Ducking the line of sight of the other gun man, Sam dropped down, dragging the man headfirst onto the broken window, slicing open his throat and feeling the warm flow of blood stream down his arm as the man gasped for life.
He was dead within seconds.
Sam pressed himself against the car, waiting for the final gunman to reveal his location. As he listened for the footsteps on the cracked glass that littered the now devastated road, he could hear the sirens wailing in the background.
The cavalry was on their way and Sam needed to move.
Fast.
Just as Sam zeroed in on the footsteps, the door to Wallace’s car flung open and another agent stepped out, gun aimed squarely at Sam, who had miscounted. The man, clearly concussed from the collision, fired wildly in Sam’s direction, the bullets rattling against the car and Sam spun to the side, released the rifle which clattered to the concrete and drew his Beretta.
The handgun was light, smooth, and slipped seamlessly into his deadly grip.
He squeezed the trigger once, blowing a hole through the man’s forehead and sending him sprawling back into the door of the car.
Before Sam could admire his shot, an arm swung over his head and around his throat, the muscles tightening as he was dragged backwards from his stance. The final gunman had snuck up on him and was now trying to lock in the headlock, cutting off Sam’s air supply and bringing an end to his mission.
As Sam fought for breath and consciousness, he ignored the blurred vision and focused on what he was fighting for.
Singh.
If he faded, she would be killed.
Wallace would hand Sam to the police and while they locked him away in the deepest hole they could find, Singh would never be found.
She would be just another problem that Wallace would have erased from existence.
With one final push, Sam managed to propel himself backwards, taking both himself and his attacker to the floor. As they crashed to the shard covered concrete, the impact drove the air from the attacker who groaned as he released his hold. Sam used the momentum to roll backwards over the attacker and pushed himself back to his feet.
Stood over the man, Sam stamped down as hard as he could, his boot crushing the windpipe of the man. His neck snapped like a biscuit, and Sam could tell by the vacant stare in the man’s eyes that he was dead.
They were all dead.
Sam reached down and reclaimed his handgun and then slowly walked towards Wallace’s car, massaging his throat. The backdoor of the car finally opened and Wallace, his skin slashed from the shattered glass and his nose bleeding from the crash, stepped out, his hands held high. He looked around, admiring the carnage.
The vehicles were destroyed.
His team lay among the wreckage, all dead.
Blood painted the street, the shattered glass letting it shimmer.
The only thing louder than the ringing in his ears from the collision was the gravity of the situation. After dismissing the battle as being over, Wallace was now looking down the barrel of a gun. One attached to one of the most efficient killers he’d ever met.
The control he’d craved and assumed he had recovered was slipping away once more.
Staring with a vacant look, he surveyed the scene, blown away by the ruthless and pre-meditated attack on his entire team. Good men had just died in the line of duty, paid to protect Wallace. But there was no protecting him from what was coming. The stakes were too high, and the balance of power was about to shift once more.
Before him, walking with a severe sense of purpose, was Sam Pope and Wallace offered his surrender meekly.
‘Sam, let’s talk about this.’
‘Fuck you,’ Sam said as he took a step closer, before drilling the handle of his gun as hard as he could into Wallace’s temple. The burly man slumped back against the car, his lights out, and Sam stuffed the handgun into the back of his jeans and then reached out, steadying the heavy man before he hit the deck.
The sirens wailed, they were only a few streets away now and Sam heard the roaring engine approach.
He’d hated making the call, but he needed the help. He needed to be able to disappear into the sea of flashing blue lights and sirens. He needed to hide in plain sight and as the lone police car sped towards them, he locked his hands under Wallace’s arms and dragged him to the centre of the road.
The police car skidded to a halt, and DI Pearce leapt from the driver’s seat, ran around the car, and flung the door open.
Sam dropped Wallace across the backseat, slammed the door shut, and then jumped into the passenger seat.
The engine had already roared to life and Pearce fired up the siren as they sped away down Tower Bridge, leaving the smoking, bullet-ridden vehicles, and the bodies of Wallace’s team behind them.
With the mayhem of the attack shaking the city, Pearce and Sam melted into the panic, and made their escape.
They had Wallace.
Sam, knowing the fight was far from over, felt like he was now holding one of the cards.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The assault of Tower Bridge was big news.
The story dominated every news station, each one trying to outdo the other with their dramatisation of the events. To be fair, they didn’t need to try too hard, as the story itself was spectacular.
A high-ranking government official, on his way to an undisclosed location saw his entire motorcade wiped out in a wave of bullets, before being kidnapped.
Kidnapped reportedly, by Sam Pope.
As the news outlets brought on an endless train of experts, all offering a deep analysis of Sam’s state of mind or leading discussions
