The Final Mile: A SAM POPE NOVEL

by Enright, Robert

  ‘And once I get you that location, then what?’

  Etheridge offered him a concerned look.

  ‘I’ll do my best to get you out.’

  * * *

  Singh listened, open-mouthed as Etheridge concluded his story. Processing their elaborate plan had sent her mind into a spiral and she wasn’t sure how she felt. There were several emotions all vying for dominance.

  The confusion that such a plan could be hatched.

  Relief that she knew where Sam was and for all intents and purposes, was alive and well.

  The outrage that Etheridge and Sam had infiltrated a government prison and the number of laws they’d broken to do it.

  Etheridge sat quietly, looking up at the whiteboard that was still covered with the information he’d present to Sam. When putting the information together, he did so with a heavy heart, knowing that despite his genius intellect, he wouldn’t be the one putting his body on the line. To bring down Chapman’s empire, Sam would need to willingly walk into hell and keep himself alive.

  Judging from the fierce scowl on Singh’s face, she felt similar.

  ‘This is wrong.’ Singh finally spat. ‘You should be locked up for this, you know that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You forged the signature of the fucking Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. You’ve hacked into a maximum-security prison. Jesus, Paul. What were you thinking?’

  ‘The same things you were,’ Etheridge snapped back. ‘You could have arrested Sam when he met you at Liverpool Street Station, but you didn’t. Because you feel the same damn way I do. Hell, the same way Pearce felt as well.’

  Singh shook her head, her tongue pressed against her lip.

  ‘And what’s that then?’

  ‘You believe what Sam does is necessary.’

  The words hit Singh like a dart and she knew she couldn’t argue. She turned in disgust, more at herself for her agreement. Sam was necessary. At least once a day she scolded herself for how she dismissed Aaron Hill when he first came to her, begging for help in the hopeless search for his daughter. If she’d put as much effort into finding Jasmine as she had into finding Sam, maybe she would have brought her home too.

  But it was unlikely.

  Sam was willing to do what the police weren’t.

  He was willing to go to war.

  Singh stood, picked up her beer, and devoured half of it in one mouthful. Etheridge pulled himself to his feet, too, steadied himself and then walked over to the fridge beneath his desk. As he opened another drink, he looked at Singh and offered her an apologetic smile.

  ‘Sam was willing to trade himself for your life. Either that or willing to go to jail. He knows that one day everything he’s done will come back on him. I know it, too. But right now, this country needs Sam out on the streets, fighting back against the people the police don’t go near. You might not like it, Singh. But Sam is as necessary as the goddamn badge you have in your pocket.’

  Singh sipped her beer, shaking her head. A tear had begun to form in her eye, and she wiped it with the sleeve of her hoody. Staring at the bottle, she spoke.

  ‘I’ve always prided myself on never being afraid.’ She chuckled to herself. ‘I fought back against an oppressive system to become one of its best detectives. I did a lot of good but when I had the chance to bring Sam in, it was my meal ticket. Hell, I remember how much I hated him when he handcuffed me to your goddamn patio door. But the farther along we chased, the farther down the rabbit hole I went, I saw the truth and that was what scared me. For the first time, in a long time, I was actually afraid.’

  ‘That you would die?’ Etheridge asked, taking a step towards her.

  ‘No. That Sam would.’

  Like a supportive parent, Etheridge reached out and gently patted her shoulder. Although his marriage had dissolved not long after Sam had engaged in a shootout in his house, Etheridge was still a hopeless romantic at heart. He wasn’t blind to the blossoming feelings between Singh and Sam and he felt sorrow for how cruelly fate had led them together.

  There was no chance of happiness for them.

  They both knew it.

  But Singh’s anger at their plan hadn’t been rooted in a firm stance against breaking the law. It was out of her genuine fear for Sam and his survival in a locked down building swarming with men who would want him dead. All Etheridge could do was reassure her that they had it under control.

  ‘Look, I know you care about Sam. We both know that if anyone can survive this, he can. The man is immortal.’ Singh smiled and Etheridge continued, ‘The second I get the go ahead from him, I’ll be at that computer, guiding him out. Okay?’

  Singh nodded, but then furrowed her brow in confusion.

  ‘The go ahead? Hasn’t he already sent you the location?’

  ‘Yup. But you know Sam…he has a certain finality with how he operates.’

  Singh screwed her face, battling the morality of Sam’s actions. Although he was targeting dangerous criminals, she could never condone the idea of him killing. They had already shut down Chapman’s operation, meaning he would spend the rest of his life in his cell, knowing his stranglehold of power had been lifted.

  But Sam wouldn’t think about that.

  He’d think about all the lives the man had ruined. All the families devastated by the drugs he’d peddled, the vast number of careers ended by taking back handed payments.

  Sam would total it all up and hold him accountable for every single action.

  Cutting through the tension in the room, Etheridge’s mobile buzzed. Singh darted over with concern as he looked at the screen.

  ‘It’s go time,’ Etheridge said.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Singh demanded. Etheridge looked up at her, trying to mask his worry with a smile.

  ‘It means we don’t have much time. Tell me, Amara…how quickly could you drive to Sussex?’

  Within seconds, Singh was bounding down the stairs of the loft conversion, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Etheridge remotely opened the gate and she powered through the rain to her car, knowing that every moment could be Sam’s last.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It didn’t take long for the news to spread through the Grid. Chapman’s fury exploded the moment he was told, his loyal employees calling him just before they were arrested. With a rage that sent shivers down the spines of the guards and inmates, Chapman had screamed until he was hoarse, telling his men to sort it.

  It was a hopeless request and sure enough, through the murmurings of the guards, it was confirmed that Chapman’s drug empire had been found and subsequently shut down. Millions of pounds worth of drugs and cash seized by the police and an immeasurable impact on his clients. With it, went his stranglehold over those in charge and the biggest topic on anyone’s lips was how it would affect his control of Ashcroft.

  Sam, still granted the freedom being part of Chapman’s gang allowed him, made his way to Chapman’s cell as soon as he heard the anguished roars of failure. As he entered, Chapman was sat at his desk, his head in his wrinkled hands, the weight of his loss hanging heavy. Sat on the bench behind, Glen peered up at Sam with distrust, his beady eyes scanning Sam for any sense of betrayal. Stoically stood with his back against the far wall was Ravi, his one good arm outstretched, his mighty hand rested on his boss’s shoulder.

  ‘What the fuck happened?’ Sam demanded, acting as annoyed as Chapman.

  ‘The fuckers took it all.’ Chapman spat into the desk. ‘They found the location. For thirty fucking years I kept that place off the map. It wouldn’t even flag up on a fucking radar!’

  ‘Fuck,’ Sam exclaimed, convinced of his acting.

  ‘Fuck indeed.’ Ravi stepped forward. ‘Seems a bit suspicious that you join us and suddenly the boss gets fucked over.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Glen stood, cowering behind Ravi’s imposing frame. Sam shook his head.

  ‘What’s the matter? You still pissed off after I wiped the floor with you in fro
nt of everyone?’

  ‘Fuck you!’ Ravi stepped forward.

  ‘Enough!’ Chapman yelled, slamming his fists on his table, shaking every item on it. He turned in his chair and glared at all three men. ‘There is a bigger fucking problem here than whose dick is bigger. Without that lab ticking over, I’ll lose everything. Once the fuckers who run this place realise I don’t have the power or money to keep them at bay, they will come for all of us like a pack of hungry wolves.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare touch us,’ Ravi responded, his eyes still locked on Sam, who stood a few feet from the door. The room was no bigger than his own cell, and with all four of them occupying it, he knew the space would make it difficult.

  ‘Yeah,’ Glen chimed in again, and Sam rolled his eyes.

  ‘What can we do?’ Sam asked, turning his attention to Chapman who looked deep in thought.

  ‘It will take them a while to close off all avenues of my enterprise.’ He stroked his beard as he spoke. ‘We need to get a call out to a few of my guys. Get them to send a message that money never could.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I don’t know. Fuck up their family. Kill a wife.’ Chapman shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I don’t give a shit. If I’m going to be locked up in here for the rest of my life, I’m going to make damn sure I run this place.’

  Sam’s hand twitched. Seeing Chapman crumble at the same time as his empire brought a certain satisfaction, but the idea that his plan could impact an innocent family caused his fists to clench.

  He needed to end this now.

  ‘Boss, what we need to do is find out how they found it.’ Ravi suggested, finally taking his eyes off Sam. Chapman had picked up the box cutter from his desk, and balancing it under one finger, let the blade spin on the desk.

  ‘Oh, I’ll find out all right. But until then, I’m going to make sure every fucker in this place knows I’m still in charge.’

  Sam peaked over his shoulder. The corridor was clear. The guards had rightly stayed away, knowing they would most likely feel the wrath of Chapman. It meant that the four men were alone, but Sam knew Sharp would be waiting like a coiled spring the moment anything happened. Casually, Sam turned and pulled the door closed, knowing it wouldn’t lock until the computerised mechanism was activated.

  It’s what he was counting on.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Chapman demanded. All eyes were on Sam.

  ‘I thought it would make sense to not advertise what’s going on to the rest of the prison,’ Sam replied calmly. ‘Like you said, they’ll start circling.’

  The three men looked at Sam with suspicion, until Chapman turned back to the desk, pushing the box cutter to the side and lifting his phone.

  ‘I’ll call around, see if I can find out how this happened. You boys beat the fucking truth out of every piece of shit in this place. If they have nothing to say, then at least it will be a reminder to them of who’s in charge.’

  Ravi and Glen nodded, with the larger man pushing past Sam and heading towards the door. Sam slid his hand into his pocket, running his thumb over the keypad of the burner phone Chapman had given him. The text was simple, the word NOW ready to send and Etheridge’s number tapped in. As his thumb arrived at the enter key, he pushed it.

  A few seconds later, the lock of the door thudded into place, catching the other three men off guard. Not to be deterred, Ravi slammed his mobile arm into it a few times, trying his best to take it off his hinges.

  Sam pulled the phone from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

  ‘I’ll save you the hassle, boss,’ Sam said, steadying his feet, ensuring a solid base. ‘I did it.’

  Chapman looked blankly at the phone, trying his best to recount the memory of giving it to Sam. A hazy recollection formed in his mind and his eyes widened with surprise.

  ‘But how the hell…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s over.’

  Chapman stared at Sam in disbelief and then, after a few moments, he slowly reached for the box cutter.

  ‘Oh, it’s over you piece of shit.’ He spat through gritted teeth. ‘This place will bow to me when I take that head off your shoulders.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Glen helpfully added. ‘You dumb fuck, you’re locked in here with us.’

  Sam smiled. His fists clenched.

  ‘Wrong. It’s the other way round.’

  Sam swivelled on his right foot and drove a right hand straight into Glen’s jaw, knocking him off balance and sending him careening into the brick wall. In one swift movement, he drove his elbow into the side of Chapman’s face, driving him onto his knees and slamming his ribs against the table, the box cutter falling onto the wooden desk. Before Sam could plant his foot back down, Ravi charged, the impact of his truck-like body sending Sam slamming into the wall. To lighten the collision, Sam lifted his knee, steering it into Glen’s crotch. Ravi looped his good arm around Sam’s neck and wrenched back as hard as he could, crushing down on his windpipe and almost lifting him off his feet. Struggling for air, Sam pushed back with both feet, the two men traversing the small floorspace and Ravi slammed into the door. His grip didn’t budge as he wrenched at Sam’s head, Sam frantically rammed the point of his elbow into the cast.

  He felt the material cracking and with one final swipe, his elbow broke through, slamming into the surgically repaired bone and knocking it out of alignment. Ravi howled in agony, loosened his grip and Sam slammed his head off the metal cupboard in the corner of the room.

  Spluttering, Sam turned to the room, watching as the elderly Chapman reached for the box cutter. Sam kicked the chair forward, the metal scraping the floor and colliding with the man’s ribs. Before Chapman could get his breath back, Sam lifted the box cutter, held Chapman’s hand in place, and slammed the blade through the back of it.

  It ripped through the skin and cartilage and penetrated the desk underneath.

  The roar of anguish was guttural, swiftly drowned out by the pounding on the locked door. Sam shot a glance towards the glass, where Sharp’s furious face was puffing steam onto the window. Behind him, his guards were grouping, all of them ready to rip Sam apart.

  That was a problem he would face shortly.

  The pathetic Glen had finally stood, still movingly gingerly after the shot to his genitals and he threw a right hook at Sam, which he easily dodged. Sam’s hand shot out, hooked the arm, and he twisted it, the tendons ripping. In one fluid motion he slammed Glen towards the bench, his head hitting the edge of the seat and his teeth broke against the hard metal.

  Sam then stomped, breaking his neck and killing him instantly.

  Ravi woozily jumped into action, catching Sam with a vicious left hook that sent blood spraying from his lip, but the follow-up swipe gave Sam an opening. Ravi wasn’t a southpaw, and Sam blocked the incoming blow with his forearm, drove a stiff knee into the man’s solid abs, and hunched him over. Then, with all his might, Sam ran and slammed Ravi head first into the unforgiving steel of the door, the top of his cranium denting the metal with a sickening thud.

  The large man slumped the ground, motionless, a streak of blood trailing from the dent to his skull.

  Sam took a moment, shot Sharp a look through the glass, and then turned to Chapman.

  Cries of ‘TAG HIM!’ bellowed from Sharp, but Etheridge had done his job. Sam’s tag was decommissioned and there was no way to stop him.

  Sam sat on the edge of the table, doing his best to avoid the blood that was pooling around Chapman’s hand as the old gangster twitched in pain. With his final reserves of energy, Chapman swung wildly at Sam, who blocked the feeble swipe and then rocked Chapman with a right hand.

  Accepting his defeat, Chapman stopped his attack and looked up at Sam.

  ‘Why the fuck are you doing this?’

  Sam leant in close, his words laced with menace.

  ‘Because your business has cost people more than you have gained. Not just the people you’ve killed but the people who you infected. The lives you
ruined with the High Rises. The young girls you sanctioned with the Kovalenkos. All the families rocked by drug abuse or the fear you instilled. You ruined this country, all for money. But what makes this personal, is due to the people who worked for you, the death of my best friend is on your hands.’

  With one swift tug, Sam wrenched the box cutter from Chapman’s hand, causing him to howl and turn, his back resting against the table. As with most criminals, when stripped of their power, Chapman began to beg.

  ‘I can make this right.’

  ‘Look at me,’ Sam demanded. Chapman did, his watery eyes wide with fear. ‘I did this to you.’

  Sam’s wrist flashed past Chapman so quickly, he didn’t realise what had happened. Only when the skin of his throat began to tear open and a waterfall of blood spilled down his front did he grasp at the wound with both hands, falling to his side as he frantically tried to hang onto his life.

  He wouldn’t.

  Sam tossed the bloodied box cutter onto the table, and stood, turning his attention to the door where Sharp angrily screamed that he was a dead man. To his left, Glen’s broken body lay, only the whites of his eyes showing. Infront of the door, the hulking frame of Ravi was lying, his blood still painting the steel like cheap graffiti.

  And before him, Chapman gurgled and then stopped moving.

  Sharp stared in disbelief.

  Chapman had walked his final mile.

  Behind him, there were over fifteen guards, all of them ready to unload on Sam and beat him to death. Sharp would ensure it would be brutal.

  Retrieving his phone from the desk, Sam stepped towards the door, cracked his neck, and began to type.

  * * *

  Etheridge had purposefully not brought up Chapman’s cell camera onto his screen. He had full faith that Sam would succeed, but he didn’t want to witness the gory details.

  He wasn’t a fighter.

  With a click of a button he’d locked the cell door and then disabled the tags of the four occupants.