While he sought safety and protection from his own government, the Maréchal de France, Pierre Ducard, had sanctioned his assassination with Wallace.
Sam had been given the job and as a convoy, transporting the prisoner through Strasbourg, turned through an enclosed road through the scenic countryside, Sam had sent a bullet through the windscreen, eliminating the driver and causing the Range Rover to spiral off the road, clipping a rock and flipping onto its side.
Henri had crawled from the wreckage, only to receive another pinpoint shot through the centre of his cranium, sending him crashing against the wreckage, his brains splattering the picturesque surroundings.
Sam had been congratulated at the time, another war monger eliminated before he could set off his reported plans to attack the centre of Paris.
What Sam had actually done was murder an innocent man who had turned over the wrong stone.
Etheridge waited patiently as Sam heaved into the toilet bowl, the vomit splattering the porcelain among anguished cries of fury.
The list of Wallace’s accomplices and partners was petrifying, although Sam had helped his ‘boss’ to eliminate a couple, those who had been deemed as threats to his position.
Abdullah Bin Akbar was nothing more than a man trying to keep his family safe, after discovering a joint venture between Blackridge and the Taliban which would see a number of car bombs detonated within the city of Kabul, giving Blackridge the authority to interject and eventually hand the keys to the kingdom to the oppressive terrorist regime.
Ahmad Farukh had been one of the Taliban’s top generals and a trusted enforcer for Wallace on that side of the world.
Abdullah Bin Akbar and his family’s bodies were never found, the stone structure where Sam had been left for dead was burnt to the ground, their bodies nothing but ash. It was only at the behest of two of the other soldiers within Project Hailstorm that Sam made it out alive, the American soldiers refusing to leave a man behind.
The story was concocted that Sam had been shot by Bin Akbar, who then turned the gun on his family and them himself.
The world wouldn’t look any further.
The man was painted as a terrorist by the man they trusted most, and Sam received a heroic send off from the army and the matter was closed.
People didn’t truly understand war until they lived in it, Etheridge knew that. It was a world he’d been unsuited for which is why his career in the Armed Forces had finished.
His skills were behind a desk, planted in front of a computer.
But Sam was a soldier.
The war was as much a part of him as breathing.
But as Sam flushed the toilet, washing away the bile and pain, he was symbolically washing away the past. The life he believed he’d lived, the honour for which he’d fought.
All of it gone.
Flushed down the drain by the sickening truth.
General Ervin Wallace’s Blackridge was the largest terrorist cell in the world and Sam had been one of his chief weapons. Project Hailstorm had stripped the world back, spread fear through them all and laid the foundations for which Wallace would build his throne.
‘You okay, Sam?’ Etheridge spoke softly. With a slight discomfort, he hauled himself up via the bannister and shuffled through the hallway to the bathroom door. Sam was sat opposite the toilet, his back against the wall and his head back. His face was wet with tears, his hair damp with sweat. Taking long, deep breaths, Sam’s eyes were closed and after a few minutes, he responded.
‘I’m a murderer.’ His words were racked with guilt.
‘No, Sam,’ Etheridge responded sternly. ‘You’re a soldier. One of the best. You were just following orders.’
Sam scoffed.
‘Orders? I killed people, Paul. Innocent people who were actually doing what I believed I was. They were trying to save the world and I sent them to their graves because of it.’ Sam slammed his fist down against the immaculate, marble tiles of Etheridge’s plush bathroom. ‘I should have done something.’
‘Like what? How could you have known? I’ve read the files, Sam; they covered their tracks. Hell, they did a better job than even I could do. You are not a murderer, mate. You were just a guy who had the rug pulled like everyone else.’
Sam opened his eyes and turned to Etheridge. The broken stare caused Etheridge to shake, the pain in his friend’s eyes was heartbreaking.
‘My son died thinking that his dad was a hero,’ Sam began, the words choking in his throat. ‘He would draw pictures of me fighting bad guys and tell Lucy that I was saving the world.’
‘You were his hero.’
‘But I wasn’t, was I?’ Sam wiped his tears. ‘I was murdering people. I was letting men like Wallace cover the world in fear and my son celebrated it. Lucy proudly displayed my medals in the home. They both thought so highly of what I did. But it was all a fucking lie.’
Etheridge ambled into the bathroom and theatrically lowered himself down, drawing a small smile from Sam.
‘It wasn’t a lie, Sam. Everything you have ever done, you did for the right reason. Everything you are doing, this fight you’re raging, you need to see it through to the end. Marsden died for this information to get this far. Many others have died too, trying their best to show the world what the fuck is going on. So, you need to forgive the sins of your past, because they were never yours to make. You need to stand up, you need to fight, and you need to be the hero that your boy knew you were.’
Sam raised his eyebrows slightly, impressed with the pep talk. Etheridge pulled himself to a standing position via the towel rail and then extended a hand to Sam. There were no quips or jokes, the man’s face was as serious as Sam had ever seen.
‘Now are you going to fight or what?’
Sam took a few more breaths and looked up at his friend. Thinking about
