The Final Mile: A SAM POPE NOVEL

by Enright, Robert

  ‘This won’t make you a soldier,’ Sam spat.

  Mac stopped, slowly turning to face his nemesis, his eyes, wide with rage.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Sam, on his knees, knew that he was vulnerable. If Mac turned the gun on him now, there was nothing to stop him emptying the entire clip into his chest. With Mac unlikely to surrender, Lucy would no doubt be blown apart when Mac decided there was no other option.

  But Sam had to try something. Anything.

  ‘I said this won’t make you a soldier. Soldiers don’t kill defenceless people.’

  ‘This isn’t about being a soldier. It’s about getting even.’

  ‘Is it?’ Sam slowly got to one foot and Mac spun his arm round, the gun aimed at Sam once more. Sam planted his other foot down and stood. ‘You were meant to be a soldier, Mac. You told me you wanted the life I had. But you ran. You panicked and you ran. That’s not what a soldier does.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Mac screamed, his eyes watering as he gritted his teeth. Inside, he was battling against his own broken mind. ‘You left me.’

  ‘No, you abandoned your post. And now you’re showing how weak you really are by killing an innocent woman. If you really want to hurt me, Mac. Show me I was wrong. Prove to me that you were worth saving to begin with.’

  ‘Fuck you. Fuck you,’ Mac shouted over and again, his hand gripping the trigger. Lucy looked to Sam in bewilderment.

  ‘You want to prove to me you’re a soldier, then let her go. Give her the trigger, let her walk out of the door and then we can settle this. Like soldiers. You wanted me, Mac. Well I’m right here.’

  Mac went frightfully still, his eyes closed. Sam shuffled tentatively, knowing this was the moment of clarity. Either a bullet was coming straight for him, or Mac’s thumb was going to lift off the dead man’s switch. Lucy shook, terrified of the precarious situation.

  Eventually, Mac opened his eyes and held the trigger out to Lucy.

  ‘Take this. Keep your thumb on this button. Now go.’

  Mac slide the detonator into Lucy’s shaking hand and slid his thumb out from under hers, locking it in place. Holding it like it was a glass sculpture, Lucy slowly rose to her feet, shot Mac a careful look, and then shuffled cautiously towards the exit. As she passed Sam, she glanced at him, a mixture of sorrow and fury before she continued towards the door. Sam watched her go, knowing the ARU would have assembled by the lifts, ready to burst in once the corridor was safe.

  That didn’t give him much time.

  He needed to get Mac to surrender. As he turned back, he’d already begun his plea.

  ‘Mac, we need to…’

  A brick like fist collided with Sam’s jaw, knocking him to his left. Sam spiralled and landed on his knee. He spat blood onto the tile and woozily got back to his feet.

  ‘I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.’

  Mac then threw another expert right hook, but Sam ducked, deflecting Mac to the side and then shoved him into the wall. Mac spun on his heel, fists up, ready to engage. Sam held his hands up passively.

  ‘Mac, I can help you. But you need to stop.’

  ‘Fight me,’ Mac demanded. ‘You owe me that, at least.’

  Mac launched forward again, throwing lefts and rights, his Krav Maga training had clearly been effective. Sam, well trained in a number of hand to hand combat techniques, expertly blocked them with his forearms, before stomping forward and knocking out Mac’s left foot. Off balance, Mac tried to swing another right, but Sam caught it, twisted the arm and then slammed Mac into the wall, pinning him against the cork noticeboard.

  ‘It’s over, Mac.’

  Mac thrust his head back, his skull catching Sam above the eye, re-opening the gash that was held together by two strips of tape. Blinded as blood gushed over his eyeball, Sam stumbled back and Mac charged, ramming his shoulder into Sam’s stomach and driving him into the opposite door. It swung open and Mac hurled Sam into the metal railing that surrounded the hospital bed. The impact caught Sam in the centre of his surgically repaired spine, and he rolled over backwards before dropping hard onto the tiles.

  ‘Get up,’ Mac demanded, stomping around the bed. Sam pushed himself to his knees, but Mac drove a solid boot into his ribs. Then another.

  And another.

  He threw one more vicious kick, but Sam blocked it. Blind with murderous rage, Mac threw another hard right, but Sam blocked it and instinctively drove his elbow into Mac’s jaw. Stumbling backwards, Mac spat out a tooth, smirked, and then charged once more.

  In the cramped room, Mac unloaded a flurry of strikes, and Sam tucked his head in and raised his arms, absorbing the blows. As Mac tired slightly, he drove in with another hook, but Sam deflected it, drove his knee into his adversary’s ribs and then stepped to the side.

  ‘I won’t fight you, Mac.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice.’ Mac swung the metal drip stand, catching Sam in the hip. Stumbling backwards, Sam fell against the large, rectangular glass window that afforded the nurses a look into the room. Mac charged and as he approached, he leapt off his feet, slamming into Sam and sending them both careering through the panel. They collapsed onto the tiles, falling onto the shattered glass that had beaten them to the ground and they both groaned in pain. As Mac hit the ground, the SIG Sauer P226 spilled from his belt, landing among the shards. As both men worked to get their breath back, Sam could hear the approaching rumbling of the ARU’s boots as they made their way towards the ward.

  That meant Lucy had made it outside.

  She was safe.

  Mac lunged onto Sam, a thick, sharp shard of glass in his hand and he drove it towards Sam’s throat. Sam managed to raise his arm, blocking Mac with his forearm, but Mac had the leverage and he climbed on top of Sam, pressing down with all his might. Sam strained his neck back, the blade only a centimetre from his Adam’s apple and he looked Mac dead in the eye.

  Mac said nothing.

  Sam tried to drive his knee into Mac’s spine, but Mac had him pinned.

  A smile crept across Mac’s charred face as the blade lowered, piercing the skin of Sam’s throat, a trickle of blood falling out.

  A gunshot echoed through the corridor.

  As if hit by a train, Mac flew to the right, relinquishing his hold on Sam. The blade sliced across Sam’s throat, but there wasn’t enough pressure to cause anything but a slight cut.

  Sam sat up in a panic, looking back towards the door where a member of the ARU was on his knee, rifle drawn up to his eye.

  He was reloading. Sam leapt to his feet, standing in front of his fallen foe.

  A man he’d once regarded a friend.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Sam demanded. He turned and dropped to his knees, examining the bullet wound that had ripped through the top of Mac’s chest, shattering his collar bone. Through gritted teeth, Mac was groaning in agony, his hand pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. Sam reached down underneath Mac’s arms and helped him to his knees, uttering that he would be okay.

  But as Sam tried to haul him to his feet, Mac refused to move, dropping back onto his knees, his head bowed in defeat.

  There was no fight left in him.

  Sam knelt in front of him and rested his hand on the side of Mac’s face, cupping it tenderly. Mac slowly lifted his head, locking eyes with the man he’d hated for over a decade.

  A man he’d held responsible for all the pain that had created the monster he’d become.

  But the truth was, Sam didn’t know.

  Wallace had told him Sam had left him for dead. Hadn’t cared.

  But he had. He still did.

  With his energy levels dropping through blood loss, Mac slumped his head forward and pressed it against Sam’s. Their bond had been reforged, albeit only slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mac. I’m so sorry,’ Sam said quietly. ‘This time, I’m taking you with me.’

  Mac shook his head and pushed himself back. Sam looked at him with confusion.

&nb
sp; ‘All I’ve known for ten years is pain. Pain and anger.’ Mac let go of his shoulder and pressed his arm to the ground behind him. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. But without it, I don’t exist.’

  ‘Mac, what are you saying?’

  Without answering and with his final strands of energy, Mac pushed himself to his feet, drawing the handgun from behind him and aimed it directly at the armed men who had lined the corridor behind Sam. Despite Sam’s cries of horror, three gunshots exploded behind him and the bullets ripped through Mac’s chest, sending him jolting backwards before collapsing onto the glass.

  Sam scurried across the sharp shards, ignoring the pain and leant over Mac.

  With his chest a bloodied mess and his eyes closed, Sam knew he was dead, but he still called out his name. Guilt shook through his body and he rested his hand on his friend’s chest, the devastation of what had happened to him hitting with as much velocity as the bullets that sent Mac to his grave.

  Sam began to cry and as he was surrounded by the ARU, he pulled the dog tags from his fallen comrade’s neck, clutched them in his blood-soaked hand, and allowed himself to be marched back to his impending incarceration.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Singh had watched with bated breath as Lucy had emerged through the emergency door of the hospital, flanked either side by the armoured officers who had escorted her carefully out of the building. One of the men had both hands clasped around her hands, indicating the trigger was secure.

  A palpable panic spread through the street, with Stout demanding that the cordon be moved back, asserting his authority in a way that would be missed when he stepped down. As everyone scurried away, Stout sent two bomb defusal experts towards Lucy and Singh held her breath as they slowly lifted the bomb over her head, freeing her from her explosive chains. Carefully, they transitioned the dead man’s switch into the gloved grip of the brave officer who then instructed his teammate to remove her from the scene.

  Moments later, the expert confirmed that he’d defused the bomb and to the relief of everyone, the switch had been deactivated.

  Despite the promise of safety, Lucy seemed hesitant to move, jerking her neck back to look up at the building.

  Sam was still in there.

  Singh shared her concern.

  As she was ushered towards the cars, Singh and Commissioner Stout approached her, with Stout wrapping his warm jacket around her shoulder.

  ‘You are safe now, Mrs Farmer,’ he assured her; his words full of clarity.

  ‘Lucy?’ A voice called out from the crowd and she raised her head. Tears of relief began to fall as she saw her husband, Nick, stood at the edge of the cordon and as the rain lashed down upon her, she raced through the swathes of officers to embrace him. Singh made to follow, but Stout gripped her shoulder with a firm hand.

  ‘Let her go,’ Stout said. ‘We’ll talk to her when this is over.’

  ‘Sir, we need to know what the situation is.’

  ‘Our Armed Response Unit is in place. They’ll be moving in shortly.’ Stout noticed the concern on Singh’s face and smiled. There was clearly more than a professional interest at stake. ‘Don’t worry, Singh. They know who the target is.’

  Before Singh could respond, a gunshot echoed from the building, causing a shriek of excitement from the street. Singh’s heart raced and she took a step forward. Stout shook his head and demanded an update into his radio.

  Three more shots echoed out and Singh burst into action, ignoring Stouts calls for her to stop. She burst through the emergency door and into the derelict reception of the hospital, scanning the room until her eyes fell on the stairwell. As she began to climb the steps, she heard the clattering of footsteps above her and she stopped, waiting in trepidation as her armed colleagues descended towards her.

  Sam was among them.

  Singh took a breath.

  Despite moving gingerly, and with blood pouring from his eye and neck, he seemed fine as he approached her, but she could see the devastation on his face. She made her way down the stairs and back into the reception, allowing the officers to filter out and Sam emerged, shuffling with his hands once again cuffed behind his back.

  ‘Sam,’ she called to him. He didn’t respond.

  Sam took three steps towards her and then buried his head in her shoulder, allowing himself a moment of grief. Singh held him tightly, closing her eyes and stroking the back of his hair. The last six months had told her that he didn’t fear prison. Sam was more than willing to pay the heavy price of his actions.

  He pulled away and looked her in the eyes, nodded, and then for the second time in the space of a month, he allowed Singh to lead him out of a building in cuffs, but this time, there was no rampant excitement at his capture.

  As they took their first step down the steps, the ARU stood to the side, forming a guard of honour for Sam and to Singh’s shock, they saluted. Sam stopped, taken aback by the show of respect and he nodded his thanks to them.

  They took another step and an audible clap went up and as they moved cautiously towards the police cars, an echo of applause spread throughout the onlookers, all of them showing their appreciation for Sam’s bravery. Singh squeezed his arm, her eyes watering at the overwhelming response for Sam.

  With half his face covered in blood, he scanned the approving audience, nodding to them with a slight movement of his head.

  Two figures stood ahead of them.

  Deputy Commissioner Ashton glared at Sam, her arms crossed and a look of disgust across her face.

  Commissioner Stout, however, was joining in with the applause. Singh brought Sam to a stop and he stood, back straight, shoulders steady.

  Like a soldier.

  ‘Thank you, Sam,’ Stout said with a smile. ‘You saved a lot of people tonight.’

  ‘Not all of them, sir.’ Sam’s words hung heavy with sadness. ‘He was my friend and I failed him.’

  ‘You did everything you could.’ Stout reassured him, leaning over and opening the backseat of the nearest car. ‘And I will do likewise.’

  Sam managed a smile.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Singh helped Sam into the back of the car and then closed the door. As she turned to the driver’s door, Ashton pushed it shut.

  ‘I assume you have an explanation for all of this?’ Ashton snapped. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have you arrested right now.’

  ‘Deputy Commissioner, stand down,’ Stout commanded, much to her chagrin. ‘Singh, take Sam back to HQ. I’ll be along shortly.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Singh replied, looking Ashton dead in the eye as she did. She slipped into the seat, slammed the door, and turned the key. With the blue lights flashing, she turned the car towards the watching crowd and they parted like the Red Sea. Carefully navigating her way through, she couldn’t hide the smile as they applauded.

  ‘Looks like you have yourself a fan club.’

  Singh smirked, shooting a glance at the rear-view mirror. But Sam didn’t respond. Looking off into the distance, Sam was too busy mourning a fallen comrade to even register the adulation.

  As the car disappeared down Euston Road, Ashton stared at the appreciative crowd with disillusionment. Sam Pope was a convicted criminal, a man who had killed numerous people. Yet he’d just commanded the respect she’d craved and it felt like a disgrace to Wallace’s memory. Stout’s voice broke her thoughts.

  ‘I guess I don’t need to tell you I expect your resignation on my desk by the morning?’

  Ashton turned on her heel, her face screwed in anger.

  ‘You are making a mistake, sir,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Not anymore.’

  Commissioner Stout shook his head with disappointment, then turned back to the busy crime scene, hurling out directions to bring it to a close. Over his shoulder, Ashton watched as paramedics brought out Mac’s dead body, shielded from the public with a white sheet. Slowly, the nurses, doctors, and police officers worked in unison to return the patients to the hospital and Stout stood, casting
his eye over proceedings.

  Soon, everything would return to normal.

  But for Ashton, things would never be the same again.

  * * *

  Marie brought two cups of tea into Stout’s office and laid them on the desk. Singh thanked her kindly then glanced at the time.

  The woman worked round the clock.

  Stout’s office was surprisingly low key. The furniture was of the finest quality, with the large, oak desk the centrepiece of the room. But beyond a few bookcases and a plethora of framed certifications that lined the walls, there wasn’t too much else of note. The floor to ceiling glass windows offered a spectacular view of the city, lit up like a painting. The beauty of the city always caught Singh by surprise, and she stared out over the Thames at the bright lights beyond.

  ‘That’s better,’ Sam said with satisfaction, sipping the warm tea and then reclining back in the chair. Singh smiled, knowing Sam was holding on to as many comforts as he could. It was unlikely he would end up buried underground in a maximum-security prison, but they both knew his freedom had a time limit.

  Whatever Stout wanted to speak to them about would be the final conversation Sam had as a free man.

  The on-site doctor had tended to Sam’s wounds and rebandaged the others, surprised by the competency of Etheridge’s stitching, which drew a chuckle from Sam. Singh had watched as they looked over his beaten body and she was reminded once again of what he’d been through.

  What he’d put himself through.

  It was another stark reminder that their time together would never last.

  The door flew open and Stout strode in, removing his sodden raincoat and sliding a hand through his thinning hair.

  ‘Apologies for keeping you waiting.’

  ‘No worries, sir,’ Singh said, receiving a warm smile from the commissioner. He turned his attention to Sam.

  ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘I’ve had worse nights.’

  Stout chuckled. There was a clear respect between the two men, despite their opposing ideals.

  ‘Well, I and the city of London can’t thank you enough. What you did took extreme courage and I can only offer my condolences at the loss of your friend.’