Two footsteps pounded through the kitchen.
The cavalry had arrived.
Sam pushed himself to his feet and scanned the studio. A few comfy chairs, some yoga mats, and a full-length mirror embedded in an antique wooden stand. Judging by the effort Kayleigh had put into her appearance when he had met her, Sam wasn’t surprised. Vanity wasn’t a trait he found attractive, but he had enough character defects to keep him off a high horse.
As the footsteps approached the stairs, with a voice barking out an alarmed warning, Sam grabbed the mirror. He walked quickly to the doorway, positioning it in his place before stepping into the doorway to the left, a lovely white, tiled bathroom greeting him.
The first officer stepped onto the landing, sweeping light across the floor and gasping at the blood-drenched carpet and the pain-filled moans of his fallen comrades.
The second officer joined him, his torch frantically panning the hallway.
It landed on the mirror.
The light rebounded back, flashing in both of their eyes and momentarily blinding them.
Sam pulled the door back and launched out, one foot forward and delivered a hard Teep Kick, a brutal Muay Thai move used in Mixed Martial Arts, into the centre of the second officer’s chest. With a shriek of panic, the officer fell back down the stairs, crunching hard against the steps as he crumpled to the bottom. Sam prayed the man wasn’t dead but wasted little time in grabbing the stock of the final officer’s rifle and twisted it, whipping it from the man’s hands and tightening the strap around his neck. As the man gasped for air and batted at his neck with gloved hands, Sam took a step to the side and in one fluid motion, yanked the gun over his shoulder, flipping the man over and sending him crashing to the floor.
As he tried to struggle, Sam brought his own pistol down hard into the man’s temple, the blow striking the man instantly unconscious. Footsteps echoed from above and Etheridge appeared at the other end of the corridor, torch in hand and a look of disbelief on his face.
‘Fucking hell, Sam.’ He shook his head, his mouth agape. ‘Look at my carpet.’
‘Stick it on the tab,’ Sam retorted before nodding his goodbye and darting down the stairs. As he reached the bottom his memory kicked in, guiding him through the house and towards the shattered patio window and into the dark downpour beyond.
He stepped out into the rain, his highly trained ears picking up the sound of the raindrops splashing against the metal of a gun.
The sound was rapidly approaching his head.
With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Sam turned and saw the gun. In one swift movement he shot a hand forward through the rain, gripped the barrel and pushed it upwards. Gripping the handle was the woman he had seen on the camera, her face distorted in a hateful scowl.
Singh shook with adrenaline as she locked eyes with Sam Pope.
She tried to wrestle back control of the gun, but Sam used his considerable strength to wrench her arm to the side, her shoulder tweaking slightly. She swung a vicious kick to the side of Sam’s leg, his knee buckling slightly. She swung another, but as she took her foot off the concrete, Sam stepped inwards, leant into her, and used her momentum against her. The world whizzed by as Singh flipped over Sam’s shoulder, colliding hard with the soaking pavement. The air drove out of her body on impact.
‘Stop,’ Sam demanded.
Singh scrambled onto all fours and realised the gun was pointed directly at her. Sam stood five feet away, his arm outstretched with his fingers expertly wrapped around the pistol.
‘Drop the weapon,’ Singh demanded, slowly pushing herself back to her feet, her clothes soaked through.
‘I can’t do that,’ Sam responded. ‘You need to step away.’
‘I need to bring you in.’ Singh got to her feet, trying her best to slow her breathing. The moonlight bathed Sam in a white glow, his face dripping wet. His piercing dark eyes bored through her. She shot a nervous glance to the house above.
‘Singh, right?’ Sam said, recognising her from the brief description Pearce had given. She certainly was tenacious. But even in the darkness and the rain, there was a powerful beauty behind her scowl.
‘How the hell do you know my name?’ she barked.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does. Especially when you have just unloaded a gun at my team.’
‘I didn’t kill any of them.’
‘You shot them though?’ Singh spat furiously.
‘Flesh wounds. They’ll live.’ Sam motioned with the gun towards the door. ‘Move.’
Singh held up her hands and obliged, but then launched forward for the gun. Sam stepped to the side, wrapping an arm around Singh’s neck and pulling her forwards. Her feet slipped on the rain-soaked concrete and Sam held her upright, their faces a few inches apart. Sam quickly swung Singh up, pinned an arm behind her back and pressed her against the wall. She grunted on impact and Sam quickly released the handcuffs from her belt and slid one through the door handle before slapping the other around her wrist.
It clicked.
Sam stepped back, lowering the gun.
‘I’m sorry,’ he offered. ‘But I have to go.’
‘I’ll get you. I promise you that much.’
‘Give me twenty-four hours and I will give you the people responsible for all of this.’
‘For all the killing?’ Singh yelled over the thrashing rain. ‘For all the crimes you have committed? Whatever you think you’re doing, Sam, you’re a criminal. Do you hear me? You’re responsible for the people you have killed, and I will hold you to account for every single one of them. You’re not a hero, Sam. You haven’t been for a long time.’
Sam slowly laid the gun on the ground, out of reach of the volatile Singh and then solemnly looked her in the eye.
‘I know.’
‘Then why do it? Why bring all this on your shoulders?’
‘Because someone has to.’ Sam shook his head dismissively. ‘Someone has to fightback.’
Singh angrily pulled at her cuffs, the shattered frame of the patio door rattled in its fixture. Sam took a step back towards the darkness of the garden.
‘I will get you, Sam. Do you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear.’
With that, Sam turned and disappeared into the darkness surrounding the house. Singh pressed her foot against the other door, wrenching as hard as she could until she felt the cold metal begin to cut into her skin. Knowing she’d been inches from Sam Pope had made her blood boil and as the weight of failure crashed atop her like the unrelenting rain, she let out a thunderous roar of fury into the night sky.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As the incident room filled out with eager officers, Pearce took up his position at the back of the room, his arms folded across his pristine blazer and his memory taking him back to that previous spring. He could see Detective Sergeant Colin Mayer stood at the front, the arrogant officer who had been in bed with the wrong people. Pearce himself had stood next to him, listening as he gave a passionate speech about the importance of safety during the London Marathon.
He had headed up the Counter Terrorism Unit yet had worked diligently with some of the city’s most dangerous criminals to orchestrate an attack.
It had claimed the lives of several people, including a young officer.
It had piqued the interest of Sam Pope, who Pearce had been investigating at the time. So much had changed in the months since then and now Pearce stood at the back of the room where Pope had, an outsider to the rest of the Force. Since Sam had audaciously reached out to him in a coffee shop across the street, Pearce had been like a dog with a bone. With his current reputation in tatters, it was hard to call in favours with any department and he was damned if he was going to figure out how to use his computer to hunt for the account.
Instead, he had called in a favour with a former colleague he had busted for computer fraud, who now made a living hacking bank accounts and syphoning funds from large corporations who failed to pa
y their tax bills. The young man went by the name TERA, and he thought of himself as a Robin Hood for the millennial generation. Pearce often reminded him he was a thief and a criminal and if Pearce put the correct calls in, the young man would know the true spelling and meaning of his name.
TERA obliged and was currently doing his level best to trace the payments being made to the bank account Sam had provided. He also reminded Pearce that what he had requested was illegal.
It was becoming an increasingly frequent warning.
Pearce knew his decisions had put him on a path of no return, but hearing that Sam Pope had once again evaded capture, with six officers injured, he knew he had to listen in.
Especially when DI Singh stormed in, bring the entire room to a hush with a furious glare.
Behind her, Assistant Commissioner Ashton strode in, the entire room rising to their feet in respect. Ashton nodded and the room sat down in unison, apart from Pearce and a few late comers at the back. Singh stood against the wall, arms folded and a look of sorrow across her face.
‘Let me begin by saying that up to this point, the Watchdog Task Force has worked diligently to apprehend Sam Pope. As you know, after the events earlier this year, bringing an end to this vigilante’s reign of terror on this city has become a priority.’ Ashton scanned the room and continued, ‘Despite recent efforts to ensure his capture, Sam Pope is still at large and for the second time this week, he has assaulted members of this police service.’
A wave of angry murmurs rose up among the seated officers. Pearce shifted uncomfortably. Ashton was rallying them well and she continued.
‘As this task force is very much in the public eye, it’s imperative that no information regarding these failures leak to the media.’ Ashton shot Singh a glance, underlining her point. ‘In the meantime, it has been requested that I step in and assume command over the task force to bring it to a successful conclusion.’
A few murmurs echoed through the room and Pearce watched as Singh pushed herself from the wall and marched to the door, leaving the room to a flurry of whispers. Shaking his head with disgust, Pearce opened the door at the back of the room and walked into the corridor, wanting to console his new-found friend. As he turned the corner, he collided with a sturdy man in an expensive suit.
Mark Harris.
Pearce raised a surprised eyebrow, his startled expression obviously causing the smarmy politician amusement judging by the well-practiced grin.
‘Adrian Pearce.’ He reached in double handed, grip and shake. The handshake of a champion. ‘Good to see you.’
‘Mr Harris.’ He looked over Harris’s shoulder at the emotionless Burrows stood a few feet back, his immaculate suit hugging his chubby frame. ‘Burrows.’
The executive assistant nodded. Harris stepped back into Pearce’s eye line, his white teeth displayed in a wide grin.
‘I take it you’re here for my speech,’ Harris said confidently.
‘Speech?’ Pearce shrugged.
‘To the task force. I called in a favour with Ruth, Assistant Commissioner to you.’ Harris spoke with an air of undeserved superiority. ‘Thought it would be good for morale and my campaign when I personally showed up to push us on to finally catch that bastard.’
‘Well it sounds riveting, but I have actual police work to do so if you’ll excuse me.’
‘Of course. Also, if you see DI Singh, please tell her this wasn’t a personal decision. We just felt it would be better for Ruth and me to take things from here.’
Pearce chuckled and took the extended hand from Harris. He squeezed it, catching Harris by surprise with the power of his grip and he stepped in close.
‘Typical. Let the real police do the work and then have Ruth cross the finish line from a yard away.’ Harris went to speak but Pearce squeezed again. ‘I’m sorry, I meant Assistant Commissioner.’
‘Quite,’ Harris barked, pulling back his hand and nervously running it through his well-combed hair. ‘Well, if you don’t mind, Pearce. Some of us have criminals to catch.’
Harris stepped away, heading towards the door to the meeting room just as Pearce heard AC Ashton make the announcement, a round of applause greeted Harris as he stepped into the room. Pearce stood, his brow furrowed and fists clenching.
‘Apologies, DI Pearce, but it’s imperative for Harris’s mayoral campaign that Sam Pope be brought in as soon as possible. An awful lot hinges on it.’
Burrows moved alongside Pearce, his hands behind his stiff back.
‘It’s imperative for his ego.’
‘We have a vested interest from many private companies and businesses, some of whom are reliant on Pope being stopped.’ Pearce raised an eyebrow as Burrows continued, ‘A vigilante in the city isn’t good for business.’
‘What business is that then?’
‘Their business. Our business.’ Burrows grinned, his smile lacking the panache of his bosses. ‘Certainly not yours. You see, Pearce, despite your clear abilities as a detective, your inability to see the bigger picture is what sets you apart from great men like Mark Harris.’
‘Is that so?’ Pearce asked dryly, rolling his eyes.
‘Yes. While you make decisions that have blacklisted you and, if you don’t mind me saying, sabotaged your own career, Mark strives for perfection. For greatness. Sam Pope is a slap in the face of his campaign, of the badge you wear, and the very basis of this entire legal system. Mark wishes to eradicate it and use it to push him to office where he will finally be able to change things.’
‘So he can feed his superiority complex?’ Pearce offered, agitated by the nerve of the condescending man before him.
‘No complex, Pearce.’ Burrows met his eyes, his stare as intense as his words. ‘It is transcendence.’
With that, Burrows turned and marched emphatically towards the open doors to the meeting room, leaving Pearce alone in the corridor. He could hear the eager voice of Mark Harris, rolling out his well-rehearsed speech like a modern-day Marc Antony. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel, willing himself to go and find Singh and ensure she was okay. If anyone knew what it was like to be side-lined, it was him.
But his mind had triggered. Something wasn’t right. As he slowly ambled down the corridor, the dots began to connect.
Something Burrows had said.
‘Shit,’ Pearce muttered, and two seconds later, was running as fast as he could back to his office.
As he flicked the indicator down and turned onto Aaron Hill’s road, Sam Pope took a sip of his coffee. The lukewarm caffeine sloshed down his throat and he willed himself awake.
It had been a long night.
After escaping through the gardens, he emerged through an alleyway two streets from the gated road that housed his friend. He felt bad for Etheridge, the impact of his shoot-out with the police would undoubtedly have repercussions for him. The unhappy marriage would surely hit breaking point, not to mention the devastating effect it could have on his business if it became public knowledge that Etheridge had aided and abetted a wanted fugitive.
Especially one that opened fire on the police.
But Etheridge was a good man. Sam knew that Etheridge was never a soldier at heart, he was a mastermind with the will to do good. Knowing he was helping Sam to rescue a teenage girl would be more than enough to balance the scales.
As he steered the stolen car past Aaron’s house, Sam scouted for a parking space on the cramped London road. The houses were all identical, all of them set back from the pavement, all of them thin and tall as if they’d been stretched to accommodate more.
It was still raining.
It had been that morning when he had stolen his first car to leave Farnham, ducking down as he passed by three police cars, all screaming their arrival as they raced to stop him. He watched the law disappear in his rear-view mirror and found it symbolic for the life he had decided to live.
Everything he did was outside of the law.
But everything he did w
as for a reason.
While the police were busy trying to bring him to justice, he was rattling cages and fighting his way to a young girl whose life was about to thrown into a blender. A time would come, Sam thought, when he would face the music and pay for the crimes he had committed.
But not yet.
Not while people still needed him.
He had driven from Farnham to Tilbury in Essex, passing through Guildford and Ockham until he joined the M25. The ring of death that circled the capitol like a cramped, concrete moat was delightfully quiet at three in the morning and Sam had travelled the seventy plus miles in just over an hour. The Port of Tilbury was one of the few working ports in the UK, along with Felixstowe in Suffolk and Southampton in Hampshire. With the Thames running through it, it allowed for a number of ‘authorised’ shipments to venture down from the capital. Sam was certain that Jasmine would be here, locked away in a steel prison, trapped in the dark with nothing but fear to keep her company.
The rain was relentless as he’d stepped from the driver’s seat, dumping the car outside of the gated entrance and doing his best to peer through the fence. A labyrinth of metal, corrugated containers were stacked high and irregularly. While to the dock workers themselves there was a knowledge and routine, to the outside eye there was no discernible system.
Blue crates stacked on red crates. Four to one pile. Six to another. This continued over the seven kilometres of the quay that comprised the port, all of it under the metallic arms of several cranes and winches.
Sam was looking for a needle in a haystack.
After a few moments of peering through the gate, Sam noticed a security guard rounding one of the crates and he stepped away from the gate, before looking around the surrounding areas. A large radio tower stood next to the port, long since abandoned and covered in graffiti tags and wooden boards. Sam eventually made his way inside and climbed to the top floor, his mind racing back to the evening this all began.
The Takers Page 18