The hitman jumped onto the table. A single leap. Trying to get a height advantage. Sam was now edging towards the doors. The assassin knew he had to strike before Sam made it outside. A single call for help could end the encounter with his rapid retreat. He leapt, Sam was ready, catching him at chest and waist. Sam rolled backwards and released him into the patio doors. He hit the doors back-first, upside-down, as the momentum of the throw spun him top-to-tail. The safety glass cracked into a crazy paving pattern before falling out onto the patio without shattering. The assassin followed it to the ground, he was dazed.
Sam saw his chance and made a sprint for his summer house. He flew through the door and grabbed a pouch of ornamental throwing blades from a stand behind the door. The assassin was back on his feet, keen to finish the fight. He bowled into the summerhouse, throwing caution to the wind, no idea that it was really Sam’s training dojo. As soon as he entered the dojo he knew he’d made a mistake. His eyes widened in sudden panic.
They could have warned me about this in the brief.
Sam let loose, he had three blades resting on the palm of his left hand. This time his weapons had the right weight and balance, and he had the distance to make them effective. He threw each blade in turn, with expert precision, all three finding the body of their target. The assassin stopped in his tracks. A look of confusion on his face as a dark patch of blood spread over his top like a storm cloud laying claim to the summer sky. He tried to remove one of the blades from his chest but it was too late, his heart had been punctured along with a lung. He stumbled back through the summer house door and collapsed in the garden.
Sam started to sway, exhausted, the post adrenalin come-down and the effort of the fight starting to take its toll. He needed to get inside, get his phone, and call Virani. He staggered out of the summer house into the garden, passing the prone figure of his dead assailant lying on his lawn. He gave it a wide berth just in case it sprang back to life like the bad guys in so many Hollywood movies.
Stepping through the hole where the patio door glass used to be, he once again used the table. This time to keep him from falling. He slowly moved through the kitchen, using anything he could to keep himself upright. Leaning against the wall, he drunkenly staggered down the hallway. Eventually, he made it back to his office. He grabbed his phone, noticing a missed call from Mickey, and called Virani.
‘Jay, I need a clean-up team, there’s a dead hitman in my garden.’ He passed out. The mental and physical stresses put upon him during the fight had caused his body to shut down.
‘Sam? Sam… Talk to me Samuel. Are you there? Sam. Are you hurt? Shit.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam eventually started to regain consciousness. He kept his eyes tightly closed, fearing the pain that light would bring. He could hear voices. He recognised one of them.
‘Yeah, it’s just the body reacting to what he’s been through. He’s taken a couple of bad knocks by the looks of it, so once it was over his body shut down.’
Whose voice was it? Then another voice.
‘He’s going to be alright though, isn’t he? I mean, there shouldn’t be any lasting damage?’
Sam wasn’t sure about that voice. He tried to open his eyes.
‘Look, he’s coming round.’ Said the unrecognised voice. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Hello Sam, you back with us?’
The voice of Neil Barford.
‘You’ve been out for some time mate. After Jay got your call she sent local plod around. They found you on your office floor, so they put you in here and called for an ambulance.’
Sam had no idea where he was or what had happened. Had he just woken from a bad dream? He felt groggy, like the world’s worst hangover.
But hangovers don’t cause bodily pain. Why do I ache so much?
His mind started to clear, his memory coming back.
‘We got here as fast as we could.’ Barford again. ‘But even with Storry driving, getting out of London was difficult.’
Sam realised that he was in his living room, laying on his sofa. Why? Then he remembered. The fight. The assassin. He’d killed someone. That single thought sent his stomach into overdrive. He felt sick. The house was full of people. He tried to sit up but was hit by a wave of pain and nausea. His head throbbed; he wondered whether it had made contact with the floor or desk when he passed out in his study. His abdomen and sternum ached from being on the receiving end of precisely positioned, powerful kicks. His back hurt from the force with which he struck the kitchen cabinet.
‘Just stay there, mate.’ Said Barford. ‘I’ll get Jay.’
Sam put his forearm over his eyes. The pain was staggering. He’d never felt this bad after a tournament. Then again, he’d never faced a trained assassin and fought for the ultimate prize — his own life.
Barford returned with Virani. She smiled a reassuring smile.
‘Sam, thank God you’re alright. I was so worried when I got your call. How do you feel?’
‘Painkillers, kitchen cupboard, right side of oven.’
Virani motioned to Barford, who headed for the kitchen in search of painkillers.
‘You’ve certainly been a busy boy this evening, Sam. Bloody good job you’ve got your torture chamber in the garden.’
Sam managed to move. He pointed to the oak bookcase.
‘Gun, underneath.’
‘Nick!’ Virani cried, causing Sam to wince, the pain in his head seemed to be getting worse. Virani noticed the expression on Sam’s face. ‘Sorry.’ She said.
Nick Upex entered the room with Barford, who was carrying a packet of painkillers and a glass of water.
Virani addressed Upex.
‘Nick, get a couple of lads and move this bookcase, there may be a weapon under it. We’ve got the bullet from the wall of Sam’s office, so would be good to get a ballistics match.’
Upex left the room and whistled for the attention of a couple of colleagues.
Virani turned her attention back to Sam.
‘Okay, Bruce Lee, take a couple of days off, have a long weekend and come back in on Monday. Now we know they’re serious we can get an armed guard or two, but it doesn’t look like you need it.’
Sam forced a smile and tried to sit up again, this time he made it to a sitting position. He pushed himself up and managed to stand.
‘Sam? What are you doing?’ asked Virani.
‘Have to see.’ He said as he shuffled out of the room and headed down the hall.
The kitchen, dining room and garden were hives of activity. Police, forensics, paramedics. Sam made his way to the patio doors and tentatively took a step outside. He looked to the direction of his summer house where he saw the face of his assailant, eyes closed, skin grey, visible through the partially opened body-bag. Sam lurched forward and threw-up.
Virani had followed him outside.
‘Get that bloody bag zipped up!’ She shouted at a paramedic who rushed over and tugged the zip, covering the face of the man whose life Sam had taken.
Virani said, ‘Look, Sam, you’ve been through a lot tonight. Go upstairs, take a shower, and go to bed. I’ll make sure everything here is sorted. I’ve even arranged for a glazier to come out and board up the patio.’
Sam straightened, leaned against the wall. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
‘Good idea Jay, I think I’ll take your advice.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sam woke early the next morning, his aches had almost gone, and he nearly felt human again. He made his way downstairs and into his kitchen.
The patio door had been boarded up, but he could still see into his garden through the undamaged pane. His summer house had crime scene tape around it.