They were dead.
Dr Farhad Nabizada was dead.
Now, as the chopper slowly lowered itself to the sandy clearing, Sam realized how close he truly had been to joining them. The engine roared, the propellers sweeping up gusts of sand, coating the entire area. At the controls, the pilot gently lowered it to the ground, before reaching up to the control panel and flicking a myriad of switches. The door slid to the side, and Sergeant Carl Marsden leapt from the helicopter, racing across the sand to Sam.
‘Sam. Jesus,’ Marsden said, dropping to his knees in front of him and wrapping his arms around him. Sam winced with pain but relented, his eyes watering at the comfort. ‘We thought you were a goner.’
Sam wearily smiled.
‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’
‘Can you walk, son?’ Marsden asked, refusing to let go of him. Sam nodded and Marsden clambered to his feet, easing Sam up as slowly as he needed. Both men were covered in dust as they got to their feet and Marsden draped Sam’s arm over his shoulder, letting him dictate the pace. Each step was gingerly followed by the next, the heat and pain taking its toll on Sam. Marsden glanced around the campsite, the bullet-riddled bodies of the Taliban were sprawled out in whatever chaotic demise they’d met. Marsden shook his head slightly.
‘You’ve made quite a mess here.’
‘They deserved it,’ Sam said through gritted teeth, watching as his friend Theo emerged from the helicopter with a handheld medikit. ‘They killed a good man.’
‘Well, they almost killed another one,’ Marsden replied, gently patting Sam on the back.
‘Theo.’
Sam greeted his friend, who didn’t say anything, but wrapped both arms around him. Sam felt a tear fall from his eye as he embraced his friend, returning the hug with as much force as his weak body could muster. For a few moments, the two of them stood, both of them knowing how close it had been.
Theo pulled back shaking his head and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Fucking hell, mate.’ Theo chuckled. ‘You had me going then.’
‘I’m sorry…’ Sam began, before Theo stuffed a bottle of water in his hand.
‘Don’t you dare apologise.’ Theo angrily remonstrated. ‘It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. We had bad intel and that nearly killed you.’
‘Theo, enough,’ Marsden interjected, raising his voice over the low hum of the propellers as the pilot slowly brought them to life. ‘We’ll debrief back at base. Let’s get him in.’
Theo scowled at their superior but obliged, helping Marsden guide Sam up the step and into the cabin where another soldier greeted him and helped him to his seat. Theo followed, a look of concern on his face as he perused the brutal impact that the shrapnel had inflicted on Sam’s body. Marsden was the last in, slamming the door closed and then giving the pilot the thumbs up.
The engine roared into the life, the main rotor blade whizzing into life and gently, the landing skids lifted from the dusty, derelict land below. As they rose into the scorching sky, Sam glanced one last time out of the window. Below, he could see the bloodstained sand surrounding the bodies he’d sent to the afterlife.
It had been an execution, his own had rage taken control and wiping out the evil squadron that had terrorized the village of Chakari.
It had left Tahir and Masood without a father.
Somewhere, through the shattered remnants of what had happened, he felt it had claimed someone else.
A friend. Perhaps?
Sam grunted with discomfort as Theo pressed a cloth of antiseptic against his wounds, but his friend’s caring smile placated him. Sam pressed his head against the window, staring out at the vast, desert wasteland before them. He took another swig of water, his body craving the moisture like it was a drug.
‘Sir,’ Sam piped up. ‘Why did you risk coming back for me?’
Marsden turned to Sam, the emotional weight of bringing him home was hanging heavy from him. His eyes, usually filled with conviction were red,
‘You’re one of my men, Sam,’ he said softly. ‘I would walk into hell to save any of you.’
Theo and Sam both smiled at him, nodding their appreciation. Theo went back to Sam’s wounds, while Sam himself closed his eyes, resting his head against the cool glass. Before he dozed off, he quietly responded.
‘Me too, sir. Me too.’
The room was a fuzzy blur for the first few moments and Sam had to blink a few times to realise he’d been asleep. The mattress was as uncomfortable as the rocky mountains of Kirkuk and the shaking of the train meant the sleep had been just as tumultuous. With every muscle in his body aching, Sam eased himself to a seated position, swinging his legs around so they hung off the bed and cursed the burning pain emanating from his thigh. Despite the best work of Blackridge’s doctors, the amount of strain he was putting on his bullet wound was causing him some serious damage. He stretched out his right arm, pushing through the pain of the knife wound Evans had administered before he took his one-way journey through the window.
The bandage Marsden had strapped to it was pulled tight, a little red with blood, but enough to stem the bleeding.
Marsden?
Sam’s eyes shot around the tiny room and right on cue, the cabin door opened and in walked his comrade. Marsden had aged since Sam had last seen him; his usually clean-shaven face haggard with a matted, grey beard. Despite being in his sixties, Marsden was still as trim as ever, and Sam understood why Blackridge had sent so many people after him.
Marsden offered Sam a warm smile before handing him a cold bottle of Peroni. The red label indicated it was a different Peroni to the one in the UK, which was in fact an entirely different brew called Nastro Azzuro.
It still went down nicely and Sam finished it in three large swigs.
‘It’s good to see you, Sam.’ Marsden smiled. ‘Cheers.’
Sam blushed slightly as Marsden raised his full bottle and took a swig.
‘You too, sir.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Marsden said, staring out into the room. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
Sam nodded. It was a fair enough question.
‘I came to help you, sir.’
‘Help me?’ Marsden sounded infuriated. ‘Sam, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? What I’m doing, what’s going on here… there is no way back from it. No out. That’s why I did this on my own.’
Marsden shook his head in disappointment, the situation angering him. Sam knew Marsden cared about him, but he refused to be berated for stepping in.
‘With all due respect, sir. If I hadn’t got involved, you would already be dead.’ Marsden shot Sam a glare and Sam quickly spun his head to the bathroom door.
‘She’s alive. Not conscious. You gave her one hell of concussion, I’d say.’ Marsden drank once more, finishing his beer. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘I wasn’t given a choice. They threatened Lucy.’
Marsden turned suddenly to look at his old friend, offering a compassionate nod of understanding.
‘How is Lucy?’
‘Well, I think. Remarried. Baby on the way.’ Sam spoke through a deep breath. ‘The life she deserves.’
The two men sat in silence for a few moments, the pain of Sam’s plight hanging in the air between them. Marsden picked the label from his bottle before reaching out and patting Sam on the shoulder.
‘Thank you, Sam. You saved my life.’
Sam reached up and patted Marsden’s hand.
‘Then we are even.’ They smiled. ‘Now… what the hell have you got yourself into?’
Marsden ran a hand across his short, grey hair and stood. Despite his age, he still walked with the command of a senior officer and he looked out of the window. They’d entered Italy a few hours before and were now in the final few miles of their journey. Marsden had thought about it long and hard while Sam slept. He’d known Blackridge were stalking him, but his plan had relied heavily on giving t
hem the slip in Berlin. The fact they’d embarked on the train with him meant they knew he was inbound and would undoubtedly be waiting for him at Roma Termini, guns locked and loaded. Sam had managed to intervene, scuppering their plans but now providing him with an option.
The last thing he wanted was to pull Sam into it. As he’d explained, there was no returning from what he was about to do. But he knew Sam, and the man would walk through hellfire and brimstone to do the right thing.
And this was the right thing.
Tentatively, he turned back from the window and faced his former protegee and folded his arms.
‘Whatever they told you, they’re lying.’
‘Oh, I know that,’ Sam stated. ‘They’re pinning you as a terrorist. You and I both know that’s bullshit.’
‘Thank you,’ Marsden said, the appreciation genuine.
‘Then once again, please tell me. What the fuck have you done?’
‘I stumbled across something. Something hidden. Something a number of military forces want kept locked away. Believe me, I tried to walk away from it. I tried to ignore it, but the more I let it fester, the harder it became. I took the proof I needed, and I ran.’
‘Sir, you’re not making any sense. What did you find? Where were you?’
‘I was stationed in one of our bases in Switzerland. Just outside of Zurich. There’s a little town called Oirlikon and, anyway… I took the files and stuck them on this.’ Marsden fished a USB stick from his pocket and held it up. ‘This, Sam, this has the power to bring down a number of governments, end a lot of peace, and change the way we look at terrorism.’
Sam stood, his face writhe with concern.
‘Sir, if it’s that powerful, do you really want to be the guy to do that much damage to the world?’
‘This has the names of everyone who has already damaged the world. Irreparably in some cases. This shows everything. Every lie, every dead body, every goddamn fucking traitor.’ Marsden stopped, taking a breath. ‘This is the truth, Sam. The truth about everything. Even Project Hailstorm.’
The final two words hit Sam like a lightning bolt and he shot round, his eyes meeting Marsden’s. That night was still a blur to Sam, laid out on the cold concrete, feeling his life pump from the two holes in his chest. It was one of the few times in his life were Sam felt terrified, where his training and his instincts would have no say in the matter.
He should have died in that dark, abandoned warehouse.
It was Marsden who had pulled him out.
‘Whatever you need, I’m in,’ Sam said firmly. ‘You don’t have to tell me everything, I get that. But you saved my life. You were there when I was at the end of my rope and you brought me back. I’ve had some dark times, but it was you who saved me from losing myself to it.’
Marsden held out the USB stick and Sam took it, turning it over between his fingers like an expensive piece of jewellery. It always baffled him how the smallest objects could do the most damage.
A bullet from a sniper rifle.
A button primed for detonation.
A USB stick full of information.
Anything, in the right or wrong hands, could be world changing. The speakers kicked in and a notification in Italian drifted into the room, announcing their arrival into Rome station. A German announcement followed, and Marsden took a deep breath, contemplating their next steps.
‘It’s been a pleasure to serve with you, Sam,’ Marsden spoke, his tone concerning Sam. ‘You still know how to disappear, right?’
‘Sir?’
‘When the train comes to a stop, Blackridge will be all over this train. They can have me, but when you get your chance, you vanish. You hear me?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t get on this train to let you walk into their arms.’
Marsden stepped forward and rested his hand on Sam’s shoulders. They both knew, that if Blackridge took Marsden, he wouldn’t be seen again. Sam’s face was pulled tight, his anger outweighing his understanding. Marsden, in his infinite wisdom, offered Sam his warmest smile.
‘Sam, without that USB, they lose.’ Marsden nodded and Sam reciprocated. He understood. Marsden then pulled his pistol from the back of his trousers and headed for the door.
‘Good luck, sir.’
‘And you, Sam.’ Marsden opened the door. ‘And you.’
With a gentle thud, the train came to a stop. The vast concrete platform was already filled with security in high-vis vests, as well as the unmistakable Blackridge uniforms. The doors dinged and Marsden and Sam exited their cabin, each man walking in different directions. There would be panic, Sam knew it and he needed to be in the crowd when it happened. A few moments later, the alarm began to scream its shrill, ear-piercing note and Sam felt the noise level rise instantly, the terrified public always seeming to be on the edge of a full-scale meltdown.
A scream of panic erupted, followed by a gunshot and a bullet embedding in the roof of a carriage.
Marsden had brought all the focus on his carriage and Sam knew all guns would be pointed on him. He just prayed there were no itchy trigger fingers. But Sam knew that Sims wanted the glory, and Marsden without the USB stick was no use to him dead. Marsden had willingly stepped into their arms.
The man had committed himself to the cause.
Sam had to do likewise.
As the hordes of passengers flooded onto the concrete, Sam slithered into the crowd, his head down, clocking instantly where the watchful eyes of Sims’s crew were. He saw Buck, the bruised face scanning the crowd with a furious scowl. The security was all headed towards Marsden coach, ready to take the gun man down.
Sam knew he shouldn’t just leave him, but with the USB stick safely in his pocket, he beeped his passport at the barrier and stepped off the platform.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pearce hadn’t slept a wink.
Having spent the rest of his day contemplating AC Ashton’s thinly veiled threat, he’d decided a long run would clear his mind. Although he ran almost eleven kilometres through the bitter, chilling rain of the December night, his thoughts were no more aligned. He knew that trying to urge Singh to step away from the Project Hailstorm investigation was useless. The woman was like a dog with a bone and he knew better than to try to wrest it from her.
How? Because they were cut from the same cloth.
Throughout his career within the DPS, Pearce had been told to back down more times than he cared to remember. Policing in the seventies was a different game entirely and being a black man hadn’t helped. Instantly people distrusted him based purely on what they saw, which only aided Pearce’s cause. The world had come on leaps and bounds since those heady days, but racism was still rife through all avenues of life and he knew Singh would hit those buffers, eventually.
If she even made it to the end of the week.
Pearce had spent the evening sitting up in bed, trying his best to devour the latest Dan Brown novel. He loved a good mystery, the detective in him loved to play the game, and the historical twist the author spun on his puzzles had always appealed to Pearce.
But even the historical adventures of Professor Langdon couldn’t hold his attention.
Pearce needed to help Singh.
As he clambered up the steps of Embankment Station, he was greeted with another bitterly cold downpour, the weather doing its best to ruin the Christmas cheer London was trying to spread. The lamp posts were adorned with bright lights, which would light up the embankment with different colours when the sun went down. Considering the thick, dark clouds over head, Pearce wondered why they didn’t just leave them on all day.
Hundreds of people squirmed past each other, a moving blur of suits, ties, and umbrellas as the professional world went about its business. Pearce looked up to the sky, letting the cold drizzle splash against his face and hoped it would slap him awake. It didn’t help. He turned right from the station and meandered down the pavement, passing the Whitehall Gardens, usually so vibrant, which looked depressed and dark in
the winter morning. The Embankment was a testament to previous times, with a number of military and London memorials lining the streets and littered throughout the gardens. During the summer, Pearce liked to do the rounds, taking in the vast history of the great city.
Today, he just needed to get to the office.
As he approached the famous sign of New Scotland Yard, he looked out to the Thames, overseeing the empty Westminster Pier. Not many tourists fancied a December trip up the Thames, and he didn’t blame them. After quickly popping into Starbucks, he made his way into the building, leaving a trail of wet footprints up the stairs as he ascended to his office. As usual, nobody greeted him or made eye contact, the trust weathered by years of his internal investigations.
He didn’t care.
He’d never cared.
Eventually, he came to his micro-office and with a sigh of relief, pushed open the door.
‘Pearce!’
Singh’s outburst caused him to nearly drop his coffee and he pressed his hand to his chest.
‘Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack!’
‘Sorry,’ Singh offered, offering him a weak smile. He shook it off, sliding in through the door and closing it behind him. The office was small enough for one person, but with Singh hunched over the desk, her face in a stack of papers, there was little room to manoeuvre. Despite being purely platonic, he didn’t want to encroach on her, so Pearce stood against the door and took a sip of his coffee.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked. ‘You look like you haven’t slept?’
‘Ditto,’ Singh barked back. ‘I’ve been doing some digging, and you have to see this.’
‘Digging?’ Pearce asked, pushing himself from the door and politely moving Singh to the side so he could get to his chair. He dropped down into it, his wet coat slapping against the leather. Singh stared at him; her eyes were framed with dark circles. Her black hair was slightly frayed.
She’d never looked so determined.
‘I found these files linking to Project Hailstorm, but surprise surprise, they were inaccessible. So, I did some cross referencing, running the names of the locations I have for the Project through the database and I found a few other ‘missions’ that fall under the same radar. Again, these files are locked down.’
Long Road Home: A pulse racing action thriller you won't want to put down. (Sam Pope Series Book 3) Page 13
