The algorithm would display the crate and its location at seven.
Etheridge would note it then wipe it instantly. Hopefully, that scramble would buy Pope enough of a head start to locate the crate and get Jasmine and whoever else was locked inside ready to be shipped like a brand-new car.
Sam closed his eyes and let the rain crash against him.
He thought of Lucy. They were still married, and she laughed at one of his terrible jokes.
He thought of Theo Walker, his best friend, reaching across the table to cheers him.
He thought of Jamie, his son, riding his bike and begging Sam to watch.
Wonderful memories that Sam held onto like a lifeboat, worried that losing them would cast him adrift into a lonely ocean. His world now was nothing but pain, violence, and death. He relied on those memories, those warm moments of decency to pull him back.
To make things worth fighting for.
The scale of the mission wasn’t lost on Sam.
He had travelled to many distant countries and fought violent terrorists on their turf. This was similar, he was entering unknown territory to face an unknown threat. The day staff had long since clocked off, but just after six an evening crew had arrived. Sam was sure a few palms had been greased by those in charge to allow for some ‘extracurricular’ activities. Seven men had entered and after a few moments, Sam heard the forklift roar into life and the usual orchestra of beeps, clunks, and foul language he expected.
A car pulled up.
Sam pressed himself against the nearest wall, leaning back into the shadows. The rain was doing a fine job of obscuring everything, but he didn’t want to be too careful. The front two doors opened in unison and two men stepped out. Their muscular physique and shorn hair screamed Special Forces and Sam could see they were both armed. They barked an order in another language and a few moments later, one of them opened the rear door.
Out stepped a well-dressed man with neatly combed blonde hair. The surrounding men stood to attention and the man barked at them, once again in a dialect that Sam was unfamiliar with. He could pinpoint it as Eastern European but wouldn’t hazard a guess as to which country. As the man pointed at two of the men to stay put, another black SUV pulled up, with four heavily armed men quickly filing out and following their leader through the gates and into the port.
Sam quickly realised he was looking at the man in charge. The one who had put all of this into motion.
He also drew the conclusion that they were expecting him tonight as there was no chance they would greet the police with such fire power.
Somehow, they knew that Sam was on his way, he was sure of it and that spelt danger for Jasmine. If they knew Sam was tracking them, then they would have soon realised why. With the bleak future laid out for the poor girls confined to one of those crates, Sam could only imagine the punishment Jasmine would suffer if Sam was unable to bring her out.
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Inside Sam’s pocket, the phone vibrated. Sam held his breath.
A message from an unknown number glowed brightly, luring Sam to his fate like a crooked finger. Sam swiped to the side to view it.
Lot 21235. Bay 64. Zone C.
Sam committed the location to memory and then slammed the burner phone to the ground below, watching the device shatter into a thousand shards. Beyond the fence, the rising sound of fury echoed off the thin, metal clad corridors of the port. Etheridge had wiped the location as soon as it had arrived, his hope of it giving Pope a head start had been fruitful. The algorithm would soon relay it back to the gang, but for now, they were searching for a needle in a haystack, while Sam was ready to zoom in like a homing missile. The odds were still shorter than he would have liked, but he thought back to his entire career, the number of shootouts he had been involved in overseas. Both High Rises.
Sooner or later, Sam knew that Lady Luck would pull the rug from underneath him. As with any form of gambling, the house always wins. But as he stood outside the port, the rain crashing against him, he knew he had to gamble one more time.
A young girl’s life was at stake.
Sam reached to his side and grabbed hold of his rifle, pulling it around his body and allowing it to slip seamlessly into his grip. His fingers slid around the stock, one of them naturally falling onto the trigger. With a rifle in his hand, Sam was the deadliest weapon in the country.
The Takers were about to find that out first hand.
The commotion beyond the nearest stacks of crates grew loudly and Sam heard a series of crunching thuds, as if someone was being bludgeoned by something. Whoever it was, they’d messed up and Sam had a clear indication of the type of man he was dealing with.
There would be no negotiating. Not with these people.
Sam needed to make use of his head start, get in, get Jasmine, and get out.
Anything else, and he would have to break his promise once more, something that was happening with an alarming regularity. Sam took a deep breath and reached for the fence, pulling it away from the heavy, rust covered chain that attached it to the next panel. It budged a little, creating a small, uncomfortable gap for Sam to squeeze himself through. Just as he lowered himself to pass under the mighty links of the chain, a blue light lit up the horizon line. Flashing like a mobile disco, Sam felt his heart drop as a convoy of police cars and vans turned the far corner, racing towards the port like a heroic cavalry. Without
