Sam’s mind was elsewhere.
Surprisingly, Singh felt no jealousy for Sam’s worry for his ex-wife. Knowing the trauma they’d both experienced, and the happiness they’d shared before, Singh admired Sam’s immediate response to her peril.
Her only fear was that there was no way Sam would walk away from what they were heading into. Whoever the terrorist was who’d demanded his presence was unlikely to want a friendly handshake.
But if Sam did what he did best, then he would be walking straight back to a cell.
If he didn’t, he would be coming out in a body bag.
This time there was no plan.
There was no back-up.
Singh drove silently, wondering how on earth Sam would survive this.
She turned off the M3 and joined the M25, speeding around the concrete loop that surrounded the city and caused a relentless stream of traffic jams during rush hour. The road was clear and as Singh approached junction sixteen, she turned off, joining the A40 at Uxbridge and hammered her foot down. Soon, they were racing through Wembley, with the magnificent arch of the football stadium bathed in a bright, blue light. Singh had always found the building striking but had never attended a football match in her life. The tribalism she’d witnessed based on supposed loyalty had put her off the sport, but the stadium always filled her with a strange sense of national pride.
Sam still hadn’t said a word.
Singh had flashed him the odd, caring glance, but he stared silently ahead, his fists clenched. Sam had made numerous enemies on his rampage against the underworld, but this was something deeper.
This was a premeditated personal attack.
Judging by the fury in his eyes, Singh could tell he’d taken it as such.
Singh passed Baker Street station and the police cordon was so vast, she could see the bright blue lights already. By the time she got to Great Portland Street station, she was stopped by two police officers, who demanded identification. She flashed her badge, which was enough to get them nearer to the hospital.
The next time they might not be so lucky.
With the colossal hospital ahead, surrounded by an army of police cars, interested press and terrified spectators, Singh brought the car to a stop on the side of the road. With no traffic due to the police barricades, she had no fears of stopping on what was usually a gridlocked street.
The engine died and the only sound, besides the hustle of the standoff ahead, was the light patter of rain on the windscreen. Sam reached for his belt, but Singh shot her hand down and clasped his. Sam looked at her, saw the tear forming in her eye, and reached up to wipe it away.
‘I have to go.’ His words were calm, bristling with anger. ‘You know I do.’
‘I know,’ Singh said, patting his hand. ‘But just know that I could have.’
Sam drew his lips together in a warm smile, nodding his agreement. They could have been something.
Something worth fighting for.
But Sam’s fight was elsewhere. They both knew that and as soon as they stepped out of the car, there would be no going back. Just another regret to add to a life full of them.
Singh leant over, kissed Sam gently on the lips and then recomposed.
‘Right, let’s do this,’ she said, pushing open the car door. Sam soon followed, the rain crashing against his face as he locked eyes on the building that was holding his ex-wife, and then willingly walked towards the flashing blue lights that had hunted him for months.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After the initial shock of Mac’s arrival had subsided, a subdued boredom had kicked in. Enraged that his demand hadn’t been met straight away, Mac had yelled at a young teenage girl to stop crying, only adding to her fear. The following ten minutes were played out in deathly silence, until a senior nurse, a Jamaican woman with a kind smile, approached Mac, showing a steely bravery when threatened with a gun.
She’d pleaded with Mac to let them go, but if he couldn’t, then she asked that the nurses and doctors be allowed to at least treat their patients.
Remembering the horrendous conditions of his own capture, Mac agreed, but warned every one of the consequences if they stepped out of line.
‘This here…’ he began, lifting his right hand. ‘Is called a dead man’s switch. It has been activated, meaning that the bomb strapped to this lady is live. Should I remove my thumb from this button, then this entire hospital will be blown to the ground. Now, I’m more than willing to die tonight. Is anyone else?’
Nothing but a terrified silence greeted his statement.
‘Good. Let’s all be sensible, and we may just see tomorrow.’
The staff continued as if nothing was happening and Mac admired their ability to work under such pressure. It was a part of their everyday lives but being ready to act to save a life carried with it as much anguish as being ready to take one. For Mac, it was easy. The part of him that held any empathy for others died in the same room as the man responsible for his captivity.
The rest of him would die alongside the man who had left him there in the first place.
As he slowly paced the corridor, Lucy sat by the door, looking longingly at the locked exit. Mac had made it clear to the receptionist that if she touched the button to activate it, he would put a bullet through the centre of her skull.
She wasn’t paid enough to challenge his threat and Lucy stared at the non-existent path to freedom. As Mac returned to her end of the corridor, she looked up at him with red eyes, her tear ducts dried out with fear. Below her chin, the row of C4 explosives sat, ready to blow them all to kingdom come.
‘Mac, you don’t need to do this.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Sam doesn’t
