Under the jacket, he wore a black T-shirt, along with jeans, and black trainers.
Sam was never one for fashion and he knew his basic look would help him blend in with the moving crowds. Etheridge had already confirmed that there was another hack into the security system, joking that Blackridge were about as a subtle as a sandpaper suppository.
Sam had rolled his eyes at that one.
As he scanned the station, his eyes fell on the large digital clock attached to the far barrier.
Three minutes.
Sam lifted the coffee he’d bought from one of the many outlets dotted throughout the station, appreciating the warm caffeine as it flowed down his throat. Although the station’s primary function was for transport, it had an impressive number of food and clothing outlets dotted on both floors, with a number of chain restaurants and high street brands pitching their flags. There were plenty of places to hide, but most importantly, plenty of small alcoves where discretion would be afforded.
It would be needed.
Sam pushed himself away from the railing and slowly meandered down the walkway, gazing blindly at the shop windows of the stores that lined it, immersing himself in the crowd.
Blackridge were there.
The call to Singh had been used to fish them out and Sam knew that they would have their field agents patrolling the station, all of them champing at the bit to bring him down. They all wanted the gold star from Wallace and after a few encounters with some of their teams, Sam knew how keen they were for violence.
They were built in Wallace’s image.
They would all fall in it, too.
But Sam felt uneasy, the idea of pulling Amara Singh further into his world had kept him up all night. The phone call had been brief, telling her he was alive and that he needed to speak to her urgently. While it had been nice to hear her voice, the expletive laden rant she began reminded him of how volatile she could be.
Be that as it may, Singh was a fighter.
She’d been with him in the Port of Tilbury and had risked her own life to save Jasmine and the other girls. She’d put the needs of others before her own career and if what Pearce had said was true, it had been costly. She was on Wallace’s radar, one of the most dangerous places she could have landed, and it was his fault.
She’d done some digging.
And it was that which Sam used to lure her to the station. He had told her he needed to speak to her about Wallace and ‘Project Hailstorm’. That was all it took.
She agreed immediately.
Sam could hear the nerves in her voice and secretly, he echoed them. It had been a long time since Lucy had left him, moving on with her life as a way to deal with the pain of losing their son. She was remarried and on her way to starting a new family. While his tryst with Alex had been memorable, it blossomed into a true friendship. But there had been something about Singh, from the moment he’d evaded her at Etheridge’s house to watching her flip him the bird through his sniper scope.
In another life, perhaps.
Sam shook his head clear and felt the guilt rising within him. One of his first missions as the designated shooter was in his early twenties. He was seen as a sniping prodigy within the armed forces and, under the tutelage of Carl Marsden, soon found himself on covert operations way beyond his experience should have attained.
The mission was a simple extraction within the Amazon jungle, where a popular candidate for the Brazilian Presidency had been taking captive. With the risk of an uprising, the UK and US armed forces had dispatched an elite team to bring the man home.
But he’d been used as bait.
Seven of the team had died, with a rogue sniper putting Sam to shame and several bullets into several of his comrade’s skulls.
The candidate, an innocent man who had done nothing other than fight for a better future for his people, was on the receiving end of a pinpoint bullet, which obliterated the top of his skull.
The failure of the mission had stayed with Sam. Marsden had told him it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have eyes everywhere.
But Sam felt uneasy.
That unease grew, as the ear piece sparked to life once again.
‘Sam, she’s here. Its go time, buddy.’
Sam took a deep breath, finished the last of his coffee, cursed his decision not to bring a gun and waited for their mission to begin.
Chapter Fifteen
The entire journey into London Liverpool Street had felt like a bad idea. With a reduced service running on Sundays, Singh’s journey into city had taken longer than usual. She’d hopped on a train at Barnet station, traversing the Northern Line to Kings Cross before hoping onto the first train through to Liverpool Street. The trains were heaving, a few Sunday afternoon football matches had drawn a worrying number of drunken louts to the city centre like moths to a pointless flame.
Singh had never understood the mass appeal of football, especially from her times as a police officer, managing the raucous crowds and seeing people fighting over the ridiculous notion of football rivalry.
Was it really worth violence?
Especially when she’d been pulled into a world of gunfire and pain. It had rocked her entire life, the past few months shaking her career and her moral compass like a baby’s rattle. For so long, she’d been steadfast in her commitment to the justice system. And while she still knew the difference between right and wrong, she was sure that Sam Pope operated in a small, grey shaded area that existed between.
Singh tapped her Oyster Card on the barrier and was granted passage into the Liverpool Street Station. She weaved her way through the large swathes of tourists and hopped up the steps onto the main concourse. With trepidation, she made her way towards
