Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,17

of his peers often didn't understand. At this point, he knew if he played his cards right he could be looking at another solid promotion and a position of increased power, one he could perhaps use as a springboard to higher things or just as a smooth ride to retirement. If he didn’t get promoted he was planning to hand in a transfer request and head back to Virginia in the next couple of years anyway, maybe take over running a team at the headquarters there. However, for now, he was happy with his job and his life in London. He felt as if he was doing a good thing here, something worthwhile, and for the moment he was content to keep right on doing it.

Walking up the path to the main entrance, the man pulled open the door and moved inside the building. The woman behind the front desk recognised him, giving him a nod and a smile as she talked into a phone. Members of the public applying for visas were directed to the large waiting room on the left, herded in and told to wait until it was their turn. The CIA agent headed to the right instead.

Walking down the corridor, he passed through another metal detector and x-ray machine, and passing a final handprint and retina scan, a thick door in front of him buzzed and clicked open. He pushed it and walked into the heart of the CIA substation, heading towards his office. The hallway was cream-walled with blue carpet, two thirds patriotic, only missing the red. However, the CIA seal printed sequentially on the carpet compensated for that omission, the compass rose on the shield below the bald eagle as red as the United States of America writing on the golden scroll below. The man passed a number of familiar offices on the way, including a tech area where a number of analysts and intelligence officers were already working away at computers. He kept moving down the corridor, and eventually arrived at his own office, pushing open the door and moving inside.

Walking to his desk, he placed his briefcase to one side and grabbed the remote to a television mounted on the wall across the room. He pushed the power button and flicked it on.

He always liked to catch a brief summary of the headlines when he walked in, updating him on the most important and pressing situations taking place around the world. Although the television had a range of channels, including CNN and the Fox Newsroom, the American liked to keep it on BBC World. Out of the three choices, that was the one he preferred. The reports were unbiased and gave him a cliff-notes version of everything he needed to know at the start of the day. CNN and Fox were fantastic broadcasters, but even their own network heads would probably admit that most of their focus was geared towards events in the United States. Considering Jackson’s job, he needed to know straight away of any crises in Europe, and BBC World could be relied upon to summarise the most important events. Many times in the past, his assistant had walked into the office handing over a first-hand detailed report from an agent who had been directly involved in something that was just coming up on the screen.

As he took a seat behind his desk, his assistant knocked on the door and entered. He’d left it open knowing she would.

She was a few years older than he was, a woman called Lynn, who was also from Virginia, not far from his hometown, Staunton. She’d been his assistant for almost three years, and they had a good working relationship, sharing a pleasant degree of mutual respect. She didn't take shit from anyone, no matter what their rank or position, an attitude that had definitely not helped her career. However, she and her boss had developed a good rapport. He always made a point to treat her with respect and courtesy and he knew that she appreciated it and subsequently did the same for him.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said.

‘Morning, Lynn. How are you?’

'Very well, sir. Yourself?'

'Good, thanks.'

He watched the screen as a report came up, a black headline on a yellow banner, rolling onto the screen. Breaking News: Political candidate Charlie Adams commits suicide on South Bank early this morning. The CIA agent read the headline and a light-bulb faintly flickered at the back of his mind, like one turned on in a dusty