Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,28

up listed as stolen less than two days ago. Across the parking lot several news-teams and a small crowd who had gathered behind some police tape that had been drawn across the entrance, were being held back by Met policemen.

Detectives from CID and MI5 had arrived, having seen the news reports and offered their services, but Cobb had dismissed them all politely, saying this would be an internal investigation. The Prime Minister had contacted Cobb, checking if they were all OK, but for now no-one really had any answers. They all knew any possible clues lay with the dead body at the lab along with anything traceable on the weapons and casings.

There had been another body-bag in the van alongside the dead gunman, containing the body of Clark. He was headed straight to the morgue, killed by the three gunshots to his sternum and upper chest. Thinking of the young officer, Archer shook his head angrily. He was only twenty six, and would have been defenceless when the two gunmen stormed the entrance downstairs.

In one way the Unit had been incredibly lucky.

But in another, they had paid the heaviest of prices.

Turning, he saw Nikki sitting alone by her desk, a cup of coffee in her hands, a blanket around her shoulders. He walked over and took a seat beside her in an empty chair, making sure the MP5 around his shoulder was tucked out of the way. They sat there side-by-side in silence, Nikki watching the forensics team sweeping up next door. Archer turned to her.

‘You OK?’

‘That was too close,' she said quietly, her eyes wide and looking ahead, watching the forensics team next door. They had bagged and tagged the last shell casing and were now starting to clean the blood and brains from the second gunman off the floor, the acrid smell of bleach and disinfectant drifting into the ops room. 'Who the hell were those guys?’

‘I don’t know. But we’ll find out. Soon.’

Pause.

‘I feel sick.’

‘That’s the adrenaline. It’ll pass.’

She shook her head, her hands trembling from the shock. He looked down and saw ripples in the coffee from the tremors in her hands, like the shockwaves on the glass of Cobb’s office.

‘Little taste of what you guys go through in the field,’ she said, forcing a smile.

He put his arm around her protectively and she leaned into him.

‘That was too close,’ she said again.

‘Jesus Christ, that was close,’ Fox said, side by side with Cobb, Chalky and Porter across the room. The three of them were examining the damaged glass on the exterior of Cobb’s office, well over a hundred white marks surrounded by jagged ripples.

Fox turned to Cobb.

‘Best decision you ever made, sir.'

'Not enough for Officer Clark though, was it?'

The three officers stayed silent.

'Are you OK, sir?' Porter asked.

‘I’m fine,' Cobb said. 'I just want some damn answers. Somebody's going to pay dearly for this. And I don't mean with money.’

As the three men nodded in agreement, Porter looked at Fox and Chalky and suddenly realised they were all still armed.

‘Sir, I’m sorry. I’ll get the men to stow their weapons.’

Cobb shook his head and turned to him.

‘No. I’m changing the protocol. Until we find out who those men were, I want every officer in the building armed at all times. That means Glock and MP5s, everywhere you go, spare mags in your pouches, all of you in full uniform with mic and earpiece. If one of the tech team goes downstairs to use the toilet, I want one of you with them in the next stall.’

The men nodded.

‘Yes sir.’

‘What did the Prime Minister say?’ Chalky asked.

‘Like the rest of us, he wanted to know what the hell had happened and what this was about,’ Cobb said. ‘He said our entire team should consider relocating to MI5 temporarily until we find out what's going on and where those two came from.’

‘Are we leaving?’ Chalky asked.

Cobb shook his head, looking at the damaged glass in front of him.

‘No. This is our home. We’re not going anywhere.’

He turned to Porter, his face hard. Cobb's tech team may have been in shock, but he was in full control.

‘I want Second Team guarding downstairs on rotation. Both entrances, armed and alert. No one gets in without bulletproof ID, and no one stows their weapons in the gun-cage until I say so. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir,' Porter said. 'I’ll tell Deakins.’

He walked off, turning the corner and headed down the corridor. Fox, Chalky and Cobb were left in a line, the three of