‘I guess I don’t need to tell you I expect your resignation on my desk by the morning?’
Ashton turned on her heel, her face screwed in anger.
‘You are making a mistake, sir,’ she pleaded.
‘Not anymore.’
Commissioner Stout shook his head with disappointment, then turned back to the busy crime scene, hurling out directions to bring it to a close. Over his shoulder, Ashton watched as paramedics brought out Mac’s dead body, shielded from the public with a white sheet. Slowly, the nurses, doctors, and police officers worked in unison to return the patients to the hospital and Stout stood, casting his eye over proceedings.
Soon, everything would return to normal.
But for Ashton, things would never be the same again.
* * *
Marie brought two cups of tea into Stout’s office and laid them on the desk. Singh thanked her kindly then glanced at the time.
The woman worked round the clock.
Stout’s office was surprisingly low key. The furniture was of the finest quality, with the large, oak desk the centrepiece of the room. But beyond a few bookcases and a plethora of framed certifications that lined the walls, there wasn’t too much else of note. The floor to ceiling glass windows offered a spectacular view of the city, lit up like a painting. The beauty of the city always caught Singh by surprise, and she stared out over the Thames at the bright lights beyond.
‘That’s better,’ Sam said with satisfaction, sipping the warm tea and then reclining back in the chair. Singh smiled, knowing Sam was holding on to as many comforts as he could. It was unlikely he would end up buried underground in a maximum-security prison, but they both knew his freedom had a time limit.
Whatever Stout wanted to speak to them about would be the final conversation Sam had as a free man.
The on-site doctor had tended to Sam’s wounds and rebandaged the others, surprised by the competency of Etheridge’s stitching, which drew a chuckle from Sam. Singh had watched as they looked over his beaten body and she was reminded once again of what he’d been through.
What he’d put himself through.
It was another stark reminder that their time together would never last.
The door flew open and Stout strode in, removing his sodden raincoat and sliding a hand through his thinning hair.
‘Apologies for keeping you waiting.’
‘No worries, sir,’ Singh said, receiving a warm smile from the commissioner. He turned his attention to Sam.
‘How are you holding up?’
‘I’ve had worse nights.’
Stout chuckled. There was a clear respect between the two men, despite their opposing ideals.
‘Well, I and the city of London can’t thank you enough. What you did took extreme courage and I can only offer my condolences at the loss of your friend.’
Sam nodded meekly; the thought of Mac’s death still too fresh to expand on. The door behind them closed and Singh swivelled. A well-built, middle-aged man stepped in, dressed in a resplendent suit. His dark hair, tinged with grey flecks, was combed neatly to the side and his strong jaw was clean shaven.
Whoever he was, he screamed money, and he walked confidently to the commissioner and shook his hand.
‘Director Blake.’ Stout introduced him to the room. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘My pleasure.’ Blake’s words were clear and concise. Singh immediately ascertained that confidence wasn’t a hard attribute for him to find.
‘Sir, what’s going on?’ Singh asked, shuffling in her seat. Sam watched on with interest. Blake clasped his hands together and walked to the front of the desk, casually leaning against it.
‘Detective Inspector, have you ever heard of Directive One?’
Singh looked towards Stout in confusion and then shook her head. Blake smiled warmly and continued.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. We operate in pockets that the government do not want a presence, ensuring we stay out of the public and professional eye.’
‘You’re a spook?’ Sam chimed in, drawing a wry smile.
‘That’s a pretty crude word, but you’re not far off.’ Blake spoke confidently. ‘We operate as a small yet essential operation to ensure matters of national and international security do not escalate. There are a lot of situations that do not reach the public surface and we are the ones who make sure of it.’
Again, Singh looked to her commissioner.
‘Sir?’
‘Just listen, Singh,’ Stout said, sat back in his chair with his fingers clasped together. Blake continued.
‘In light of today’s events, and the events of the last six months, we would like to extend the invitation to you both to join Directive One. Lord knows we could use people like you.’
‘People like us?’ Sam asked wearily.
‘Those who put the right thing above all else. We abide by the law, but we are given a certain leeway shall we say? Your fight against crime, Sam, is something we’ve followed since you outed Inspector Howell. Singh, ever since you worked diligently to help take down Wallace, you’ve been on our radar.’
‘Are you offering me a job, sir?’ Singh asked excitedly.
‘Haven’t you wanted to do more, Singh? There is only so much you can do with all the red tape in the force.’ Blake smiled. ‘Commissioner Stout is in agreement with me.’
Singh looked to the commissioner who nodded.
‘You’re tailor-made for it, Singh.’ Stout confirmed. ‘You’d be a hell of a loss for us, though.’
Blake turned back to them both and shrugged.
‘What do you say?’
‘I’m in.’ Singh’s response was immediate.
‘Hard pass.’
All eyes fell on Sam, who casually sipped his tea. Singh looked confused, Stout shocked. Judging by the look on Blake’s face, he wasn’t used to being turned down.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Let me guess. This will require us giving up all forms of identity, residence, the works. Then we would be assigned undercover missions, where the only directive is to ensure it’s completed. How am I doing?’
‘That’s correct,’ Blake said, patting down his immaculate blazer in frustration. ‘Directive One operates off the radar so to speak.’
‘No offence, but I’ve already been part of a shady elite government group and
