Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,10

of trouble, Chalk?’ Clark asked.

‘Doing my best,’ Chalky replied, squiggling his signature.

After Chalky dropped the pen back on the desk, Clark pushed a button under the counter and the metal barrier in front of them was released. The four men walked through into the police station, nodding thanks to the young officer. Fox headed along the lower corridor with the sniper-rifle to return it to the gun-cage whilst the other three men moved upstairs.

When they reached the second floor, the trio were surprised to see a large group of people standing around in the operations area ahead of them. Normally the task force were all in the briefing room to the left, staying out of the intelligence team’s way.

Such a gathering normally spelt trouble.

‘Hang on,’ Chalky said. ‘This looks interesting.’

‘What the hell?’ Archer said.

Each man had a mobile phone he was required to carry with him at all times, but none of them had been notified of any crisis or emergency. However by the looks of things, something was going on. The trio moved down the corridor quickly and entered the operations room. It was a square shaped area, lots of screens, computers and keyboards, and to the right the three newcomers saw that the entire six-man tech team had paused in their work at their stations. Behind them was a cluster of task-force officers who had filtered out of the briefing room to the left, and all of them were watching a large screen mounted on the wall across the room. The officers already standing there sensed the trio arrive, turning quickly and nodding greetings, but the whole level was silent. Archer turned to one of the officers, the leader of Second Team, a big man in his late-thirties called Deakins.

‘What’s going on?’ Archer asked.

Deakins didn’t reply.

He just pointed to the television screen.

A female news reporter was standing on the South Bank by the Thames. They had caught it in just in time. She was about to deliver her report.

‘Thank you, Fiona,' she said. 'I'm afraid it has been a shocking and deeply unsettling start to the day, as up-and-coming politician Charlie Adams committed suicide on a bench facing the Thames early this morning. Found with a revolver in his hand, he was killed by a single self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. With elections fast approaching and Mr Adams with a strong following, people from his constituency have been left in complete shock by the apparent suicide. Mr Adams was well-known for being a former soldier, a man who served in the British Army for eighteen years and was a real inspiration and success story in his surprise move into politics. An investigation is already underway to try and understand why this tragedy has happened. We will keep you updated on this situation. He leaves a wife and six year old son. Back to you, Fiona.’

As the group watched the screen, Archer became aware of some movement to his right. Looking through the transparent glass of an office, he saw Director Cobb, head of the ARU, standing whilst watching the report on a television on the wall in his office. Unusually, Cobb looked slightly agitated, running his hand through his dark hair and with a worried look on his face. Normally cool and collected, his anxious expression was a surprise.

‘Is Cobb alright?’ he asked, to no one in particular.

‘Apparently he knew the guy,’ Deakins said.

Archer looked up at the screen again, then shrugged. He didn't know anything about politics and had never heard of Charlie Adams before. Sad news for sure, but not a headline he would remember. Turning, he walked over into the briefing room to the drinks stand inside and poured himself a cup of tea. Seeing the news report had finished, the other officers started to join him and slowly but surely, the place returned to normal, like a cassette that had been paused but with the play button pushed again.

But whilst everyone else across the floor shifted their attention from the television back to their workplace, Director Tim Cobb kept watching the screen mounted inside his office.

He was feeling a mixture of shock and total disbelief.

He'd arrived for work an hour ago, feeling good. It had been a marquee year for his Unit so far, two successful operations already in the bag. He was just turned forty one, but felt like thirty one, and had a beautiful wife and two sons he adored. His team, the Armed Response Unit, had become the premier counter-terrorist