Man of my word, p.1
Man Of My Word, page 1
part #6 of Sam Pope Series
Man of my Word
A Sam pope novel
Robert Enright
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
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Copyright © Robert Enright, 2021
In loving memory of Ellie Ceri Chandler,
Chapter One
As the brick-like fist collided with Sam’s jaw, his head snapped to the left, rocking him against the tight binds of the wire. The chair wobbled, his limp weight threatening to topple him to the dirty concrete below. It was the third right hook Edinson had delivered, each one landing with the impact of a sledgehammer.
The man knew how to punch. That much Sam could still remember, despite the rattling of his brain.
Slouched over to the left, Sam drew the saliva back in his throat, before gobbing a mouthful of blood which splattered across the stone. Judging by the faded stains that peppered the floor, he wasn’t the first person to be strapped to the chair.
Delicately, Sam moved his jaw from side to side, marvelling that it hadn’t been broken yet. With a slight discomfort, he used his core strength to straighten himself in the chair, squinting at the uncovered bulb that shone down from the low ceiling. The barrage of punches had reopened the cut above his right eye, making a mockery of the fresh stitches. The wire binding his hands together pressed tightly against the cast of his fractured wrist.
Edinson circled him like a shark. His muscular, tattoo covered forearms were exposed, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbow. He stood over six foot three, and the sleeves were bulging under the bulk of his upper body. Sam knew the difference between a gym body and one built behind bars. Edinson had the same physique as numerous criminals he’d encountered in The Grid, the maximum-security prison he’d escaped from over a little over two weeks ago.
It seemed like a lifetime.
‘Again. Who are you?’
The question didn’t emanate from Edinson. In fact, Sam was sure he’d never heard the monstrous man speak. Sat on the other side of the room, wearing an expensive, beige three-piece suit, was Jose Vasquez. As one of the most powerful drug lords in the state of South Carolina, Vasquez was as rich as he was dangerous. With a reputation for eliminating his competition with brute force, Vasquez had sat opposite many a man, watching with silent pleasure as they were taken apart by his monstrous henchman. Despite his penchant for fancy clothes and exquisite etiquette, Vasquez had pulled himself up from the slums of Mexico City. Although he’d greased the palms of many officers to enable his expansion into America with manicured hands, Sam was sure there was plenty of blood on them.
In front of Vasquez was a metal table, littered with tools no doubt intended for Sam’s torture. Beyond that, shadows engulfed the room, and Sam was certain it had taken Edinson thirteen strides to haul him from the door to the dimly lit chair he was now strapped to. A small detail, but one that Sam had registered in his mind.
It was habit.
Every little detail, no matter how inconsequential, could prove vital.
It was what had made him such a deadly sniper in a previous life.
A life he’d left long ago.
It had been a long and arduous road that had led to this point. From his motherless childhood following his father from military base to military base, being a soldier was in Sam’s blood. His father, William Pope, had been a highly respected senior figure within the UK Armed Forces, known for his favouring of diplomacy over conflict. Sam’s marksmanship soon saw him behind the scope of a rifle, but he’d tried to hold his father’s principles dear.
Tried.
Sam’s success rate soon caught the eye of General Ervin Wallace, a bullish man who had an unassailable position within the government. Called upon as the man to “fix” problems that the higher ups wanted kept quiet, Wallace recruited Sam into his operation.
Project Hailstorm.
Countless covert missions, hundreds killed.
All off the books.
People eradicated from the world without explanation or mercy.
There were no questions asked.
No finer details.
Sam believed he was helping to protect the freedom of his country and the wider world. Then, on one fateful mission, Sam was sent home with two bullet holes in his chest and a slim chance of survival.
But that’s what Sam was built for.
Survival.
Retiring from the armed forces, Sam settled into a life of normality with his wife, Lucy, helping to raise their son. Jamie had been everything to Sam. His incessant hunger for the written word had encouraged Sam himself to start reading more, and as his son grew, so did their bond. After Jamie had turned five years old, he’d asked Sam for two promises.
One that he would read more and more.
And two, that he would never kill again.
Sam had intended to keep both.
Wanting to set a good example for his son, Sam enrolled in the Metropolitan Police, his impressive resume had him fast tracked to the training centre in Hendon in the London borough of Barnet, where he was excelling and on his way to becoming an officer of the law.
But then Jamie was killed.
On a summer’s evening, while enjoying a few beers with his former comrade, Theo Walker, Sam noticed a drunk man entering his car and leaving the pub. Despite his intentions to stop him, Sam looked the other way. Minutes later, as he meandered down the road on his way back to his family, his life fell apart.
Lucy had brought Jamie along to surprise him on his walk home.
A car had skidded off the road, the drunk driver losing his bearings as he rounded a corner.
The image had been burnt into Sam’s memory like a vile tattoo.
The flashing blue lights of the police cars.
The shocked faces of the onlooking crowd.
The man Sam had seen leaving woozily sat in the driving seat, tears streaming from his eyes and blood pouring from a gash on his head.
Lucy, on her knees, a guttural roar of anguish piercing the night sky.
And Jamie’s body, lying broken and motionless in the road.
That moment changed everything.
Consumed by grief and guilt, Sam spiralled, and despite her best efforts to bring him back, Lucy walked away from him after six months. The strength of her love for him made it impossible to stay, watching him torture himself for not doing the right thing for their son. When the driver, Miles Hillock, was given a short sentence and released early, Sam caved to his sadness.
The injustice for his son’s death was too much to bear.
In his weakest moment, Sam was moments away from taking his own life, only for a fortunate visit from his commanding officer, Sergeant Carl Marsden, to bring him back from the brink.
Sam couldn’t rewrite the past, nor could he bring Jamie back, but he could put some things right. Sam returned to the Metropolitan Police, applying for a position in the archives, and soon, he was scouring for criminals who beat the system. The people who were never bought to justice.
Sometimes the law was not enough.
Sam’s fight against injustice went further than he could have imagined. A perceived terrorist attack at the London Marathon led to Sam bringing down one of the most feared criminals in London, along with uncovering ties to numerous high-ranking police officers.
All of them were now dead.
In the hunt for a missing girl, Sam toppled the Kovalenko human trafficking empire, saving four teenage girls destined for a horrific life of sex slavery. With the help of his former comrade, Paul Etheridge, Sam ventured to Ukraine, burning down the last of the operation and putting the head of the Kovalenko family in the ground.
The echoes of his past soon resurfaced as Project Hailstorm, now named Blackridge, hunted his former mentor across Europe, a chase which Sam won but ultimately cost Marsden his life. Exposing the truth of the horrors that General Wallace had sewn across the world, with Etheridge’s help, Sam, along with a rebellious Blackridge operative called Alex Stone, fought back.
Sam hadn’t been saving the world. He’d been assassinating targets for one of the biggest global terrorist units in history. In his quest to end Wallace’s tyrannical reign for good, Sam was imprisoned, sentenced to life in a maximum-security prison. Wallace had abducted DI Amara Singh, a plucky detective who Sam had heartbreakingly fallen for. To save her, Sam had killed Wallace and her captor and sacrificed his freedom.
While she walked away a hero, Sam was sent underground, left for the wolves. But it gave him a pathway to Harry Chapman, the man who pulled the strings behind most of the London Underworld, and after put ting him down, Sam escaped from prison with the help of Singh and Etheridge. With his mission seemingly over, a fallen comrade, a man Sam had long thought dead, took his ex-wife hostage and threatened the destruction of a hospital in exchange for Sam’s life. Sam confronted Mac, hoping he could restore a friendship that had been obliterated by a missile over a decade before.
It was to no avail.
Sam, once again with the help of Etheridge, evaded the police and finally found his freedom.
But there had been a cost.
Multiple people had been killed, either by his hand or by the violence that swirled around his life like a horrific tornado.
Theo Walker.
Sergeant Marsden.
Mac.
All dead.
Etheridge, through his acts of friendship, was now a wanted man and had disappeared wherever his fortune would take him.
DI Amara Singh had been recruited for a government agency, her career taking her even further from his arms than the one she had previously.
DI Adrian Pearce, who had investigated Sam during his original quest for justice, had retired from the force under a cloud of collusion. Despite his thirty years of service being embellished with his suspected deceit, Pearce had found happiness in helping under privileged kids, carrying on the great work Theo had done before his murder.
For the first time since Jamie had died, Sam felt like his fight was over. There had been a toll-taking cost, but it was over.
There was just one final thing to do.
One more thing to make right.
A promise he’d made to Alex Stone after she’d saved his life. It was the promise that had brought him to America, and now that promise saw him strapped to the chair, at the mercy of a dangerous drug lord and his bloodthirsty henchman.
Sam had vowed to help Alex Stone get her family back.
And as Vasquez awaited the answer to his question, Sam knew the likelihood of fulfilling that promise was looking bleak. Vasquez sighed dramatically, sitting back in his chair, and lifting the passport from the desk. It was Sam’s, a perfect counterfeit that Etheridge had provided during his venture to Ukraine.
‘Jonathan Cooper?’ Vasquez said. ‘You have a strong jaw. My cousin, he was a boxer when he was younger. He used to tell me that you could tell a lot about a man by the way he took a punch. Now you. You can take a punch. That tells me ’you’re a strong man. But are you a smart man?’
Vasquez stood, straightening his expensive blazer and running a hand through his dark hair. Like Sam, he was approaching forty, and a few flecks of grey dusted the temples. In contrast to Sam, however, he was clean shaven.
The man was worth a fair few million and definitely looked the part.
‘I passed my exams if that helps?’ Sam finally spoke, offering a bloody grin. Vasquez scowled and then nodded to Edinson.
Sam braced himself.
The fist crashed against his cheek, sending him lurching to the left once more, blood spraying out on impact.
It probably wasn’t the smartest move to antagonise either man, but Sam needed time. Despite his ability to consume details, there didn’t seem like a way out of this one. But the longer they kept him alive, and more importantly, kept Alex alive, the slimmest of chances remained.
‘This is not working,’ Vasquez said. ‘See, you actually remind me of my cousin. He’s a strong and resilient man but he used to ask the question…how do you hurt strong men? The same way you hurt every man.’
Vasquez strode across the room to the metal door and thumped his fist against it. Sam woozily straightened himself in the chair, blinking away the blur. Edinson stood to the side, and he gripped his powerful fingers into Sam’s short brown hair and yanked his head up.
The door opened and Vasquez stepped to the side. Shuffled footsteps filled the darkness and Sam squinted, willing the pain and fuzziness away.
Two figures emerged through the darkness.
Sam’s coolness faded.
Bound by her wrists and with a gag in her mouth was Alex Stone. Her immaculate brown skin showed signs of bruising on one side of her face, accompanied by a fresh cut that slashed her thin eyebrow. Beside her, a thin man, covered to the chin in tattoos, stood. His beady eyes locked on Sam and a sneer across his bearded face.
In his hand, he held a Glock 17 handgun, his finger looped around the trigger and the barrel pressed firmly against Alex’s temple.
She stared at Sam, her fear shining through the tears.
Sam struggled against his restraints, but the metal bolts held the chair down.
‘Let her go,’ Sam demanded. His words laced with venom.
Footsteps slowly filled the darkness and Vasquez returned to view, a large cigar now hanging from the side of his mouth. He flicked a match, a small flame bathing his hands in an orange glow, and he lit the tip of his cigar. He took exaggerated puffs before a thick, grey cloud of smoke was thrust into the light.
Confidently, he stepped towards Sam, rattling his matches before pocketing them, and he took another puff. Sam tried to struggle again, but Edinson caught him with another hook, the man’s fist crashing into Sam’s jaw. The pain was excruciating, and Sam spat another pool of blood to join the rest, and he slowly raised his head to Vasquez with murderous intent in his eyes.
Vasquez smiled. A mixture of admiration and power spread across his face.
‘You are a strong man, Mr Cooper.’ Vasquez glanced back at Alex. ‘But every man is weak when it comes to a woman. Now, tell me who you really are and what the fuck you’re doing here, or I’ll put a bullet in this bitch’s skull.’
Alex squealed lightly in fear, and Sam looked to her for forgiveness.
He’d come to America to keep his promise to her.
To return her to her brother and sister.
But now, with a gun pressed to her head, a DEA agent dead, and murderous drug lord on the brink of war, Sam’s chances of keeping his word were less than none.
Their chances of survival, even less.
Chapter Two
THREE DAYS EARLIER…
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly begin our descent towards LaGuardia Airport. The weather is warm and sunny, and this flight has been exceptional.’
As the intercom cackled to signify the end of the message, Sam smirked at the well-spoken pilot’s self-praise. The self-confidence of pilots had always impressed him, but he understood. Commandeering a giant vessel and navigating it through the sky with hundreds of passengers required complete control along with expert knowledge. Sam appreciated the skill and dedication it took to sit in the cockpit of the plane, likening it to the similar requirements of staring down the scope of a rifle.
You needed to be trained.
Calm.
Emphatic.
Sam heard a few sniggers from fellow passengers who also enjoyed the light-hearted comment, and he looked around the aircraft. A multitude of people were sitting in their seats, entertaining themselves with a myriad of activities. Tablets were rested on tray tables; books were being read, and many passengers had taken the opportunity to grab some sleep. With roughly twenty minutes until landing, the dedicated cabin crew were making their way back through the aisle, holding open a plastic rubbish bag and encouraging their passengers to deposit. Sam looked down at his own tray table, picked up the bottle of water he’d purchased, and finished the last few gulps. It had been just over seven and a half hours since they’d departed London Gatwick Airport, and Sam had already helped himself to a hearty meal on the plane. Beside him, a young man named Eric was sleeping, a few empty crisp packets strewn on the table along with an iPad he’d switched off a few hours before. Sam kindly reached across, picked up the wrappers and, with a smile, dropped them along with the bottle into the bag.
