It would also lead to his death in an underground bunker just outside Rome.
The same room had also been the final resting place of Sam’s mentor, Carl Marsden.
During his time in the army, Marsden had been his commanding officer, molding Sam into the perfect soldier. It was he who had led Sam to Project Hailstorm, the elite squadron that would almost kill him.
It was also Marsden who brought Sam back from his lowest ebb, telling Sam to fight for something when the burden of his son’s death pulled him dangerously close to an early grave.
Marsden had been there for Sam, and Sam felt the pain of failure more than the final remnants of the bullets that had rattled his body three months prior.
Sam couldn’t save Marsden.
The deceased Sims had blackmailed Sam into helping him hunt Marsden through Europe, with wild theories of terrorism. It was only when Sam had managed to rendezvous with his superior that he realised how high up it went and just how far they would have to go for the truth.
Marsden had entrusted him with the proof before sacrificing himself for Sam’s freedom.
Sam should have left.
But he couldn’t leave a man behind. It was something that had haunted him for years and the recent events had brought that to the forefront of his mind.
‘I’ve been waiting a long time for this.’
The voice.
The Manchurian accent.
It wasn’t possible. Was it?
Shaking his head clear, Sam could smell the alluring aroma of coffee wafting through the apartment. The muscles in his legs were starting to stiffen and he slid his feet out from his cheap, second-hand running shoes. After he’d recovered from the back-alley surgery that had saved his life, Sam had asked Alex to pick some up.
With their limited funds, it was all they could afford.
They were all Sam needed.
His brown hair usually kept short and neat was now overgrown, the fringe flopping down over his brow and he brushed it aside, tucking it behind his ear. His beard was thick, although Alex had helped him maintain its unruliness with a pair of scissors.
The smell of cigarette smoke soon joined the coffee in the air.
A voice followed.
‘How was it?’
Sam stepped into the doorway of the open-plan flat, looking beyond the tiny kitchen that was tacked onto the wall. By the open window, which overlooked the cramped streets below, was Alex.
Sat in a long T-shirt and shorts, her brown legs shimmered under the sunlight that was threatening to burst through the rain clouds. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and her youthful face regarded him with a smile.
She had a mug of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
‘Not bad,’ Sam replied, stretching the ache in his back. ‘No stopping this time.’
‘Good.’ Alex smiled. ‘You’ll be running the New York marathon in no time.’
Sam grunted, knowing she yearned for a return to her hometown as soon as possible. He hadn’t told her about his investigation into the bombing of the London Marathon the year before, nor the dangerous path he’d trodden since.
She knew bits of his story, that he’d been blackmailed into joining the Blackridge Task Force just as she had, but beyond that, he’d tried to keep her as knowledge free as possible.
As safe as possible.
Alex was twenty-six years old and had racked up quite the record for illegal street racing in the States. While Sims had used it as leverage, she’d used it as a means to an end, to keep food on the table for her younger siblings while their mother chased a dragon she would never catch.
Now, like Sam, she was alone in a foreign city, hunted by a rogue security company with a burning desire to get home and put things right. Sam had promised her he would get her family back.
She’d saved his life.
Sam was a man of his word and would make good on his promise.
He stepped forward and followed her gaze out of the window, watching as the narrow back roads of Naples began to fill with inpatient drivers furiously honking their horns.
‘How do you drive in these streets?’ Sam asked, shaking his head at the congestion.
Alex took a final puff on her cigarette and then stubbed the end out on the windowsill, letting the smoke rise from her mouth.
‘Pure talent.’ She slapped him on the shoulder, causing him to grimace. ‘Besides, who else is going to pay for your sneakers?’
Sam nodded, knowing that she’d returned to her past life in order to fund their eventual exit from the city. While he didn’t approve of her racing, he was hardly in a position to lecture her about staying on the right side of the law. With the Polizia di Stato still looking for them, their chances of finding work were dwindling. Alex had got word of a few races in Naples and they’d made the journey to the city and seamlessly blended in.
Now, as Sam continued his road to recovery, Alex was doing her best to get them out of there.
Sam knew he had to honour his promise to the woman who had done so much for him, but there was a nagging doubt in his mind that things weren’t finished.
Not yet.
‘I’m gonna take a shower,’ Alex said, yawning and stretching out her athletic frame. ‘I’d ask you to join me, but you have your reasons.’
Sam turned to her with an apologetic look.
‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea.’
‘I get it, one and done,’ Alex joked. ‘I’m kidding. There’s coffee in the pot.’
Alex winked and then made her way towards the run-down bathroom, ready to wrestle with the plumbing for a shred of hot water. They had spent a passionate night together in the midst of the hunt for Marsden, but with their lives now firmly resting on the other, Sam had made
