‘Don’t worry about me.’ Pearce waved her off. ‘I’ll say I was following up on a lead or some crap. You need to go. I’ll call you.’
Singh nodded and then glanced once more at the battered Etheridge, still strapped to his chair. It was a dangerous world she was stepping into, where innocent civilians were treated as after thoughts. Whoever was hunting Sam had been cold, cruel, and calculated. Both her and Pearce shared a worried look, both of them wondering how much danger Sam was in.
Singh took her leave, concerned for Etheridge’s health but just as frustrated that he couldn’t help.
She couldn’t help that all of this was connected. That there was a link between it all.
It sat with Sam and it resided somewhere on her files.
She bound out of the house and into the rain, walking briskly past Pearce’s car and headed towards the main road they’d ventured down previously. She would need to find somewhere to reconvene and then hopefully, once Etheridge’s survival was confirmed, she and Pearce could get back to hunting the truth. As she strode through the downpour, Singh didn’t notice the black 4x4 which was station further down the road.
She certainly didn’t see the two men sat in the front seat, one of them staring at her through his military issued binoculars.
With the rain lashing against their windscreen, they brought their car to life once more, indicated and slowly pulled out onto the road, continuing their surveillance of the plucky detective.
The narrow streets of Rome opened up onto the splendor of the Trevi Fountain, which in spite of the inclement weather, was still a hot bed of activity. A smattering of drizzle was lightly dusting the groups of tourists, who eagerly gathered around the iconic fountain, selfie sticks at the ready. The magnificent travertine stone structure that stood behind the pool of water loomed proudly; a coat of arms sat atop. The fountain itself was centuries old, but over time had been renovated numerous times. The most recent was in 2014, the work involving the inclusion of over a hundred LED bulbs to maximize the drawing potential at night.
While it improved the visibility of the stunning structure and the lights shimmering across the water created a magical view, it hardly fit in with the aesthetic.
But everything moved on eventually.
Everything needed fixing.
Saving.
Which is what Sam told himself as he stood, his back pressed against the stone barrier that surrounded the water. Behind him, the great structure shot up to the greying sky, with sculptures of impressive men in white marble towering over everyone. To his left, a group of Japanese tourists were taking turns to have their photo taken, before tossing a few euros over their left shoulder with their right hand. It was a well-known tradition, one that Sam was sure had been spread by the Italian government itself.
With the amount of coins being launched into the water, Sam understood how they’d paid for the fancy new light bulbs.
Chuckling to himself, he pushed his hand into his pocket, wincing at the pain that hummed in his thigh and returned with his final few euros. The money he’d stolen from Ray had gone, all that was left was a handful of coins and his receipt.
Sam didn’t believe in luck or in superstition. Years out in the deserts, staring down the sniper scope had taught him that the world didn’t run on it either. Everything was managed by the smallest of margins. The smallest details, even when slightly tweaked, could send ripples of change.
Whether it be caused by a bullet or a USB drive.
There was no luck. No coincidence. Sam knew that what he was planning to do had only two possible outcomes. The most likely would see him in shackles, stuffed away in a hole where he would never see freedom again. The risk he was about to take was monumental, but there was no other option.
Eventually everything needed saving and right now, that was Marsden.
A man who had done everything he could to bring Sam back from his own darkness.
The rain picked up slightly, the thicker drops colliding harshly against his cut face. A woman strode by, wrapped up in her winter best with her arm aloft. Her fingers gripped a flag which she held up as a beacon, yelling something in Italian as a group of spellbound tourists approached the fountain, phones at the ready.
It was a beautiful structure, Sam had to admit. It was even more beautiful when it wasn’t viewed through a phone screen.
The buzz of excitement increased, and Sam watched the eclectic tour group all gawp and marvel at the wonderful attraction. Beyond the newest group to approach from the main road, Sam saw a black 4X4 roll to a stop. The windscreen wipers were frantically battling the recent onslaught and the driver window slowly slid down.
Alex.
Sam glanced at his watch.
Four o’clock.
Right on time.
As her eyes scanned the courtyard, they eventually rested on him and she offered a half-baked smile. Right on cue, the two rear doors opened, and the two new guys that Sam had seen at the train station stepped out. Decked in the usual get up and wearing cocky expressions across their clean shaven, squared jaws, Sam felt his blood boil at the idea of them once being actual soldiers.
Now they were just hired help.
With an undeserved swagger, both men stomped through the crowds, roughly moving people out of their way. Sam rolled his eyes at the dick swinging and as they approached, one of them sneered.
‘You got a problem?’ the man barked; his eyes shielded pathetically behind his shades despite the darkening sky.
‘Plenty,’ Sam responded confidently. ‘I doubt you’d be one of them.’
‘All right, smart-ass.’ The other one cut in, a southern twang to his American accent. ‘Let’s go.’
Sam nodded and then casually tossed the coins over his shoulder, as if he’d just spilt some salt. The two guys chuckled.
‘That ain’t gonna help, buddy.’ The first guy smirked. ‘You’re shit out of luck.’
Sam nodded and as he neared, one of them roughly reached for his arm and twisted it behind his back. The other marched ahead, clearing a path as if Sam was some sort of celebrity. The onlookers watched with intrigue, their visit to the historic landmark enhanced with this sudden exchange. The guy in front pulled open the rear door of the 4X4 and Sam was roughly shoved onto the back seat. His chaperone followed, pulling the gun from the inside of his bomber jacket and pointing it directly at his face.
They slammed the door and the other guy raced around the car and jumped into the passenger side, barking an order for Alex to drive.
‘Sam,’ Alex said, nodding into the mirror.
‘Alex,’ Sam responded, before his captor flicked his wrist forward, catching him on the side of the head with the handle of the gun. Sam rocked back, his head spinning from the blow and the man reasserted his aim, the gun pressed against Sam’s skull.
He felt like his brain was spinning.
The jock in the front seat turned, impressed at his friend’s attack.
‘You just shut the fuck up,’ he said confidently. ‘Alex, let’s go.’
Alex shot another glance into the mirror, making sure Sam was okay and then she slid the car into the gear and pulled out onto the Vespa filled streets of Rome. Sam took a deep breath to recompose and he tried blinking away the pain.
He needed to be ready for the next time they attacked.
And there would be a next time. He was certain of it.
With the honking horns of inner-city traffic providing the background music, they slowly began their drive through Rome.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When the bag was pulled off Marsden’s head, the brightness of the room almost blinded him. After he’d been publicly arrested, Sims had demanded his crew find Sam immediately. The beatings two of his soldiers had taken had confirmed to Sims that Pope was on-board the train, but Marsden was thrilled when Sims’s goons reported he’d gone.
Sam was in the wind, with enough proof to bring everything down.
What happened now was i
nconsequential.
Sims had angrily ordered Marsden into one of his 4X4s, and once in, two of Blackridge’s burliest men punched him in the stomach with hammerlike fists. Marsden had coughed up blood, but before he could hunch over to spit it out, Sims shoved a gun in his face, telling Marsden he had two minutes to appreciate the sun, because it was the last time he would see it.
As they ascended a hill just outside of Rome, Marsden caught a glimpse of a beautiful skyline, the stylish buildings that lined the streets of the iconic city shimmered under the wet gloss of rain. While the sun was hidden behind darkened clouds, the city emitted a gothic feel that Marsden found breathtaking. A tear slid down his cheek, his final view of the outside world was one of true beauty.
He’d never had a family.
His entire life had been to serve his country.
Now his death would be in service too.
A black sack was roughly shoved over his head, blocking his vision. His consciousness soon disappeared, as a clubbing blow rocked his skull, sending him into a deep blackness.
When he’d come to, he was sat up, an uncomfortable metal chair beneath him. His hands were bound behind his back, the cold metal of the cuffs digging into his skin. The room was cold, and the dank smell that filtered through the sack told him it was underground. Marsden had been in many rooms like this before.
Covert. Off the books.
This was a place where those with access were given permission to do whatever they wanted.
Whatever was necessary.
As he’d sat in the dark, he could hear Blackridge moving around, a few people entering the room and placing items on the table in front, no doubt tools that would be used to extract either the information or some sick satisfaction from him. The man known as Buck, who had been stuck to Sims’s side like a lap dog, had decided to get in some practice on Marsden’s trapped body, rocking him a few times with hard strikes to the kidneys before cracking his nose with a vicious right hook.
That was when the sack was whipped from his head, exposing him to the bright, halogen tube which buzzed almost as loudly. Marsden blinked through the pain, his shattered cartilage making it hard to breathe in.
The room was just as he’d pictured it, dark, with no distinguishing features. Just four walls, with a metal door on the far side.
In front of him was a metal table.
On the other side, sat Sims.
Marsden turned his head to the side and spat on the dusty, concrete floor, sending a splatter of blood to the ground. It had been a few years since he’d seen Sims, and time hadn’t been kind. The hair was thinning, and gravity was having its wicked way with the skin under his chin. The years of politicking from behind his desk had caused his gut to grow and it pressed against his sweat covered shirt.
Despite the bitter cold, Sims was nervous.
‘Nice to see you, Carl,’ Sims said, his chunky hands clasped on the table.
‘I can’t say the same,’ Marsden retorted, noticing the scowl on Buck’s face as he stood behind Sims, his back pressed against the wall. His face was covered in bruises, no doubt from an altercation with Sam. Marsden was pretty sure he knew how it went.
‘Well, I don’t see why we can’t at least talk like adults.’
‘Adults?’ Marsden chuckled. ‘You had your boy go to work on me while I was strapped to a chair. You had people chase and try to kill me on that train. I have nothing to say to you except go to hell.’
Sims sighed and sat back in his chair. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, followed by a chrome cigar cutter. With a quick snap, he took the end of the cigar off before slamming it on the table. Striking a match, Sims puffed a few thick, poisonous clouds into the already stuffy room.
‘Where are the files?’ Sims asked calmly.
‘What files?’
‘Let’s not do this, Carl.’ Sims sat forward. ‘Look around. You’re a long fucking way from home with a long fucking night ahead of you. Now I’ve got a few guys in the hospital and one guy missing, just trying to bring you and your boy, Sam, in. In one piece, I might add. Now I really don’t want to put you through any more pain than I already have, but you have to work with me. So, I’ll ask again. Where are the files?’
‘Trevor, believe me when I tell you, I’ve been threatened with a lot worse, by a lot tougher.’ Marsden smiled; his teeth stained with blood. ‘So, I’ll answer again, what files?’
Trevor lifted his right hand and immediately, Buck stomped across the room, his boots echoing off the walls. The edges of the room were shrouded in darkness and Buck reached forward and picked up the cigar cutter. Buck stepped behind Marsden and wrapped the loop around the top of his left index finger. Marsden took a breath, ready for the pain and stared Sims directly in the eye.
Sims shuffled nervously and nodded, and Buck slammed the cigar cutter shut.
Marsden gritted his teeth and grunted in pain, as the top of his finger fell to the floor, the razor slicing through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. The blood dripped to the floor with a gentle patter, pooling around Buck’s feet. The burly henchman slid the lid open again and this time, he slid the cutter down to the knuckle.
Sims puffed his cigar impatiently.
‘This is going to be a hell of a long night for you,’ Sims threatened. ‘Now if you’re trying to be brave to protect Sam Pope, then I suggest you think again. We will find him, so why don’t you save yourself anymore pain. Where are the files?’
Marsden took a moment, considering the excruciating pain he was about to experience. Chances are, they would kill him anyway, so why draw it out? Marsden nodded dejectedly, bringing a terrifying smile to Sims’s face.
‘Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.’ Marsden arched his neck back to look at Buck. ‘But you’re gonna need a rubber glove to retrieve them.’
Fury lit up in Buck’s eye and he snapped the cigar shutter as hard as he could, the blade cutting through the knuckle. Marsden yelled out in pain and Buck reached forward and slammed him face first against the metal table. More blood exploded from his nose and Marsden rocked back in his seat, his ears ringing and his finger pulsating. Sims watched uncomfortably as Marsden took a few moments to gather himself.
They’d both been respectable soldiers at one point.
Now one was ordering the slow torture of the other.
Buck stood stoically behind Marsden, his eyes locked on Sims and awaiting his next order. Sims took a few more puffs, contemplating his next move. Marsden took another intake and then spat another mouthful of blood onto the floor, before returning his gaze to Sims.
‘You may as well just kill me,’ Marsden said calmly. ‘Because I don’t know where those files are.’
‘Look,’ Sims replied, lowering his voice. ‘I don’t want to put you through more of this. But you need to give it up. Whatever it is you’re trying to do or whoever you’re working for.’
‘I’m not working for anyone,’ Marsden stated. ‘You have me labelled as a terrorist, when I’m the only one trying to save this goddamn world.’
Sims flashed another glance to Buck, who obediently reached down, grabbing at the next finger along. Marsden helped him, ignoring the pain from his bloody stump to give Buck the finger.
‘There you go.’ Marsden smirked. ‘Good dog.’
Buck roughly shoved the cutter over the finger, but before any further mutilation could take place, three thunderous knocks on the metal door shook the room. Buck released his grip and turned to the door; his eyebrows raised in confusion. Nervously, Sims scurried from his chair, marching across the damp chamber to the door.
With a slight struggle, he heaved it open and his body stiffened.
He was greeted by General Ervin Wallace.
Wallace’s face was distorted with a furious scowl and Sims swallowed.
‘General.’ Sims almost bowed. ‘I didn’t think…’
‘You never do.’ Wallace dismissed him, stepping into the room. ‘Carl. Are you alive?’
‘Just
about.’ Marsden chuckled.
Wallace smiled. It quickly faded as he turned back to Sims, who he towered over both in size and stature.
‘Follow me.’
‘Sir?’ Sims stammered, his voice quivering.
Wallace ignored him, marching back through the door and out into the dark corridors of the underground base. As they passed a few more empty rooms, Wallace stepped into the larger communal room, where a few of the Blackridge Squadron were sat around a table, a pile of cards and cash on the table between them.
They all stood as Wallace walked in.
Sims followed meekly behind.
‘This is some fucking mess,’ Wallace said, shaking his hairless head.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Keep your apologies to yourself, you sissy little prick. This is now an international incident; do you hear me? When you asked to take a UK Soldier into one of my locations, I was fine with it. But you have left a fucking trail of breadcrumbs the size of fucking walnuts.’
Wallace reached out and slammed his fist into the metal lockers that ran across the room. The sound reverberated around the room and Wallace’s eyes locked onto Sims like a hungry predator circling its prey.
‘What do you want me to do, sir?’ Sims asked pathetically.
‘What I fucking well hired you for.’
Sims and Wallace stood silently for a moment, both of them aware that the situation had escalated beyond critical. Wallace shook his head, planting his meaty hands on his hips and he turned away from Sims, almost with embarrassment.
‘Marsden may be on the wrong side of this one, Sims, but he is still a good man. The job was to take him quietly and expertly in Berlin. Then deliver both him, Pope, and the fucking files to me.’ Wallace turned back, baring his teeth like a rabid dog. ‘You better have a better fucking plan than torturing that man to death.’
Before Sims could respond, one of the men across the room approached, his phone in his hand.
‘Excuse me, sir. But I’ve got a message from the field team. They have Sam.’
Wallace snatched the phone from the young soldier’s hand and ran his eyes over it. He turned to the man, staring coldly at him until he walked away. As the man retreated, Wallace turned back to Sims and slammed the phone into his chest.
Long Road Home: A pulse racing action thriller you won't want to put down. (Sam Pope Series Book 3) Page 16
