Too Far Gone (Sam Pope Series Book 4)

by Robert Enright

  Too Far Gone

  A SAM POPE NOVEL

  Robert Enright

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

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  Copyright © Robert Enright, 2020

  Chapter One

  Three months was a long time.

  As his feet slammed against the concrete, Sam Pope could feel himself once again reaching his physical peak, having spent the past few months recovering from a brutal attack on the streets of Rome. With the Vatican in his eyeline, he’d emerged from a car wreck, run off the road by a murderous man with bad intentions.

  The bullet wound he’d suffered in his shoulder still hummed with every step, jogging through the humid, spring breeze.

  The bullet that had ripped through his back and out of his stomach, missing his spinal cord by a matter of millimetres, had left an impact.

  Every beat of the pavement sent a shudder up his spine, reminding him of how close he’d been to paralysis.

  Or worse.

  But in the three months since, in his reclusive recovery on the outskirts of Naples in the south-west of Italy, he’d come to realise that his hunter hadn’t been shooting to kill.

  The man had shot to wound, dropping Sam to his knees and helpless against a very clear execution. Every night since, Sam had felt an unnerving sense of familiarity.

  As if he knew the shooter.

  It felt as if his mind had played tricks on him.

  As the man had approached, with Sam on his knees, ready for his fight to finally end, the man had spoken.

  ‘I’ve been waiting a long time for this.’

  The voice.

  The Manchurian accent.

  Sam shook his head, realising he was allowing the ghosts from his past to haunt his present.

  A present containing enough horror to last a lifetime.

  It had been just over a year since the bombing of the London Marathon, a traumatic event that not only shook the city of London but had sent Sam on a one-track mission against the criminal underworld. Before that, he’d allowed the grief of losing his son to fuel his desire to fight back.

  Using his position working for the Metropolitan Police in their archive division, Sam had sought out criminals who had beaten the system, providing his own brand of questionable justice.

  Having spent over a decade as one of the UK’s most decorated snipers, Sam had returned to his loving family after an off-the-book mission had gone wrong.

  The memories were hazy.

  All he could remember was a dark room inside a stone building before two bullets were sent through his chest and he was left to die in the dark.

  He survived.

  Sam Pope was built for survival.

  It had taken him from the mountainous waste lands of Afghanistan to the deep trenches of the Amazonian jungle.

  Mission after mission.

  Target after target.

  After his decorated career had come to an end, he was prepared for his new life as a loving husband and doting father. Yet the war was not done with him.

  Somehow, the cruel hand of fate pulled him back into the firing line by snatching his son from him.

  A drunk driver and a broken justice system.

  It had sent Sam on a dark spiral, one which his ex-wife, Lucy, could no longer be a part of.

  A spiral that spun around the haunting image of his son lying motionless in the middle of the road.

  His Jamie.

  Gone.

  The pain had brought him to the edge where the solace he could find was in the mercy of others. Eventually, the path led him to some of London’s most notorious criminals and their despicable acts upon the innocent. While Sam knew the fight would never bring his son back, the thought of stopping others suffering the same fate at least brought a moment of peace.

  It had made him the UK’s most wanted man.

  It had made him the underworld’s most feared opponent.

  And it had brought him to the brink of death.

  Now here he was, running through the streets of Naples, trying his hardest to return to a war he knew he would never escape.

  Training to fight back.

  Rounding a corner, Sam almost collided with two elderly women, one of them barking at him in a thick, Italian accent. He held his hands up in way of apology, before picking up the pace as he headed onto the street of his temporary abode. The wide streets were already crammed with cars, the slowly rising sun cutting through the grey clouds and bouncing off their windscreens. The streets were lined with tall, stone buildings, all of them filled with a myriad of shops and flats.

  The city hummed with life, the cacophony of traffic bouncing off the brick framework of the surrounding buildings.

  Sam knew he was far from home.

  Away from the fight.

  But through all the noise, he could hear it calling.

  Reducing his sprint to a gentle jog, Sam came to a stop as he approached the alleyway, taking a few moments to calm his heart rate, and stretched his legs. He had run over ten kilometres and felt a slight stiffness in his shoulder. The bullet wound had healed, but from the friction he felt, he knew the damage was likely to be permanent.

  Stretching out his back, he walked towards the metal fire escape that clung to the building like a rusty, metallic arm. The steps were coated in a shiny drizzle and Sam navigated them carefully. As he approached the top, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the key, twisting it sharply in the lock before slamming his shoulder into the stiff door.

  The apartment was cheap, and the door was a testament to the price.

  But it was all they could afford.

  Well, all Alex could afford.

  Sam knew he owed Alex Stone his life. As part of the team who had blackmailed him into hunting his own mentor, they’d bonded over their shared hatred for the man in charge.

  Trevor Sims.

  The man had been a high-ranking official in the United States army, but had soon sold out for the lucrative world of private security. His lust for power and lack of ethics had seen him command a brutal task force.

  It would also lead to his death in an underground bunker just outside Rome.

  The same room had also been the final resting place of Sam’s mentor, Carl Marsden.

  During his time in the army, Marsden had been his commanding officer, molding Sam into the perfect soldier. It was he who had led Sam to Project Hailstorm, the elite squadron that would almost kill him.

  It was also Marsden who brought Sam back from his lowest ebb, telling Sam to fight for something when the burden of his son’s death pulled him dangerously close to an early grave.

  Marsden had been there for Sam, and Sam felt the pain of failure more than the final remnants of the bullets that had rattled h
is body three months prior.

  Sam couldn’t save Marsden.

  The deceased Sims had blackmailed Sam into helping him hunt Marsden through Europe, with wild theories of terrorism. It was only when Sam had managed to rendezvous with his superior that he realised how high up it went and just how far they would have to go for the truth.

  Marsden had entrusted him with the proof before sacrificing himself for Sam’s freedom.

  Sam should have left.

  But he couldn’t leave a man behind. It was something that had haunted him for years and the recent events had brought that to the forefront of his mind.

  ‘I’ve been waiting a long time for this.’

  The voice.

  The Manchurian accent.

  It wasn’t possible. Was it?

  Shaking his head clear, Sam could smell the alluring aroma of coffee wafting through the apartment. The muscles in his legs were starting to stiffen and he slid his feet out from his cheap, second-hand running shoes. After he’d recovered from the back-alley surgery that had saved his life, Sam had asked Alex to pick some up.

  With their limited funds, it was all they could afford.

  They were all Sam needed.

  His brown hair usually kept short and neat was now overgrown, the fringe flopping down over his brow and he brushed it aside, tucking it behind his ear. His beard was thick, although Alex had helped him maintain its unruliness with a pair of scissors.

  The smell of cigarette smoke soon joined the coffee in the air.

  A voice followed.

  ‘How was it?’

  Sam stepped into the doorway of the open-plan flat, looking beyond the tiny kitchen that was tacked onto the wall. By the open window, which overlooked the cramped streets below, was Alex.

  Sat in a long T-shirt and shorts, her brown legs shimmered under the sunlight that was threatening to burst through the rain clouds. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and her youthful face regarded him with a smile.

  She had a mug of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

  ‘Not bad,’ Sam replied, stretching the ache in his back. ‘No stopping this time.’

  ‘Good.’ Alex smiled. ‘You’ll be running the New York marathon in no time.’

  Sam grunted, knowing she yearned for a return to her hometown as soon as possible. He hadn’t told her about his investigation into the bombing of the London Marathon the year before, nor the dangerous path he’d trodden since.

  She knew bits of his story, that he’d been blackmailed into joining the Blackridge Task Force just as she had, but beyond that, he’d tried to keep her as knowledge free as possible.

  As safe as possible.

  Alex was twenty-six years old and had racked up quite the record for illegal street racing in the States. While Sims had used it as leverage, she’d used it as a means to an end, to keep food on the table for her younger siblings while their mother chased a dragon she would never catch.

  Now, like Sam, she was alone in a foreign city, hunted by a rogue security company with a burning desire to get home and put things right. Sam had promised her he would get her family back.

  She’d saved his life.

  Sam was a man of his word and would make good on his promise.

  He stepped forward and followed her gaze out of the window, watching as the narrow back roads of Naples began to fill with inpatient drivers furiously honking their horns.

  ‘How do you drive in these streets?’ Sam asked, shaking his head at the congestion.

  Alex took a final puff on her cigarette and then stubbed the end out on the windowsill, letting the smoke rise from her mouth.

  ‘Pure talent.’ She slapped him on the shoulder, causing him to grimace. ‘Besides, who else is going to pay for your sneakers?’

  Sam nodded, knowing that she’d returned to her past life in order to fund their eventual exit from the city. While he didn’t approve of her racing, he was hardly in a position to lecture her about staying on the right side of the law. With the Polizia di Stato still looking for them, their chances of finding work were dwindling. Alex had got word of a few races in Naples and they’d made the journey to the city and seamlessly blended in.

  Now, as Sam continued his road to recovery, Alex was doing her best to get them out of there.

  Sam knew he had to honour his promise to the woman who had done so much for him, but there was a nagging doubt in his mind that things weren’t finished.

  Not yet.

  ‘I’m gonna take a shower,’ Alex said, yawning and stretching out her athletic frame. ‘I’d ask you to join me, but you have your reasons.’

  Sam turned to her with an apologetic look.

  ‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘I get it, one and done,’ Alex joked. ‘I’m kidding. There’s coffee in the pot.’

  Alex winked and then made her way towards the run-down bathroom, ready to wrestle with the plumbing for a shred of hot water. They had spent a passionate night together in the midst of the hunt for Marsden, but with their lives now firmly resting on the other, Sam had made it clear they couldn’t muddy the waters any further. There had been a few times when he’d been tempted. Alex was a stunning woman after all.

  But Sam knew he had to keep her at a distance.

  For her own good.

  He heard the gushing of water slam against the bathtub and reached out to the phone that sat on the side. The Nokia 3210 was like a fossil in his hands, its clunky buttons sticking in the pad while its green screen looked like an old computer monitor

  Sam wasn’t one for modern conveniences, but as he clumsily laboured with the keypad, he realised just how far the world had come.

  Sam dialled the eleven numbers.

  The same eleven numbers he dialled every day.

  He lifted it with a resigned sigh.

  ‘It has not been possible to connect your call. Please try again…’

  He hung up.

  ‘Damnit, Paul. Where are you?’

  Every day since Alex had procured the phone, Sam had called Paul Etheridge. The man had been in the army with Sam, but what he lacked in adventure, he more than made up for it with his technical genius. Etheridge had made millions in the cyber security game, before helping Sam track down a missing girl destined for a life of horror in the European sex trade.

  Etheridge was one of his few allies left.

  He was also the man he’d sent the USB stick to.

  The USB stick that Marsden had died for and that Blackridge and more importantly, the powers that be were willing to kill for.

  Marsden had said it contained the truth.

  About Project Hailstorm.

  About Sam.

  Everything.

  Sam had posted it to Etheridge before he’d tried, and failed, to save Marsden’s life.

  Now, with no contact and no idea where Etheridge was, Sam knew his fight was far from over. Despite his promises to Alex, ones he intended to keep, Sam knew the hunt for that stick would continue and there wasn’t a drop of blood that would be spared.

  With a deep sigh, he returned the phone to the shelf, stretched out the ache in his spine again and told himself that the fight is never over.

  Not by a long shot.

  Chapter Two

  WHO IS WATCHING OVER US NOW?

  Article written by Helal Miah

  No one should ever take the law into their own hands.

  I’ve been writing articles for The Pulse for over four years now, covering everything from the rise in transport costs to the ongoing circus that is our government. I’ve always taken everything based on facts and then sprinkled it with my opinion.

  It’s won me many friends.

  It’s made me a ton of enemies. (Seriously, check out my social media!)

  There is one subject I want to talk about today. A subject that has split the city of London, as well as the rest of our county and one that the press and the powers that be want to paint in a particular wa
y.

  Sam Pope.

  Now, as I stated at the beginning of this article, I am of the belief that NO ONE should take the law into their own hands. This isn’t the wild west, where someone gets to clean up the streets with a Smith & Wesson and a cool catchphrase.

  We have a justice system in place for a reason and I am a firm believer that having said system makes our country one of the safest places to live. But something happened a year ago that shook foundations so hard, the pillars they support almost collapsed.

  I am, of course, talking about the horrendous bombing attack on the London Marathon.

  A horrific event that claimed the lives of seven innocent people, stricken from the world by a reported cowardly act of terrorism. The world watched on in horror as one of the most famous annual events was rocked by the heinous act, and I respectfully undertook the minute’s silence we held for those cruelly taken.

  But it was this moment when Sam Pope become a known entity in this country.

  The authorities have quite rightly labelled him a dangerous vigilante, a well-trained soldier who has murdered over thirty people in the last year. For this, we cannot praise the man.

  But is there more to it?

  I’ve read countless reports about his storied past within our armed forces, fighting bravely for our country. But what has never been made public is the reason he stepped out of the shadows and became the most wanted man in this country.

  Until now…

  A recent source, who unsurprisingly wants to remain anonymous, has informed me that Sam Pope is not just a crazed ex-soldier with a grudge against the country. With further investigation into the lives Sam’s crusade has claimed, I’ve found several links between those people and organised crime. What is even more appalling, is the very real possibility that those people were given the leeway to do it by those in power, for their own agendas.