The country he’d sworn to protect and did so with ruthless efficiency.
It was a stark reminder of what Wallace would have to do. He would give assurances to those in power, then arrange the meet.
Singh for the files. Once they’d been destroyed, Singh would be disposed of and Sam would be arrested. Hell, he would even let Ashton have the credit. It would be the making of her and while Wallace had little interest in another sexual encounter with the woman, she was just another pawn he was moving into place.
Wallace would be in the clear.
Sam would be dealt with.
Singh would be gone.
No more headaches. No more problems.
A large grin spread across his freshly shaved face, as he thought about returning to his home, to the normalities he was accustomed to and the success he would taste.
He always won.
As the Range Rover passed through the tunnel of the stunning towers that leant themselves to the bridge’s name, shadows bathed the vehicle. The mighty suspension bridge was locked in place, allowing an easy passage across the Thames and Wallace peered out at the magnificent tower ahead. He could understand the appeal to the tourists, the floods of people who flock to the iconic landmark on a daily basis were usually spellbound by its beauty. He didn’t blame them and as the car passed through the other tower and back out into the sunshine, Wallace felt a renewed sense of British pride.
Through the windscreen, he could see the car ahead. He noticed the small, round object bounce in front of the car. It took a second for him to realise it was a grenade, but before he could say anything, the entire bridge shook. The grenade exploded, decimating the front of the motorcade in a fiery ball of scrap metal and flailing limbs.
The blast sent a shockwave back, shattering the windows of the two cars in pursuit and slashing the skin of the passengers. Wallace’s driver slammed on the brakes, pulled on the wheel with all his might in an attempt to avoid the fiery remains of the front car.
The car behind slammed into theirs and the entire motorcade came to a violent halt.
Sam had watched from the side of the tower as the cars had pulled onto the bridge. He hadn’t slept all night, his venture out to his safehouse in Greenwich had taken up most of the evening, but he was happy to find his storage bin uninterrupted. Ever since he’d gone missing after taking down the Kovalenko empire, his flat and a number of his safe houses discovered. After Theo’s death, Sam had dug up what they’d called his ‘rainy day fund’, a bag of high-powered weapons that was buried in Theo’s garden. After Theo’s funeral, Sam had committed himself to a life of fighting crime and one of the plus sides of taking on organised crime is they were armed.
Throughout a number of his raids, Sam had amassed a fine collection of rifles and handguns, enough to ensure he had a number of weapon stores dotted around the city. The one in Greenwich was one of the smaller ones, but still, three grenades, a Beretta 92 pistol, and an SA80 Assault Rifle.
A small arsenal.
But in Sam’s arms, it was enough to bring down an empire.
There was no point returning to Etheridge’s, so Sam made his way to a twenty-four-hour coffee shop at a petrol garage and got himself a couple of coffees and a sandwich. It didn’t taste particularly great, but it was enough to keep him going.
Etheridge called him, gave him the details of where he needed to be and when.
Tower Bridge.
Five past five.
That gave him just over an hour.
It wasn’t much to prepare, but there was no other choice. Wallace held all the cards and even if they followed his instructions, Sam knew that Singh wouldn’t survive.
The only way to keep her alive was to raise the stakes.
To go all in.
They needed Wallace, and as Sam rolled the grenade onto the road an hour later, he was damn sure going to get him.
As soon as he rolled the explosive onto the street, Sam dove back and ducked behind the base of the tower, his fingers pressed to his ears. The ground shook as the car exploded, the roar echoing through the tower and undoubtedly waking the city.
A panic would spread, and the entire capital would be flooded with wailing sirens, flashing blue lights, and every policeman.
Sam didn’t have long.
With the SA80 rifle locked to his shoulder, he stepped out from behind the tower, just in time to witness the third 4x4 of the motorcade slam into Wallace’s car. The collision spun the car out of line and both of them came to an abrupt stop.
The driver’s door of Wallace’s car burst open, a Blackridge officer, decked in a black polo shirt and jacket stumbled out, blood streaming from the gashes on his face.
A handgun flailed in his hand.
Sam squeezed the trigger, the rifle sending a three-shot burst through the man, all three bullets puncturing his chest and sending him spinning to the ground, a burst of red mist dropping with him.
From the third car, both back doors flew open and Sam saw the handgun just before the agent pulled the trigger.
Sam spun on his heel, dropping to his knee in one fluid movement, and raised his rifle.
He squeezed the trigger.
The three bullets shattered the glass of the car door, embedding themselves in the woman’s skull and sending her sprawling to the concrete, a trail of her blood and brains following. From the other side of the car, a man spun out, handgun raised but Sam rolled to the side, out of the man’s sight, just in time for the driver of the third car to push open his door.
Sam rolled through, swiftly back onto his feet and he lunged forward with a brutal kick, slamming the open door back into
