Etheridge had watched her walk up the steps to the main concourse and took a deep breath.
There was no going back now.
While he fully believed that putting Singh in the firing line was the only way forward, his finger guiltily hung over the enter button of his keyboard.
Along with Pearce, Singh had saved his life when they found him unconscious in the very room he was sat.
Beaten, tortured, and losing an almost fatal amount of blood, she’d helped Pearce load him into the car before she made her getaway. Sam’s mission had smashed her world into pieces, and he watched with regret as she nervously surveyed the station.
It was Etheridge’s responsibility now.
He had to keep her alive.
He was the eyes.
He was the voice.
With a deep breath, he clicked the button, scrambling the CCTV monitors for everyone other than himself. He knew that Blackridge would have already clocked her, instructing their field agents to keep their distance and to shadow her every move. Etheridge had made light work of the Blackridge radio frequency, but the agents were clever.
They gave little away regarding their location.
The vague response of ‘in position’ was all that was said when Wallace barked impatiently for progress.
The moment they saw Sam, then they would engage.
Judging from what happened to Marsden, who Etheridge had privately mourned, they wouldn’t hesitate to use whatever means necessary.
Etheridge quickly pulled up his phone infiltration software and blocked all transmissions from Singh’s phone.
The line was secure and he dialled the number.
Singh answered on the first ring.
‘Sam, where the hell are you?’
‘Amara, it’s Paul Etheridge.’ He heard her responding but cut her off. ‘We don’t have loads of time. Wallace has a team in place at the station, with eyes locked on you.’
‘Oh shit,’ Singh exclaimed, trying to mask the worry in her voice.
‘I’ve scrambled the CCTV, but you need to follow my every word. Do you understand?’
‘Where the fuck is Sam?’ she demanded, her fist clenching the phone and threatening to crack its plastic casing.
‘Do you understand?!’ Etheridge repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, do you see the empty outlet on the far right-hand side of the station, next to the Coffee Cove?’ Etheridge had his hand ready on the side of headset, ready to switch feeds. Singh nodded. Etheridge sighed. ‘You have to speak up.’
‘Yes,’ Singh barked, irritated.
‘Head there, now.’
Singh obliged, keeping the phone pressed against her ear as she began to stride towards the abandoned shop. Etheridge scanned the CCTV and instantly caught a glimpse of a burly man in a black leather jacket, on the other side of the upper floor begin to move, his eyes locked on Singh.
‘Keep heading there. I’ll be back in one minute.’
Before she could fill his ears with expletives, Etheridge flicked the feed of his mic, transitioning back to Sam’s earpiece.
‘Sam, your level. Four o’clock.’
‘Already on it.’
Sam had clocked the Blackridge agent before Etheridge’s instruction and he walked briskly around the upper walkway, trying his best to not draw the attention of the agent on the other side. The man was well built, definitely an ex-soldier, and carried himself with clear intent.
This wouldn’t be easy.
Luckily for Sam, most of the foot traffic was below them, with the family on the upper level fortunately turning towards the escalator before Sam approached.
On the upper level, directly above the Coffee Cove, there was a small alcove, leading towards a staff only staircase. With the CCTV scrambled, Sam knew that unless one of the station security happened to be coming up that stairwell, he had a clear minute or two to make his move.
He rounded the final corner, a mere five metres or so from the agent who finally looked up.
Agent Will Cook was unprepared for the ambush, and Sam wrapped his forearm around the man’s neck and allowed his own momentum to send them hurling back into the alcove.
They were out of sight of the public.
Cook was a broad man, and as he propelled them backwards, he slammed Sam into the brick wall, driving the air from his lungs. Sam relinquished his hold and coughed, wheezing for air. The earpiece dropped from Sam’s ear, clattering to the ground with the cries of Etheridge going unheard. Cook, as deadly as Sam expected, spun on his heel, and launched forward, swinging a solid fist at Sam’s head.
He ducked.
The shattering of bone was sickening as Cook hit the solid brick behind.
Before he could yell in anguish, Sam shot a vicious uppercut into his jaw, shattering it instantly. Shell shocked, Cook swayed on the spot, lazily flinging his other hand at Sam.
With a swift step to the side, Sam hooked his own hand underneath and wrenched upwards. He clasped his hands together, locking Cooks in a brutal choke hold. Still reeling from the jaw shattering uppercut, Cook struggled tamely and Sam, still struggling for breath from the collision with the bricks, hauled him towards the staff only sign. With a sharp kick backwards, he shunted open the door to the stair well and pulled Cook through.
A hard right hand caught Sam in the kidney and he released Cook, who dropped to his knees. Another hard fist caught Sam in the chest, before a third splattered his bottom lip into a bloody mulch.
Sarah Masters leapt forward with a brutal knee strike, hoping to capitalise on her ambush. As she did, Sam managed to grab her leg and haul her off balance, slamming her hard into the metal railing that ran through the stairwell like a vein.
The landing area was a small square of concrete with a set of concrete stairs on either side of the metal. Masters had raced up to meet Sam, clearly having seen him accost her comrade moments before. As she gingerly got to her feet, she removed her black jacket, revealing muscular arms, slathered in tattoos.
She reached up for the knife attached to her bicep and whipped it from its
