‘Well, technically it is tomorrow, so yeah, he has a COBRA meeting in a few hours.’
‘You can pull up his journey plans, right?’ Sam turned towards the door, and Etheridge connected the dots.
‘Jesus, Sam. You’re going after Wallace?’
‘You’re damn right I am.’ Sam stopped, looking back, his face as serious as Etheridge had ever seen. ‘You’re right, Paul, this has gone too far. The only thing that Wallace will trade for Singh’s life is his own. I take Wallace, he frees Singh and the rest I’ll figure out as we go.’
‘What about you?’ Etheridge asked as Sam slid his arms into his jacket.
‘This is my fight, Paul. Let me fight it.’
‘This is crazy,’ Etheridge said with a sigh, looking back at the grid of screens that adorned his wall. With access to all the databases he could imagine and the ability to traverse them undetected. With an almost limitless bank account, he had the resources to do anything. Be anything. With a smile, he turned back to Sam. ‘I’m in.’
Sam extended his arm and Etheridge clapped his hand around it, cementing their agreement.
‘First things first, I need to know which of my safe houses the police hit while I was away,’ Sam commanded. ‘I’m going to need some fire power.’
Etheridge was already back at his computer, looking over the details.
‘You’re not wrong. Apparently, the itinerary says that Wallace drives in the middle of a three-car motorcade, with two Blackridge operatives riding with him, and three in each of the others. Jesus, he’s got his own private army.’
‘He’s going to need it,’ Sam promised, heading towards the door.
They only had a few hours, but it was their final hope. Without Wallace, there was no saving Singh. They would put two bullets in her the second they had the stick and they would never find the body. If they didn’t kill Sam too, maybe they’d put her blood on his hands, but either way, there was no other outcome.
Without Wallace, they had lost.
Sam stomped down the stairs towards the front door, his phone buzzing.
Etheridge had already located a lock-up that the police had yet to discover, and Sam was hopeful it would still be untouched. He needed all the weaponry he could lay his hands on. But that wasn’t all.
He knew he had to make a phone call; one he didn’t want to make but couldn’t think of any other solution.
Etheridge needed to stay in the house. Sam needed him on point, watching the roads and ensuring a clear oversight of the mission at hand.
The phone call was one he was dreading, but as he pulled open the front door to the house, Etheridge appeared at the top the stairs, his face fraught with fear.
‘This is suicide, Sam.’
‘It’s our only shot.’ Sam turned back to face his friend. ‘I have to save her, Paul. This is my fight. I have to end it.’
Etheridge nodded, a begrudging understanding.
‘Say you do get her back, then what? What are you going to do then?’
Sam turned on his heel and marched out of the house, leaving Etheridge with a very clear answer.
‘What I do best.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was hard to measure success before the event.
Wallace had had a few hours’ sleep after his successful phone call to Sam, the terms laid out plainly for his adversary. While he had no doubt that Sam and Etheridge would be looking for some kind of way out, he knew he had them where he wanted them.
He had Singh, her life now tied to whether Sam Pope would do the right thing.
Wallace knew him well enough. He had recruited him when he was just a boy, an innocent young man who watched his father pass away, a life spent in the military. He was easy pickings but instead of just being another grunt under his command, Sam had developed into one of the deadliest soldiers the UK had ever seen.
But beyond all that, Sam had never lost the sense of morality, something Wallace had willingly sacrificed years ago. In a way, he envied Sam’s commitment to good, but for now, he would prey on it.
Sam wouldn’t let Singh die.
He wasn’t capable of making the hard sacrifices. It was what Sam never understood, and while the reports of Project Hailstorm may have made for horrifying reading, there was more to it than that. Yes, Wallace’s wallet had grown fatter and the power he wielded made him near on unreachable, but the world was a safer place.
Terrorists, sponsored by the government, were less likely to be a threat.
In Wallace’s mind, it made sense. The government looked the other way, allowing the General to police the world, ensuring the country was safe and the breadcrumb trail ended a long way from their door.
But Sam was a threat.
Not just to Wallace’s safety and reputation, but to the government. To the international security of the country.
They would want him dealt with.
As the Range Rover turned the corner and began its smooth passage across Tower Bridge, Wallace felt a sense of pride as he looked out of the sleepy city of London. Beyond the odd fitness fanatic, there was nobody on the streets at five in the morning. The roads were clear too, the first buses of the day yet to depart from their various garages and Wallace was enjoying the calming journey.
The sex with Ashton had been enjoyable, the following sleep uninterrupted. Now, in the middle of a three-car motorcade heading to the remote location for the COBRA meeting, Wallace could afford himself a smile.
The coffee in the flask mug was still hot, and he sipped it gently, the piping caffeine stinging the back of his throat as he swallowed. The sun, slowly beginning to peak through the buildings like a child playing peek-a-boo, bounced off the murky waters of the Thames, the reflection basking the river in a stunning glow.
The city truly was beautiful, Wallace thought. Strip back the cars and the hordes of people. Pull it back to its
