Sam shifted uncomfortably on his seat, staring at his drink. Chapman continued.
‘I’m sorry that happened to your boy. When I was younger, my brother, Mike, was killed by a local drug dealer. Being a scummy family from an East End estate, the police did nothing. Chalked it off as just the rats eating each other. There was no justice for Mike, so I made damn sure the fucker responsible got what was coming to him. The rest, as they say, is history.’
Before Sam could respond, Chapman quickly glanced at his phone, dropped it on the desk, and stood.
‘Need to take a piss.’
He patted Sam on the shoulder as he hobbled through the door to his own, private cell and as Sam heard the crashing of urine in the water, he reached across, snatching the phone before the screen locked. Quickly, he flicked to the call history, found the last call and memorised the number instantly. Carefully, he locked the phone, placed it back on the desk and sat back, sipping his drink as Chapman returned.
‘That’s better.’ He dropped back into his chair and lifted his mug. ‘To our partnership.’
Sam joined in, raised his own and then polished off the last of his whisky. He placed the mug onto Chapman’s desk and stood, smiling.
‘Thanks, boss.’ Sam shuddered at the term. ‘I appreciate the drink.’
‘Plenty more where that came from.’
As Sam made for the door, he stopped at the threshold, and turned back to an interested Chapman.
‘One more thing. I noticed Glen had a phone. I was wondering if…’
‘Top drawer.’ A slightly light-headed Chapman pointed sloppily at the cupboard. ‘They only have ten or so calls in them but help yourself. Although, not sure Domino’s delivers at this time.’
Sam genuinely chuckled and opened the cupboard, rooting through a few iPods, porn mags, and other contraband until he pulled out a crummy looking phone. It was an unknown make, but Sam wasn’t looking for quality.
He just needed to make a call.
Sam held the box up, Chapman nodded, and Sam thanked him and headed back to his cell. As soon as he did, he slid the phone from the box, booted it up and waited.
One bar of signal.
It was enough.
Sam dialled a number and held the phone to his ear; the call was answered on the third dial.
‘Hello?’
Sam had never been more grateful to hear Etheridge’s voice.
‘Paul. It’s me.’ Sam spoke quietly. ‘I got it. Do you have a pen ready?’
Chapter Eighteen
TWO YEARS AGO…
Mac had never felt so valued.
After being rescued by Wallace two years prior, the General made it his personal mission to nurse Mac back to health. Having spent seven years in captivity, he was dangerously malnourished and although the burns and scars that tattooed his body would never disappear, Wallace went out of his way to nurse the mental trauma he’d experienced.
Insisting Mac stay in a government treatment facility, where he was tended to by the very best doctors and nurses, he soon found himself gaining weight, recovering some of his composure, and soon enough, was able to begin weight training. After a year of physical and psychological rebuilding, Mac felt like a new man.
A man with an extreme amount of hate bubbling inside.
With his focus on revenge, Mac wanted to know where he could find Sam so he could make him pay for his treachery.
But Wallace had different plans.
Through a series of deep discussions, Wallace had told Mac he had so much more to offer the world besides being angry at it. While what he’d experienced had been monstrous, the world was full of people willing to do the same thing to millions more. Blackridge, Wallace’s covert anti-terrorism unit, were spread across the globe, fighting the good fight to keep the world safe.
Mac had already proven he was a skilled marksman and despite his fractured mindset, could be a valuable asset.
All Mac had thought about during the beatings and the years spent in his cage was getting his hands on Sam.
Wallace was offering him so much more.
The General told Mac that killing Sam wouldn’t change what happened. That when he finally did, he would discover how hollow he was now he didn’t have that fury to hold on to. But, once Mac had served his country, like the true soldier he was, Wallace promised he would put Mac and Sam in the same room together and let Mac have his vengeance.
Sceptical of once again becoming a soldier, Mac deliberated for a few weeks. It was only when Wallace drove him to a secure location just outside of Solihull that Mac changed his mind.
As the car approached the large, derelict concrete structure, Mac turned to Wallace in the driver’s seat. His heart fluttered with panic as memories of being confined in a Taliban base rushed back to him.
‘What is this?’
‘Relax, Mac,’ Wallace said calmly as he pulled the car to a stop outside the door. ‘I have something for you.’
Despite his reservations, Mac trusted the General implicitly and exited the car. Wallace marched to the front door where he was immediately greeted by a tough looking woman, who stood to attention. Decked out in the same black polo shirt and trousers as Mac, it was clear this was a Blackridge facility. That information calmed Mac slightly, but as they meandered through a few rooms and descended a staircase, he could feel his nerves rising to the surface.
‘Sir?’ Mac’s words were fraught with fear. Wallace stopped on the second step, turned, and fixed the young soldier with a warm smile. Slowly, he extended his hand.
‘Trust me, Mac. I won’t leave you behind.’
Mac took a long intake of air and then took the General’s hand, following him down the steps until they came across a large, metal door. Outside was another Blackridge operative, a large black man with a bandage wrapped around his knuckles. He too, stood to
