‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Sam spoke authoritatively. ‘I need to know who the hell you are.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the man spat, pushing himself to his feet slowly. He was middle aged; his eyes were read from a mixture of booze and fatigue. The only thing more powerful than the stench of alcohol was the stench of desperation. ‘It’s done.’
‘What’s done?’ Sam demanded. At that moment, a thud echoed from the other side of the room. Sam span instinctively, his hand skimming to his waist and retrieving his pistol. Before he spun to a stop, he had it held out, both hands wrapped around it, ready to fire.
The movement had been fluid.
Muscle memory kicking in.
Standing on the other side of the blood-soaked room, with his shattered hand held high in surrender, was Sean Wiseman. Sam held the gun steady but softened his scowl from anger to disappointment.
‘Please, don’t shoot,’ Sean begged, his whole body trembling. Despite his brown skin, Sean looked a deathly pale which Sam quickly attributed to the gunfire and death of Sean’s gang. He had seen a number of young soldiers keel over the same way after their first introduction to war.
‘Stay where you are,’ Sam demanded. ‘I told you that your life as a criminal was over.’
‘I know.’ Sean panicked, his eyes jittering with every flash of the police sirens. ‘I was here telling them that. Honest.’
Sam arched an eyebrow and then lowered his gun.
‘Stay there. I’m going to need your help.’ He turned back to the random intruder, who let out a defeated sigh. ‘Now tell me, what’s your name?’
‘Aaron. Aaron Hill.’
‘I’m Sam,’ Sam offered, and Aaron looked at him sceptically.
‘Sam? As in Sam Pope? Jesus … you’re in the news. You’re a killer!’
‘A killer who just saved your goddamn life,’ Sam retorted. ‘Now what the hell are you doing here? Do you know how fucking stupid that was?’
Wiseman had ventured towards the window, peering down onto the street below. Despite the torrential rain, he watched as a ten strong group of heavily armed men made their way to the door, a strict formation and clear instructions.
Aaron took another deep breath and then, fighting back tears, finally spoke.
‘My daughter. They took my daughter.’
Sam’s eyes narrowed with anger.
‘Who did?’ Sam asked, but Aaron was shaking his head, tears overflowing through his fingers. ‘Who took your daughter?’
Outside, Singh marched through the rain and gave the go ahead for the AR team to enter the building. A few hand signals later, and the team filtered into the building.
They had breached.
Wiseman, without looking back, spoke.
‘I hate to interrupt, but I think we have company.’
Sam turned towards the window, watching as the last of the Armed Response entered. He predicted he had two minutes before they reached the top floor. Instantly, he began to unzip his vest, removing the sling that carried his two grenades and then slid his arms out of his jacket. As the excitement built outside the building and the Armed Response team began its clearance, Sam told both Wiseman and Aaron what he needed them to do. As they nodded their understanding, he turned to Aaron, who looked broken. Sam reached into the man’s jacket, pulled out his wallet and removed his driving license. Before Aaron could complain, Sam spoke.
‘I promise you, when I get out of here, I will come to you and I promise we will find your daughter.’
His words clearly hit home and Aaron’s eyes welled up once more. Sam barked his final instructions, and both men went about following them.
By now, the team would be on the first floor. Sam took a deep breath and headed to the stairwell.
Time to go meet them.
Chapter Eight
Rain clattered against the side of the building, the bitter cold seeping in through the cracks. The building was as depressing as it was broken, a broken relic that had once been a thriving focal point for the community. A memory washed away by the downpour of modern-day progression.
Aaron Hill could relate.
When he and his wife had separated four years previously, his daughter suffered. From the moment Jasmine had been born, they had an unbreakable bond. While he was never the most confident man, he loved his daughter dearly and her smile had brought out a fun-loving side to him that he had never known existed. They would bike ride together most Sunday mornings, he remembered watching with gushing pride as she sped off, whipping through the woodland tracks on their outings.
Then suddenly, his wife, Emma, was diagnosed with breast cancer.
All their smiles faded along with his wife, who deteriorated before their eyes, passing away somewhat peacefully in her sleep over two years ago. It had shattered them both, the pillar of strength of their family had been cruelly taken by the most devastating force.
After that, the smiles stopped altogether.
Jasmine had become distant, her transition into puberty collided with her grief and she began to act out, her grades plummeting and the calls from the school regarding her behaviour had been frequent. Aaron had tried his best but working longer hours to ensure the roof over their head stayed there, meant he felt further from her than ever.
He was a marketing director at an advertising agency.
His life wasn’t supposed to be this way.
The previous weekend, he had spent the Saturday evening trying to get Jasmine to pick a film and not watch it from behind her phone screen.
Now he was in one of the most dangerous places in London, having stormed a building full of criminals with an illegally purchased firearm.
As he peered around the room, the chill of the night slithered down his spine and he shuddered.
A beaten, dirty mattress lay against the wall, a couple of used condoms carelessly thrown to the side. Beside them, a pile of needles
