Soon, Sam would be sentenced to a life behind bars, with no chance of parole. It was a daunting prospect, but one that he’d calmly accepted.
The fight was over.
He had brought down the biggest terrorist organisation, one that was funded by the very government he’d worked for.
Sam had found out the truth about what happened to him.
How he’d been lied to.
Left for dead.
All of it. Over.
Sam hadn’t asked for any access to the news. He was sure he was plastered across it, with dozens of psychiatrists coming out of the woodwork to offer their expert analysis on his psyche, all desperate for their fifteen minutes.
Sam knew he was damaged.
Losing his son had sent him down a dark path, one which held no chance of redemption. But somewhere along the way, Sam saw a world worse than he could comprehend.
He became a necessary weapon, a means for the world to fight back. So, he did.
He fought back.
He exposed the link between the police and the High Rise. The truth behind the London Marathon bombing and the attempted cover-up.
He had burnt the Kovalenko human trafficking empire to the ground, saving Jasmine, and countless of other teenage girls from a life of drugs and sex slavery.
Lastly, he’d ended Wallace’s government funded reign of terror and destroyed an untouchable organisation.
While he would rot in prison for the rest of his life, a place where he most likely already had a long list of enemies, he didn’t regret any of it.
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall.
He thought of Jamie, and his perfect, innocent face. His floppy blonde hair.
A vision of his son manifested, and for the first time in years, he smiled at him.
‘The fight’s over, Daddy.’
With his eyes still closed, Sam felt a smile creep across his beaten face.
An alien feeling spread through him, warming him to his very soul.
Peace.
Epilogue
The news of Wallace’s death had no effect.
While some may have seen it as a sweet release, for Mac, sat in the hostel in southern Austria, he’d felt nothing.
Was that due to loyalty?
He wasn’t sure, but he did owe his life to the man. It was Wallace who had found him in that jail, brutally beaten for years by the Taliban. The horrors they’d subjected him to had broken him.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
But Wallace had brought him back from the dead, treating him like the war hero he’d started out to be. That life felt like someone else’s, as the fresh-faced young lad had long since evaporated, replaced by the horribly burnt, scarred man who looked back at him from the mirror.
The mission, over a decade ago, had been simple. Sam and Mac were to keep the main road clear, with several sightings of a Taliban recruitment cell reported in the area.
As their unit were taking in supplies to the local village, it was their job to provide plenty of cover from a distance far away enough that they could evacuate safely.
It should have been simple.
But their position was compromised and as panic had taken hold of Mac, he ran.
Sam valiantly tried to shoot the chopper down, but for once, his impeccable aim was off.
Just another thing to lay at his doorstep.
The resulting missile blast had wiped Mac out and sent Sam sprawling.
His friend never returned for him.
As he’d laid on the crusty old grass of the dying wasteland, he’d wished for death. Unfortunately, the Taliban had other plans, keeping him alive to subject him to an ungodly amount of punishment.
Nothing taught the new recruits more than a savage beating, and the lashings he took were brutal. The skin on his back now was a horrific reconstruction, scar tissue upon scar tissue, all of it a reminder of his torture.
He was beaten.
Spat at.
Urinated on.
Raped.
All of it to show them who was the enemy, and how powerful the Taliban were. Every attempt at suicide was met with a lifesaving doctor, none of them taking enough pity on him to blow his brains out.
Wallace had found him, gave him his revenge, and then rehabilitated him.
With his fury, Mac knew he made a hell of a weapon.
Life had lost all meaning, which meant there was no semblance of a conscience within him. Whoever the target, whatever the age, they were met with a cold, efficient bullet to the brain.
Now, with Wallace gone, Mac realised that he’d been used. Killed countless people for a cause he couldn’t care less about. The one thing he’d been promised was his revenge.
Revenge against the man who had left him to his fate.
Sam Pope.
But now, with his superior dead and Sam behind bars, Mac knew that everything he’d fought for was slipping through his horribly charred hands.
The only thing that mattered, that had made any sense, was killing Sam.
He had come so close in Rome, only to have it snatched away from him.
Without Wallace blocking his path, Mac stared at the mirror, vowing that it would take more than a prison to keep Sam safe.
He had spent months preparing and now, knowing exactly where his target was, he was ready to strike.
Mac hurled his fist at the mirror, shattering the glass which sliced his hand.
As the blood fell from his knuckles, he marvelled at the lack of pain. His nerve endings had been shredded long before.
Now all that existed was a husk.
A shell of a man, fuelled by vengeance.
Vengeance that he was ready to collect.
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Sam Pope Novels
THE NIGHT SHIFT
THE TAKERS
LONG ROAD HOME
TOO FAR GONE
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Copyright © Robert Enright, 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover by Phillip Griffiths
Edited by Emma Mitchell
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Too Far Gone (Sam Pope Series Book 4) Page 24
