‘And how does this end, Sam? Are you going to blow up the Metropolitan Police? Or are you going to kill Ervin Wallace? He’s been controlling Ashton like a puppet and using the Met as his own little private police force. The moment Singh started sniffing around, talking about secret projects, she was done for. They shunted her out and she points the finger of blame at me.’
‘Wallace went after Singh?’
Pearce shrugged.
‘She said he visited her one night, threatened her. Told her to stay away from you and your past. She didn’t, so I stepped in. I had to keep her safe.’
‘You did the right thing, Pearce. You always do.’
‘Yeah, well she hasn’t spoken to me since. I’ve heard a few murmurs that her apartment was broken into, that Wallace is still keeping tabs on her.’
Behind Pearce, Wiseman blew a hard, shrill whistle and then comedically collapsed to the floor, while the boys rolled about laughing. They all rushed towards the doors to the centre for lunch and Sam politely shook his head before the offer came.
‘It was good to see you, Pearce.’ Sam spoke sincerely. ‘I wanted to thank you for saving my friend, Paul. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be dead.’
‘Like I said, Sam. How does this end?’ Pearce held his fist against the metal fence. ‘A time will come when someone isn’t there to save them. You know that better than most. This is too far gone, Sam. It needs to end before people like Paul, or people like Singh, really do get hurt.’
Sam nodded solemnly and then raised his fist and tapped it against Pearce’s. A sign of genuine friendship in what had resembled a war zone.
‘It will. I promise.’
Both men nodded one final time and just as Sam turned to leave, the heavy breathing and leaden footed steps of Wiseman approached. His face was flushed, his breathing stunted, and his T-shirt was stuck to his body.
But he looked a world away from the wide-eyed, terrified numbers man working for a gang.
He looked happy.
‘Hey…Sam…’ He panted. ‘…I just wanted to…thank…you.’
‘What for?’ Sam shrugged.
Wiseman took a deep breath, his hands on his hips and regained his composure.
‘You saved my life.’
‘I shot you,’ Sam said, his words heavy with guilt.
‘You put me on the right path. You showed me that some people are inherently good. You turned this city upside down to find that young girl. No matter what the police say, or what the papers say, you’re a damn hero. The world could use more people like you.’ Wiseman suddenly looked embarrassed and arched his neck towards the centre. ‘I better check on the kids.’
As Wiseman jogged off, Pearce turned to a thoughtful looking Sam.
‘He’s training to be a social worker.’
‘He’s come along way,’ Sam said quietly, touched by the impact he’d had on the young man’s life.
‘You’re a good man, Sam,’ Pearce said. ‘So, finish what you need to do and then try to make peace with it all.’
Pearce slapped the chain-link fence a few times before turning and heading back to the centre, ready to join the raucous noise of a gleeful lunch. Sam watched him disappear into the centre and then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
‘I’ll try,’ he uttered, before lowering his head and marching back towards the station.
While Sam had been enjoying the Saturday sunshine, Etheridge had been glued to his desk. The luxurious loft conversion did offer a splendid floor to ceiling window, which meant natural light flooded through the room like an unstoppable force and the air conditioning unit had kept him cool.
But he hadn’t moved.
Across the screens that presented themselves like a news station, a number of algorithms were running, desperately trying their best to crack the security protocols attached to the USB stick.
It had been semi-successful, with a few less important folders soon wriggling free from the cyber security, but for the most part, Etheridge had been impressed.
He had made millions being able to break, and therefore fix, a company’s online security.
Blackridge.
Almost uncrackable.
He had been at it for over eighteen hours and the slog of the mission, along with the lack of sleep, were starting to pull down on his eyelids. He reached for the coffee he’d freshly made and took a large gulp, just as the sound of Sam’s footsteps echoed up the stairs. Moments later, Sam pushed open the door and was greeted by a very tired, very smiley Etheridge.
‘Afternoon,’ Sam said stoically.
‘Welcome back.’ Etheridge’s hand shook as he raised the coffee, instantly explaining to Sam that he was on a caffeine high and careening towards a crash. ‘Good news or bad news?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. Which one do you want first?’
‘Good news.’
‘Well, the good news is, I know how to open the USB stick and I have the necessary equipment.’
‘Brilliant. Let’s do it,’ Sam said eagerly, sliding his jacket off.
‘Bad news is, it’s only functional with a fingerprint scan.’ Etheridge sighed. ‘I have a scanner and can set up a direct link between it and the Blackridge network to verify it. But I can’t build a fingerprint. I’m not god.’
Sam chuckled and stretched his back. Etheridge turned back to his screens, understanding the scrawling that flickered across the monitors. To Sam, they looked like scribbles.
But then Etheridge was an elite hacker.
If it came to hand-to-hand combat, or putting a bullet in a sex trafficker from three hundred yards away, Sam rose to the occasion.
Etheridge clicked away on the keyboard and then slumped in the chair.
‘Do you need another coffee?’ Sam joked. Etheridge flipped him the bird.
‘No, I need a fucking fingerprint. But to get a fingerprint, we need to find a Blackridge operative with sufficient clearance. And how the hell do you find a task force that exists in the shadows?’
A light bulb pinged above Sam’s head.
‘You give them what they’re looking for.’
‘What do you mean?’ Etheridge turned
