Slowly, the burning light became a blur, and after a few moments, little snippets of clarity began to form. It seemed like she was still in Helal’s apartment, the furniture all pressed against the wall, apart from the leather armchair which had been pulled back into the centre of the room.
Sat in it, his meaty arms hanging over the side, a cigarette poking from one hand, was the man who had confronted them at the station. Without his jacket on, he looked like a wrestler, his body so top heavy she wondered how he was able to move. His thick, barrel-like chest filled the entire width of the chair and he drew the cigarette to his heavily bearded face, his bicep almost ripping his T-shirt at the seams.
His eyes, dark and piercing, did not leave her and she followed the smoke as it danced towards the ceiling.
To the dead body of Helal.
Singh screamed at the sight of her associate, his shoulders hunched, his eyes open. His skin had started to drain, a horrible grey tinge beginning to filter through him. As she screamed, the attacker lunged forward from the chair, wrapping his meaty hand around her throat, catching her voice and trapping it.
‘You make more noise, I will cut out tongue.’ His words were laced with intent. ‘Understand?’
Singh nodded and he shoved her away, before taking his seat once again. The concept of time had abandoned Singh, her bout of unconsciousness leaving her in a perpetual state of the unknown. All she knew was that she was in a lot of danger and the chances of her surviving were fading. Before she could contemplate her next move, the buzzing of a mobile phone echoed in the room and the man stood and marched towards the noise. Lifting the phone to his ear, he turned back to stare at Singh.
‘Wallace.’ Even he seemed like he hated the man.
‘Wrong answer,’ Sam replied.
‘Sam,’ Farukh said, a hint of menace in his voice. ‘I did not expect to hear from you.’
‘Yeah, well it’s been a bit of a busy morning.’
‘You have stick?’ Farukh demanded, not even questioning Sam’s voice at the end of Wallace’s phone.
‘I have Wallace.’
‘But do you have stick?’ Farukh repeated, his self-preservation overriding any loyalty to the man.
‘I do,’ Sam confirmed. ‘Here’s the deal. I want proof of life, you hear me. Put Amara on the phone.’
The man sighed with frustration and held the phone up in the air in Amara’s direction.
‘Say something. He wants to know I not kill you.’
‘Sam…!’ Amara yelled, but Farukh pulled the phone back.
‘The woman is alive. I not hurt her much. But if you do not give me stick, I will kill her and write your name on wall with her blood.’
‘Her life for Wallace. My life for the stick,’ Sam said calmly. ‘You get what you want, we get to walk away from it. For good.’
‘I cannot promise you that,’ Farukh responded coldly.
‘Well that’s the deal. You have till this evening to make your mind up. If I don’t see you by ten o’clock this evening, Wallace dies, and your precious files make it onto every news station in the world,’ Sam threatened. ‘Tell Singh we are at the High Rise.’
‘I do not know what that means.’
‘I know. But she does. So, you better keep her alive.’
The phone cut off and Farukh chuckled. He had heard that Sam Pope was a dangerous man, but he’d not had him pegged as a stupid one. Farukh was a reasonable man, but he was not to be provoked.
Sam was playing a very dangerous game and Farukh lit another cigarette, deciding whether he wanted to join in.
‘Pissing him off isn’t a wise move.’
Wallace had watched intently as Sam had made the call. Clearly, Sam had hoped that rail roading the original plan would have caught Farukh off guard, but Wallace knew it would have little impact. Despite his position of power, Wallace knew his life meant little to Farukh.
The man was only interested in self-preservation.
As Sam pressed his hand to his busted lip, it was clear he was nervous.
It was a colour not often seen on Sam, and Wallace saw the chance to dig his nails in.
‘Also, bringing Singh here? That’s not a smart move.’
‘Shut up,’ Sam said quietly.
‘I mean, give her a fighting chance at least, but to put her willingly in harm’s way.’
‘If she is here with me, then she is a damn sight safer than out there with him. Now, I suggest you shut your mouth before I break your goddam jaw.’
Sam’s threat carried enough weight to quieten the large General who grimaced at his treatment. He was a man who commanded such dogged respect, such fear when he entered a room that people would leave. But here he was, on his arse in a dilapidated old knocking shop, being treated like shit by a man who didn’t fear him.
The entire mission had fallen to pieces.
Part of him blamed Trevor Sims, the incompetent American who ran the Blackridge task force briefed with the mission to bring Marsden in alive. A series of failures ended up costing both Marsden and Sims their lives, one of which, Wallace regretted. He had known Carl Marsden for over thirty years and had nothing but a deep respect for the man who bloomed so many credible soldiers.
Sam Pope became the UK’s deadliest weapon under Marsden’s tutelage, and till his dying day, Marsden was fiercely protective of him.
It didn’t surprise him that Marsden sought to expose the truth when he finally stumbled upon the files. Like Sam, Marsden was steadfast in his distinction between right and wrong and was clearly willing to die for what he believed was right.
There was no doubt in Wallace’s mind that Sam would follow suit, but Singh’s life was different.
This was between them.
She was an unfortunate pawn being used in a violent game of chess, and Sam would do anything to keep her alive.
Wallace was aware of Sam’s trauma, the
