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

by Robert Enright

  Didn’t she?

  Quickly shuffling the doubt from her mind, Ashton pulled her thin lips together in a grin.

  ‘Due to the stress of the situation, I will ignore that comment. But please listen to me when I tell you this as a superior and someone who cares about your career. There are some people who you do not want the attention of. General Wallace is one of those men. Take this as a serious warning. Singh.’ Ashton nodded curtly to underline her point. ‘Now, please collect your things and follow Richards off the premises. Otherwise, I’ll have you arrested.’

  Singh held her tongue, feeling her fists clenching, but she knew the game. If she didn’t comply, her chances of continuing her investigation would be over. They would book her into a cell, take her possessions, and confiscate the USB stick. With a deep sigh, she turned and headed to the door, not before Ashton threw one final dig.

  ‘Oh, and don’t worry, Singh. We’ll continue your good work and bring Sam in.’

  Singh stopped for a second but then marched out, pushing past Richards and striding back across the room towards her desk. The other detectives and police constables watched, but she ignored them all.

  She needed to get out before she said something she regretted. She pulled her jacket from the back of her seat and gathered her phone and card holder, before tossing her badge and security pass onto the desk. Without a word to Richards, she headed to the door, making him follow like an obedient dog. As she stepped out into the hallway, an apologetic Pearce stood up from a chair.

  ‘Singh, look I…’

  ‘Fuck you, Adrian,’ she barked at him, barging past him and heading straight to the stairs. Richards offered him a raised eyebrow and followed, leaving Pearce stood, hands on hips and his head bowed forward. It had been for her own good, he hoped she would soon realise that.

  But as Singh marched all the way to the exit, she’d never felt so alone.

  With the rain lashing against him, Sam stepped out from the abandoned facility and into the brightly lit car park. In the near distance, he could see the helicopter approaching.

  A gunshot rang out.

  A bullet whipped past Sam and hit the old bricks behind him, and he immediately dropped to his knee, lifting the handgun to his eyeline and allowing his training to kick in.

  Throughout his illustrious career as a sniper, Sam had only ever been in a standoff twice, both times pegged down by an opposing sniper. The ability to place the shooter from sound, trajectory, and speed of impact allowed him to hone in on the shadows where the shooter was. His knowledge of wind resistance allowed him to line the shot up just right.

  Sam sent a bullet back into the dark.

  It hit the final guard between the eyes, sending a spray of blood into the rain and his dead body spinning to the ground.

  He heard the body collide with the concrete, followed by the rifle.

  ‘Wallace!’ Sam shouted as he stood. The rain relentlessly crashed against him. ‘It’s over.’

  Sam took a few steps forward, walking out into the middle of the car park. It was the likely landing zone for Wallace’s escape, and he was determined to block it. After a few more moments, Wallace eventually stepped out from the shadow, his hands up.

  ‘What now, Sam?’ Wallace yelled, roughly twenty feet from Sam. ‘You’re going to kill me?’

  Sam lifted his gun, the barrel pointed straight at his former superior. Wallace took another step forward, his drenched suit clung to his hulking frame.

  ‘I’m going to end this.’

  ‘And how are you going to do that? By destroying the peace built up through years of hard work? Work that you yourself were a part of. Face it, Sam, you’re just like me. A soldier.’

  ‘I’m nothing like you,’ Sam said, his finger itching to pull the trigger. The noise of the chopper thudded overhead, drowning out the torrential downpour.

  ‘That’s right. You’re a criminal,’ Wallace yelled provokingly.

  ‘You’re a terrorist.’

  ‘I’m a necessity!’ Wallace yelled; his arms outstretched. ‘You, Sam, you’re a soldier. One of the best I’ve ever seen. You’re not going to shoot an unarmed man in cold blood. But just think, Sam. Think of what I could do for you. This war you’re waging, I can help you take that to the next level. All the charges, they would go away. You would have unlimited resources. I could point you in the direction of the true criminals in this world and step out of your way.’

  ‘I’m already dealing with the true criminals of the world!’ Sam yelled, one eye closed, the other lining up the shot.

  ‘Join me, Sam. Become one of my ‘ghosts’ and you can fight the real fight.’

  ‘Get on your knees, General,’ Sam ordered, his voice barely audible.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Sam? You must know you’re a marked man.’ Wallace took a few more steps closer. ‘What are you fighting for?’

  Sam lowered his arm, letting the gun relax by his side. Now that Wallace was closer, he could see his emotionless face. Sam wanted nothing more than to put a bullet square between the eyes, but this was bigger. Killing Wallace wouldn’t bring it down.

  Pull one weed and another grows in its place.

  It was why, after he took down the High Rise, he took down all those linked to it.

  It was why after he had stopped the Kovalenkos in Tilbury, he had journeyed to Ukraine to take the head of the snake.

  To truly kill something, to end it entirely, you had to remove the core.

  Wallace contemplated Sam with a raised eyebrow, awaiting his answer. With the rain washing the blood from Sam’s face and hands, he raised the gun up again.

  ‘Someone has to fight back.’

  A gunshot rang out.

  The bullet hit Sam in the shoulder of his outstretched arm, ripping through his skin and bursting out his back. The impact spun him around, the immediate, burning pain caused him to drop his gun. Sam hit the wet concrete hard, gasping in agony as he pressed his hand to his shoulder. Wallace laughed loudly, before applauding. Grimacing in pain, Sam pushed himself to a seated position, staring out into the bright, rain-soaked car park.

  Above them, the helicopter had approached, the propellers causing havoc with the rain, sending it flying in every direction. Beyond Wallace, who was holding his coat steady in the onslaught, Sam saw a figure emerge from the darkness that lined the car park.

  The man was dressed entirely in black.

  His face was covered with a balaclava and his long, black trench coat flapped in the wind.

  In his hand was an assault rifle.

  ‘I promised you a reunion,’ Wallace yelled jovially, and he stepped back as the man lifted the rifle again.

  Sam scrambled to his feet, and with his good arm, fired a shot in their general direction. He knew it was wide, but it brought him enough time to race towards the part of the car park untouched by the beaming spotlight.

  The darkness would provide sanctuary for a few moments, and Sam hurried towards the abandoned vehicles.

  As the chopper lowered itself to the concrete, the man in black walked past Wallace, his eyes firmly on his prey. Wallace reached out, gripping the man’s broad shoulder with his hand.

  ‘Get me that fucking USB stick. Then, he’s all yours.’

  Triumphantly, Wallace stepped onto the chopper as the man in black strode towards the darkness.

  The hunt for Sam Pope was on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  It took a few moments for Sam’s eyes to readjust to the dark, the glare of the floodlights blinding him temporarily as he had dashed into the darkness. After colliding with one car bonnet, he dropped down to a squat and kept himself as low as possible. Pressing himself against the body of the car, he shuffled further into the dark, using the vehicles as cover.

  His shoulder was burning, the bullet passing clean through and he knew he needed to stem the bleeding as soon as possible. He’d abandoned the rest of his jacket in the facility, after administering a similar repair to Alex.
r />   Sam cursed himself.

  With the freezing rain clawing at his body, he ripped the blood-soaked sleeve of his shirt from the seam, and with gritted teeth, lifted it over his shoulder, tying it as tightly as he could. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do.

  If he lost too much blood, he would collapse, leaving him prone for whoever it was that was hunting him.

  Above, he saw the chopper ascend into the dark night, knowing that Wallace was retreating most likely with a smug grin on his face.

  The man would cover it all up, ensuring the deaths of Carl Marsden and Trevor Sims were pointed squarely at his door. Sam was already a wanted man, but for him to target the supposed ‘good guys’ would launch the man hunt for him into overdrive.

  That was, of course, if he survived the current one.

  With his body crying out in pain, Sam lowered himself to the wet pavement and peered under the cars towards the light.

  Footsteps were approaching.

  Sam had counted seven cars from the perimeter which meant he had a slight advantage. He could see the man approaching. The disadvantage was, the man was holding an M16 rifle and clearly knew how to use it. Rolling onto his bottom, Sam pressed himself against the abandoned car and slid the cartridge from his pistol.

  One bullet left.

  Fuck.

  With the chopper still overhead, Sam’s cover was quickly disappearing. He swung the gun up, smashing the driver side window above his head and allowing the shards of glass to fall around him. The noise had been masked by the departing helicopter which disappeared into the night sky.

  Sam reached up into the car, popping the door handle and slowly, he slid in, keeping his head down. His memory flooded back to the time Etheridge had taught him how to hot-wire a car while under heavy fire.

  A similar, high stakes situation had unfolded, and Sam needed those skills more than ever. With his feet hanging out of the door, he arched backwards across the driver’s seat, grunted in pain as he raised his arms, and removed the panel under the steering wheel with a hard tug.

  The exposed wires were old, the plastic hanging from the electrics like loose clothing.

  Sam pulled a few of them out and then cautiously pressed them together.

  Nothing.

  The battery was dead.

  A bullet shattered the passenger window.

  Sam slid out from the car and kept low; his cover blown. He could hear the footsteps of his chaser, the man carefully moving around the car. From the gunshot, Sam approximated the man was four cars away.

  To be able to see his movements from there, in these conditions, meant the man had a keen eye.

  The eye of a sniper.

  Sam kept low, shuffling to the rear of the car, before poking his head up to scan the area.

  Two bullets sprayed across the boot.

  Ducking down, Sam burst forward, hurriedly scampering between the next few cars and further into the dark. After a few moments, he took sanctuary behind another car. As he regrouped, he controlled his breathing, remembering the numerous times he had been under fire. The remote cliffs outside of Syria, where he had taken on an advancing team of ISIS, delivering a swift death to each of them with a well-placed bullet, as they unloaded in his direction.

  The impossible shot of the gas cannister which saved the life of his comrade, whose convoy had been overturned.

  Sam was built to survive.

  He just had to stay calm.

  From his position, he peered into the side mirror of the car, affording himself a view of the passage behind him.

  Although the remnants of the floodlights and raindrops did their best to skew his vision, he could make out the mysterious figure slowly walking between the cars, his rifle at the ready.

  He was sweeping each gap, professionally holding the rifle with the intent to blow Sam away.

  The man was clearly trained.

  One of Wallace’s ghosts.

  But a reunion?

  Sam knew he didn’t have time to ponder who was beneath the balaclava, but he couldn’t help it. Over his career, he had certainly made a number of enemies. The issue was, all of them had been in the ground by his hand.

  Whoever this man was, he clearly wanted Sam’s blood.

  With time being of the essence, Sam slid his hand under the door handle, trying his luck. For the first time in what felt like forever, his luck was in and the door silently came away on its hinge. With the darkness skewing the make and model of the car, Sam slid onto the seat again, the interior in better condition than the previous one.

  Sam had hope.

  Quickly, he hauled the panel open and grabbed the first wire.

  A bullet shattered the passenger window.

  He’d been spotted.

  As he took the second wire, the window to the driver’s side door shattered, the bullet whipping by just above him. As the glass shattered and sprinkled him like the first snow fall of the year, he pressed the wires together.

  The car roared into life.

  A spray of bullets rattled the car, thudding across the bonnet in a well-timed spray.

  Sam’s attacker was trying to sabotage his exit.

  Sam pushed himself up, swiveled across the side of the car and slammed his good arm onto the roof of the car.

  His hand was wrapped around the gun.

  His finger was on the trigger.

  The final bullet left the gun with a pinpoint, murderous accuracy and slammed into the centre of the mystery man’s chest, sending him arching backwards into the car behind. The rifle fell to the floor. Despite his curiosity, Sam slid into the car, his shoulder aching, his leg begging him to stop and slipped the car into reverse. He slammed backwards into the car parked behind him, his foot on the accelerator as he tried to force his way through the car graveyard. He shifted to first, pulling forward as far as he could, before ramming the car full on once again.

  The abandoned car spun out of the way, colliding with another in an almighty crash.

  Sam felt the impact, his shoulder taking the most impact and he wearily reached for the gear stick.

  A bullet pierced through the windscreen, burying itself in the passenger seat beside him.

  Sam looked up to see the masked man stumbling to his feet, his bullet driving the air from his lungs at it slammed into the bulletproof vest. As the attacker tried to regain his composure, Sam floored it, the wheel spinning in the torrential rain and he spun the car through the gap, another few bullets rattling against the boot of the car. Seamlessly, he slipped the gear into first and shot forward, climbing through the gears as he raced towards the metal gate.

  Sam braced himself, and the front of his car slammed into the metal barrier, the gates bursting open and he had to wrestle control back of the wheel as he spun onto the gravel path.

  Sam straightened the car, the headlights showed nothing but the dirt path, rain, and darkness ahead.

  Sam floored it.

  He’d escaped. Barely.

  On a separate, dark and desolate road, Alex Stone was hurtling as fast as she could away from Rome.

  The entire mission had gone to hell.

  Sims, the man who had forced her into the crew, was dead. The man they were trying to capture was dead.

  And she was pretty certain, despite his apparent gift for survival, that the man who she’d grown to trust, Sam, was also going to suffer a similar fate.

  She’d managed to put about twenty miles between herself and the facility, reluctantly heeding Sam’s advice to leave. Alex had hated the thought of leaving Sam, but he was dealing with some of the most dangerous people she’d ever known, and she knew, despite his vulnerable state, that he didn’t want to put her in harm’s way. There was no future between them, they both knew that, but that special night they’d shared had forged a bond between them.

  Now she had to leave, head to the nearest place where she could lie low, disappear, and then try to figure out how she could make her way back to the States. She was headed
north, seeing signs for Bologna telling her she was over three hundred kilometres away. She checked her petrol levels. The tank was almost full, and she was confident enough of making the three-hour journey.

  Then she could figure out her next steps.

  She didn’t even want to comprehend how she was going to get her siblings back.

  Sims had used them as leverage, threatening their futures if she didn’t play ball. After suffering throughout her youth, Alex couldn’t bear the thought of her younger brother and sister going through the same.

  Joel and Nattie were innocent.

  Alex angrily slammed her fists against the wheel.

  She’d agreed to the job for them, and now, with everything ruined, Blackridge could just as easily click their fingers and plunge her brother and sister into the darkness that she suffered through. Their mum was unreliable, incapable of resisting the escape of her next pill. She couldn’t let them be taken into care.

  Selfishly, she knew she needed Sam.

  If she had any hope of being reunited with her family, she needed the only person she knew who could take down Blackridge.

  She thumped the wheel in frustration again.

  She should never have left him. He was a lamb to the slaughter, and she knew he had only done it to give her enough time to get away.

  It was the right thing to do.

  That’s what Sam had said.

  As she flew down the motorway, tears streamed down her cheeks, a mixture of her regret, her fear, and her pain. Her leg was aching, and Alex knew she needed to get it patched up as soon as possible. But she didn’t know anyone out here, she was as lost as she’d ever been, driving aimlessly into the night, heading for a destination she could only hope would offer some solace.

  She thought of Sam, telling her to leave before he turned and walked towards the door, ready to confront his demons head on.

  She was running away.