans regripped his gun and stepped towards the door.

  Sam broke into a sprint.

  Evans turned at the final second, his eyes widening with a mixture of shock and rage as Sam launched his body forward, his shoulder colliding into Evans’ chest and knocking the man to the floor. The gun fell from his hand and Sam immediately reached for it. Evans fell onto his back, but quickly shot a foot up, his boot slamming into Sam’s chest as he bent forward. Sam stumbled backwards and Evans quickly scampered to his feet, raising his fists and locking his eyes squarely onto Sam. As he readjusted his feet, Sam pulled his fists up and, in that brief silent moment, both men agreed that this was to the death.

  Evans launched forward with a barrage of rights and lefts, hammering Sam with the precision and power of a champion boxer. In the limited space, Sam raised both of his arms, taking the impact in his powerful muscles, before waiting for a brief opening. As he deflected one of Evans’s stinging blows to the left, he drove his knee forward, ramming it firmly into Evans’s midsection and driving the wind out of him. As his attacker stumbled back slightly, Sam drove a hard left into the man’s cheek, rocking him slightly. He floored Evans with a striking right hook.

  Inside the room, Rocky had kicked Marsden off her and towards the bed, angrily jumping to her feet and laying into the veteran soldier with some vicious kicks. Marsden protected himself well, catching her leg on impact and swinging her with all his might. Caught off balance, Rocky spun in the room and collided with the glass window, her face colliding so hard it left an imprint and speck of blood. With her eyes wide with anger, she slipped the knife from her belt and slashed wildly at Marsden, who dodged two swipes before blocking the third with his arm. Rocky stamped on his foot, weakening his balance, before she pressed forward with all her strength, sending both of them onto the solid mattress. With her low centre of gravity locking Marsden in place beneath her, her eyes sparkled with delight as she pressed down with both hands.

  The blade was an inch or two from Marsden’s neck and his arms began to shake as he fought for his life.

  Sam turned, pushed open the door and as he went to enter, Evans spat blood onto the floor and chuckled.

  ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ Evans got to his feet, unsheathing a knife from his belt and wiping the rest of the blood away from his lip with the back of his glove. In two bounds he was right on Sam, slashing the knife towards him with murderous intent. In the close confines of the carriage, Sam managed to dodge the first slash, then deflect the next with a well-timed forearm, Evans drove a brutal knee into Sam’s fresh stitches, causing his thigh to burn with pain and his leg to go limp. As he stumbled backwards, Evans slashed his right bicep with his blade, drawing blood and a grunt of pain from Sam.

  ‘Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,’ Evans boasted, his maniacal need to inflict pain emerging through the evil grin that dominated his face. Sam shrugged off the pain and as Evans lunged forward with the intent to kill, Sam dodged the blade. Quickly, he grabbed Evans’s forearm and slammed it into the wall, his finger digging into the pressure point. Evans’ gloved grip relinquished, and the blade dropped, which Sam caught with his other hand, turning on his heel and slicing the sharp blade across his attacker’s thigh. Evans groaned in pain and stepped backward, his hands reaching for the bloody wound.

  Sam rocked him with a few rights before swinging the blade with his left. Evans blocked it expertly, but Sam dropped the blade, catching it with his right, and plunged it deep into Evans’s hip. The man roared with pain for a mere second, before Sam caught him with a vicious headbutt.

  Evans crashed backwards to the floor, his brain rocked by the vicious blow, the knife still embedded in his side.

  Sam pressed his hand to his injured bicep, his fingers returning covered in blood. Ignoring the pain, Sam rushed into the room as Rocky applied more pressure to the handle of her blade.

  The tip of it began to pierce Marsden’s throat.

  Sam hurled himself into her, dragging her from his old mentor and driving both himself and Rocky into the wall. Marsden rolled to the side, shocked at his saviour as Sam got to his feet, only to be caught by a vicious right hook that split his lip.

  Rocky hit like her namesake.

  As Sam stumbled back, she threw herself forward, blade ready, aiming for his chest. Sam managed to swivel on the spot, his leg almost giving way through the pain and as she darted past, he used her own momentum to launch her into the small bathroom. She hit the tiled wall hard, blood shooting from her nose on impact and as she woozily turned, she lazily swiped the knife towards the door. Sam dodged the swipe, slammed her arm a
gainst the wall, disarming her. As she tried to spin free, Sam pulled her bandana down across her face until it was wrapped around her neck, then with an almighty tug, drove her headfirst against the solid, porcelain toilet.

  The impact was sickening.

  Rocky stopped moving, her arm twitching slightly, and Sam stumbled back into the small cabin, a sudden blast of cold air greeting him. As he and Rocky had collided with the wall, it had shunted the wall with enough force to loosen the window panel, which had slid open.

  As Sam turned to close it, Evans charged through the door, his hand pressed to his hip which pumped blood, his other hand wildly wielding the knife. He roared with fury, any sense of the mission game plan replaced with a blind rage and need to kill Sam. As he launched forward, he was blind to Marsden who had pulled himself to his feet and who caught Evans with a striking right hand, which knocked him off balance.

  As he stumbled forward, Sam grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and in a final push of strength, he hurled Evans through the open window and out of the train.

  Evans instantly disappeared, ripped back by the speed and considering they were surrounded by a rough terrain of hard fields and rocks, Sam wasn’t confident of his chances of survival. His body would hit that landscape at over one hundred miles an hour, the rough terrain would likely tear his skin to shreds and reduce his bones to dust.

  Finally, Sam took a deep breath, before sliding the window back into place. His face and shirt were wet, the rain sneaking in for a brief moment. His leg ached and his right arm was now drenched with his own blood.

  Just another day.

  With considerable difficulty, he turned his aching body, coming face to face with an obviously shocked Marsden.

  ‘Sam?’ he asked, bewildered. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Sam smiled; his teeth slightly covered in blood.