Had Sam put Etheridge in danger by sending it to him?
He had to know.
Sam looked around at the rest of the coach, noting only a few other passengers. A small group of Chinese tourists were huddled near the front of the coach, their eyes taking in the beautiful scenery lit up by the street lights. The mild spring evening giving them a nice view of the quaint town. Based in the Surrey Borough of Waverley, it held a number of wonderful tourist attractions such as Farnham Castle and bordered the Surrey Hills.
To Sam’s right, a middle-aged man slept while his teenage son was engrossed in his tablet, watching the latest hit show on Netflix.
Sam let out a sigh. His entire body ached.
He had been through the wars.
But he had a feeling it was far from over.
After leaving the dead body of Matt Brecker in the industrial park on the outskirts of Naples, Sam had made his way back to the city on foot. Full of regret for how things had been left with Alex, he’d taken Matt’s debit card and purchased two packets of cigarettes from a twenty-four hour newsagents. He had then headed back to the apartment he’d called home for three months and got a few hours rest, before making his way to Naples city centre. There he’d visited a number of different supermarkets, racking up thirty euro’s worth of cigarettes each time.
As the midday rush of tourists begun to filter through, Sam casually zeroed in on a group of English men outside a bar, asking one of them for a lighter. As he puffed the cigarette, he allowed his genuine disgust to take control and then told them he was supposed to quit.
He offered them four packets at a discounted price.
Sensing a bargain, they eagerly handed Sam the cash.
A few hours later, Sam repeated the act with an elderly Scottish couple, who took the deal and wished him luck with his attempts to kick the filthy habit.
Sam did this throughout the afternoon until he’d racked up a hundred and eighty Euros. Sam dumped Matt’s wallet in a bin, walked to Naples station, and bought a one-way ticket to Rome.
Less than two hours later, he was back in the capital, the memories of his car crash and possible reunion with an old friend flooded back to him.
It couldn’t have been him, could it?
Mac was dead. He had died in an air strike over a decade ago.
It had haunted Sam ever since.
Mac’s death
The death of Dr Farhad Nabizada, who had saved his life.
His boys, Tahir and Masood. Orphaned.
They were all scars that Sam bore and as he paid for a train ticket to Paris, Sam was relieved to be leaving the beautiful city of Rome. Just over three hours later, Sam arrived at Paris Terminal. It was the early hours of the morning and Sam checked his money.
With only seventy euros left, he bought a ticket for the ten-hour coach ride back to London and then found a coffee stall. The warm caffeine was like heaven as he gulped it down and the accompanying croissant was the first thing he’d eaten in over a day. As the coach pulled away from Paris Terminal just after midday, Sam decided to rest.
He awoke as they came to a stop in the Channel Tunnel, and his counterfeit passport worked a treat.
Jonathan Cooper.
That’s who the border control welcomed back to the UK, not realising they’d just allowed the UK’s most wanted vigilante back on their shores.
As they weaved through the rush hour traffic of the M25, they crawled through the stop-start roads of London until they arrived at London Victoria Coach Station.
Sam had felt fresher.
He hadn’t showered since his few hours in the apartment. His long hair was greasy from sweat and his stubble was becoming itchy and unruly.
But he was almost there.
Almost at his destination.
After exchanging the last of his euros into sterling, he boarded the coach for Farnham and fell straight to sleep.
Now, as the coach slowed to a halt, his legs ached as he stepped out into the brisk, spring evening and stepped around the group of tourists who were arguing over the directions to their hotel.
Sam knew where he was headed.
He pulled the collar of his jacket up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked the mile and a half to Etheridge’s street. As he approached, he scanned the road, ensuring there were no stakeouts. It would make sense that Blackridge would keep a lookout on a known associate of Sam’s in a desperate attempt to find him.
But the street was clear and as Sam drew closer to Etheridge’s house, his heart sank.
He could see why.
A large ‘Sold’ sign stood proudly in front of the mansion. Sam walked slowly to the electronic gate of the property and clutched two of the poles with each hand.
He had no more money.
Nowhere else to go.
No other moves.
Despite his refusal, defeat began to dominate his thought process and he leant his head forward, resting it gently against the metal bars.
He was so tired.
As his mind raced to find a way to contact Adrian Pearce, he was oblivious to the stuttered steps of the hooded man behind him. By the time Sam’s instincts had kicked in and he knew he’d been ambushed, it was too late.
He felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of his skull.
‘Hello, Sam.’
Chapter Ten
It had been a long road for Etheridge, too.
Six months earlier, he’d just signed a lucrative deal with a Japanese mega brand to rebuild their entire digital security platform. His company, BlackOut, was leading the way in cyber security and companies were lining up to sign exclusive contracts with him. While he thought of himself as a reasonably modest man, he couldn’t help but smile as the clients came knocking and the company’s bank account swelled. As the founder and CEO, he was living the life of a millionaire.
The sports cars.
The trophy wife twenty years his junior.
The six bedroom
