‘Saved by the fucking bell.’
With heavy stomps, Wallace moved to the other side of the room, where two sports bags adorned the table. They were unzipped and while one of them was filled with clothes, the other was stuffed with weaponry. An army issue assault rifle, as well as two Glock pistols. A few cartridges, all loaded, and a bulletproof jacket.
All of it in pristine condition.
‘This Pope’s bag?’ Wallace snapped.
‘Yes. We intercepted it at Kiev airport. How the hell he got it through, I’ll never know.’
‘He’s got a guy. Etheridge.’ Wallace reached into the bag and picked up the Glock. He smoothly discharged the clip, reminding Sims of the brutal Special Ops missions he’d led before his life of bureaucracy. Wallace was an exceedingly powerful man with an enviable reach. But behind it all, he’d been a relentless and efficient killer.
Out of nowhere, the phone in Sims’s hand pinged. The screen lit up with another message from the field team.
ETA. 30 mins.
Before Sims could read it out, Wallace snatched the phone from his hand. After reading it, he tossed it onto the table and took a step towards Sims.
‘I want to speak to Carl,’ Wallace sneered. ‘And I want your guys out of here.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Sims nodded. ‘We’ll wait for Pope outside. Any smart moves and we’ll tag him.’
‘No, you little fucking weasel.’ Wallace reached out and grabbed Sims by his sweaty collar. ‘You’re coming with me.’
With that, Wallace barged past Sims and headed to the door, demanding that the rest of Blackridge clear out. Sims sighed, angry at his own pitiful reaction to Wallace and then did as he was told, scurrying after his employer as they headed to have one last chat with a dear old friend.
Then soon, they would have Marsden, Pope, and the files and Sims would live to see another day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Three Years Earlier…
‘Hello? Sam?’
Marsden called out hopefully into the dark hallway, the front door had opened after two gentle knocks. It had been a long time since Marsden had visited Sam at his house. The last time was to check how his recovery was from his gunshot wounds which had ended his military career. It was a damn shame, the country had lost its most dangerous weapon, but a loving wife and adoring son had gained a full-time member of their family.
But the world was a cruel place and Marsden needed no further proof of that.
All he had to do was think about what had happened to Sam.
Nearing the end of his police training, his rise through the police ranks was as certain as the sun setting. His son, Jamie, was incredibly intelligent. His wife, Lucy, was as stunning as she was kind.
Sam had the perfect life that he fought, literally, for.
But it had all been taken away in a few seconds.
His son, cruelly taken by a drunk driver. Although this was the first time in a few years that Marsden had been to the Pope residence, he’d seen both Sam and Lucy at the funeral. For a man who had seen countless atrocities across many countries, who had attended many funerals of young men shot down in the line of duty, watching these two good people grieve for their son was hard to watch.
Now, six months on from that, Marsden stepped into the dark hallway of Sam Pope’s house.
All the curtains were drawn, and a muggy smell had infested every room. Dirty plates and mugs sat on the table in the front room, thick skins of mould wrapping around the food remnants like a winter jacket.
Every photo had been placed face down.
Every mirror had been smashed.
‘Sam?’ Marsden called out again, finishing his sweep of the ground floor before moving towards the stairs.
As he made his way up the stairs, Marsden could hear the thudding sound of running water. Stepping onto the landing, Marsden was greeted by a pile of broken glass. Among the wreckage were a number of Sam’s medals, relics from a previous life he was once proud of. Marsden could feel his heartbreaking for the man and he squatted down, carefully sweeping the glass to the wall and picking up a picture.
It was a picture they’d taken many years ago on a secret mission to the borders of Egypt. It was the night before a man called Etheridge had fallen and broken his leg. Sam had saved his life by eliminating a patrolling enemy squadron who had zoned in on his fallen comrade.
They were all sat on the rocky terrain under the sun. Sam sat with his closest friend, Theo Walker, who hadn’t left his side through his injuries.
Corporal Murray and Private Griffin were also in the photo, a few of them holding up the peace sign.
Marsden cracked a smile at the memory.
‘What are you doing here?’
The croaky voice came from behind him and Marsden stood, twirling to face Sam. His heart sank.
Stood in the doorway to Jamie’s room was Sam, but not as Marsden had ever seen him. He wore an ill-fitting jumper and tracksuit bottoms, his weight loss apparent. Sam had always been muscular but now he looked frail, the jumper hanging from his tiny frame and his cheek bones were pressed against his gaunt face. His hair was longer, unkempt and his face was covered in a scraggily, patchy beard.
The man looked like hell. Understandably.
The stench of alcohol was undeniable.
‘Sam,’ Marsden said warmly. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘Why are you here?’ Sam said sternly, his eyes flickering to the open door to the bathroom.
‘I came to see you. Theo said you weren’t doing so good.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I’ll be honest, mate. It doesn’t look like it,’ Marsden said, his voice heavy with sadness.
‘Thanks. I guess losing my son and my wife isn’t the best look.’
‘I didn’t come here to upset you, Sam. We’re all just worried about you.’ Marsden looked past Sam and at the floor of Jamie’s bedroom. It was covered with his books which Sam was obviously reading through. The man was torturing himself and Marsden shook his head.
‘Why don’t we let some light in here?’
Marsden stepped into the bathroom and pulled the blind down, just as a panicked Sam raced across the hallway, stopping at the threshold.
Marsden had already seen it.
On the side of the bath, two straight razor blades were resting.
The realization of what he’d interrupted had dawned on Marsden and with tears forming in his eyes, he turned to Sam. Before him, the man who was once the deadliest soldier he had ever had the honour of mentoring, stood sheepishly to the side, his frail arms wrapped around his body and his eyes firmly on the floor.
‘Jesus, Sam.’
‘You need to leave,’ Sam said timidly.
‘What? And let you kill yourself?’
‘You don’t know what it’s like, sir. To be so alone and so lost and know that you could have stopped it. What it’s like to bury your son. To lose everything.’
Sam dropped to his knees, tears flooding from his eyes. Marsden took a deep breath and turned off the taps, before kneeling down in front of Sam.
‘I don’t know what it’s like? Sam, do you know how many good people I’ve lost in this lifetime? Sure, I may not have had a wife and kids, but I looked upon all of you as my own. I’ve knocked on too many doors to tell spouses they’ve lost the one they love. I’ve attended too many funerals, all for great soldiers who just wanted to make the world a better place.’ Marsden reached out and rested a hand on Sam’s bony shoulder. ‘I can only imagine the pain you’re going through, and you may be lost. But you’re not alone.’
Sam took a few moments to compose himself, the anguish of losing his family shuddering through his body with each intake of breath.
The man was at the end of his rope.
‘I don’t have anything left,’ Sam spoke softly. ‘There is no reason anymore.’
‘Then find one, soldier,’ Marsden spoke with authority. ‘Don’t let what happened consume you. Let it drive
you.’
‘Sir?’ Sam lifted his scruffy face, looking at Marsden with red eyes. Behind them, Marsden could sense the smallest fraction of hope.
‘This world is a better place with people like you in it, son. What has happened to you is devastating. But Jamie knew his dad to be the bravest, strongest, most fearless man he knew. So be that man.’ Marsden stood to his feet and extended a hand. ‘The world needs Sam Pope.’
After a few moments of silence, Sam lifted his hand and took Marsden’s paternal grip, hoisting himself to his feet. A moment of clarity had danced through his body and although he didn’t quite know what it meant; he knew it would keep him alive for another day. Through deep breaths, Sam wrestled back a modicum of composure.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Don’t thank me.’ Marsden offered him a friendly grin. ‘Have yourself a bath, clean yourself up, and I’ll get us some food, eh?’
‘Thank you.’ Sam stepped forward and hugged Marsden, holding him tight. ‘For everything.’
‘You’re welcome, son.’ Marsden stepped back into the bathroom and lifted the straight razors. Their original destination had changed as Marsden stuffed them into his pocket. ‘I’m keeping these.’
Sam nodded, wiped his nose with his sleeve and then stepped past Marsden into the bathroom. As the door closed behind him, Sam didn’t feel so alone. He knew people like Theo and Marsden were always going to be alongside him. They were bound by the wars they’d faced together.
When one of them fell, they all did.
But they always pulled each other back up.
With a silent apology to his son, Sam got into the bath, determined it was the first step on the road to recovery.
It was that moment that had filtered through Sam’s mind when he decided to hand himself back to Blackridge. Marsden had wanted him to disappear, to see his mission through to the end. But Sam couldn’t leave him to the mercies of Trevor Sims and the authorities. If what they were saying were true, and what Marsden had claimed to have found, then they would do unspeakable things to find out where the files were.
Sam had to go back for him.
They’d just left the hustle and bustle of the inner city, the Rome traffic an entirely different beast to what Sam was used to in London. The reckless abandon that the Vespa drivers overtook with was as impressive as it was heart stopping.
Now, the road had cleared, and they were driving through a large, derelict area, with waste land surrounding the road, veering off towards the surprising mountainous landscape. It baffled Sam how tropical Italy could be, but at the same times, there were parts of the beautiful country which had been neglected beyond repair. Half built buildings littered the long roads, all of them covered with graffiti and the ever-lasting effect of the credit crunch.
They were heading into the middle of nowhere and Sam knew they didn’t intend to bring him back.
Alex drove carefully, her face as stoic as possible beyond the odd cautious glance in the rear-view mirror. Every time she did, Sam looked her dead in the eye, hoping his eye contact would ease her concern. That concern wasn’t unfounded, considering he had a gun pointed to his temple with a trigger-happy mercenary on the other end of it.
As they drove, the two American men spoke loudly about Sam and Marsden’s fate in a pointless attempt to scare him.
‘Yeah, Pops is probably screaming in agony right now. Begging our guys to stop.’ The one in the passenger seat spoke jovially. ‘They’ll probably start removing his teeth next. Did Buck bring his pliers?’
Sam couldn’t help but interject.
‘Does he need those to help pull his nose from Sims’s arse?’
Thwack!
The man next to Sam jabbed him in the side of the head once again, the hard metal of the gun sending him across the leather seats of the 4x4. As the two men laughed, Sam gently unclipped his seat belt, covering the end with his hand. Slumping forward with pretend wooziness, he also unclipped the passenger seat belt and held onto it. As he woozily sat back up, the man in the passenger seat was still laughing.
‘Good one, dip shit,’ the passenger spat through his chortles.
‘Sam, you okay?’ Alex asked, flicking her eyes to the mirror.
‘Who gives a fuck if he’s okay?’ The passenger angrily yelled. ‘We could put a bullet in his fucking skull right now and just say he tried to break free. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Sam said clearly, catching both of them by surprise. ‘Alex, now.’
Instantly, Alex slammed her foot down on the brake and Sam let go of the seat belt. The passenger lunged forward, his face colliding hard with the windscreen, cracking the glass and shattering his cheek bone. The man next to Alex shunted forward, his grip on him loosening. With his own seat belt loose, Sam rolled back on the seat and rammed one of his boots into the man’s wrist, crushing the bone against the door panel and relinquishing the weapon instantly. The man howled with agony at his shattered wrist, but Sam then shunted his other foot into the man’s face, smashing his head through the glass window in a spray of glass, blood, and loose teeth.
With the man dazed, Sam looped his own seat belt over his head and pulled it tight around his neck, before rolling onto his front and pulling with all his might. The man arched back across Sam’s spine, wildly grabbing at the belt which rapidly crushed down his windpipe and strangled him.
The passenger, trying to regain his bearings, saw what was happening, but before he could react, Alex rammed her elbow as hard as she could into his temple, slamming him limply against the car door.
He was unconscious.
The man in the back stopped struggling and Sam pulled once more, draining the life from his captor, and eventually relinquishing as the man went limp. Sam pushed himself to a seated position and reached across the man he’d just killed for the door handle. He pulled it, welcoming in the harsh, wet outside world and kicked the limp body from the car and sent it crashing to the hard pavement below.
Alex looked on; her eyes wide with adrenaline at the situation that had just unfurled. As Sam followed the body out of the car, she panicked about any onlookers, her mind processing they had been immobile on the street for what felt like half an hour.
In reality, Sam had dispatched the man in less than two minutes and as she watched from her seat, he heaved the body across to the thick shrubbery. Ditching it behind the plants, Sam hobbled back towards the passenger side of the car, hauled it open and let the unconscious man drop from the car to the concrete. His face was heavily bleeding, and Sam imagined a few broken ribs from his hard collision with the dashboard. Within twenty seconds, the two bodies were out of sight, unlikely to be spotted in the darkening evening light. It was nearly six o’clock and the only lights around were from a few houses that adorned the hills in the distance, and the full beams that poured from their own vehicle.
Alex took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart rate. She was used to the adrenaline rush of a car race, zipping through closed, narrow streets at over a hundred. But watching a man kill and dispose of someone was something new.
Sam reached into the back of the car and lifted the pistol that had been used to batter him. Then, with visible discomfort, he dropped into the passenger seat next to Alex and slammed the door. He groaned with pain as he clipped in his belt.
‘Drive,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘You don’t have to do this, Sam,’ Alex said, her words fraught with fear. ‘You could just go. Disappear.’
Sam shook his head and offered her a pained smile.
‘That man saved my life. I at least have to try to do the same.’
Alex turned the key, shaking her head at the fool hardy stubbornness of the man beside her. Despite living up to his reputation, he was clearly wounded and racing headfirst into a battle with Blackridge was suicidal.
But loyalty was a strange concept. She understood that, especially as hers had quickly formed for the man beside her.
They drove into
the darkness, towards the complex that housed Marsden.
As the rain clattered against the windscreen, Sam slid the clip from the pistol, checking how many bullets he had.
Alex watched out of the corner of her eye.
‘You know there will be more of them, right?’ she said, trying to persuade him. ‘Sims has a bunch of guys all willing to die for him.’
Sam slammed the clip back. His eyes, coldly staring straight ahead.
‘Good.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
With a confidence draining clunk, the coffee machine whirred into action, spewing questionable coffee into the paper cup. Pearce watched with caution as the powdered milk followed, before retrieving his drink and taking an apprehensive sip.
It didn’t taste good.
Pearce had been in a number of hospitals; it was all part of the job. It didn’t surprise him how many dirty cops ended up in hospital, and once they’d seen the physical side of their partnerships with organized crime, they were much more cooperative.
But this trip had filled him with little satisfaction.
As soon as the ambulance had arrived, the paramedics thanked Pearce for applying pressure to the gunshot wound that had decimated Etheridge’s knee cap. Pearce had let them do their job, and they quickly moved Etheridge to the ambulance and shot back towards Farnham Hospital with their sirens wailing. Pearce had followed behind, feeling a sense of dread for what he and Singh were looking in to.
Whoever had done this to Etheridge, had taken their time and used a certain level of skill that he found barbaric. Sure, he’d seen the odd piece of gang torture when he was on the beat, with rival thugs wanting to send a message. A cruelly beaten or sliced up rival usual only sends the message to fight back.
This was torture for a purpose.
To find Sam Pope.
Despite his background, Etheridge wasn’t built for combat. Pearce had done his own investigating when Etheridge came into the picture a few weeks earlier and despite the man’s clear genius and business acumen, he wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t built or trained to eliminate to the same prolific level as Sam.
Long Road Home: A pulse racing action thriller you won't want to put down. (Sam Pope Series Book 3) Page 17
