Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,32

men talked, the phone on Cobb’s desk rang, cutting across the conversation. He reached over and picked it up.

‘Cobb,’ he said. He listened to the response. ‘OK. I’m putting you on speakerphone. Four of my officers are in the room.’

He pushed a button, and then put the phone back on the cradle. Around the office, Porter, Fox, Archer and Chalky all listened closely.

‘Director, this is Dr Kim Collins,’ the other voice said, female. 'I'm here at the lab. We’re with the body of the dead gunman. I have some news for you.’

‘Go on.’

‘Age-wise, he's in late thirties or early forties. We tried running his prints through our system, Special Branch and MI6’s, but nothing came up. He’s not English and he doesn’t appear to be someone we've encountered before. We tried Interpol, but that was a dead end. However, he has a series of tattoos on his body, on his arms, elbows and torso. They are distinctive. I've seen this type before. Definitely Eastern European.’

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘If I had to guess, I'd say Albanian.’

Cobb nodded as the four other men in the office listened in silence.

‘OK. What else?’

‘The man also has scarring on his torso and upper arm from several old bullet wounds. Coupled with the scar tissue on his right hand, I would say he’s been in the military somewhere. The stitching on the bullet-wounds on his body is very rudimentary, the kind you’d see in the field, real needle-and-thread jobs, emergency repairs. Almost definitely obtained in combat.’ She paused. ‘I also have something else for you. It's really quite bizarre.'

Cobb frowned. 'Go on.'

'When we ran this man's fingerprints and DNA, we came up with an immediate match for something else.'

'Which was?'

'The letter that was sent to Charlie Adams. This man sealed the envelope. The DNA from the saliva and fingerprints on the paper are a 100 % match.'

Cobb frowned, incredulous. 'What?'

At that moment, a red-light came up on the phone from another call. Cobb reached over.

‘Forgive me for one moment,’ he said to Collins. He pushed the button. ‘Cobb.’

‘Sir, its Deakins.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m on the reception. There’s a man here who says he’s from the US Embassy. He’s asked to speak with you. Says it’s extremely urgent. He’s shown me ID. ’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jackson. Ryan Jackson. He’s an Operations Officer with the CIA.’

Pause.

The four officers noticed Cobb’s body stiffen.

Another pause.

‘OK. Send him up,’ he ordered.

‘Yes, sir.’

Cobb didn’t bother pushing the button back to Dr Collins at the lab. He just lifted the phone and put it down again to hang up. A silence followed.

‘Everything OK, sir?’ Archer asked.

Cobb sat back in his seat, his eyes distant.

‘No. I don’t think it is. Outside. I need to talk to this man alone.’

The four officers complied without a word and pulled open the door, moving out into the ops room and out of the way.

After a few moments, Agent Jackson appeared, led along the level by Deakins. The other officers looked at him curiously. They saw a well-dressed man who was probably in his mid to late thirties. He had brown hair and brown eyes and was dressed in a smart suit, light blue shirt with a dark blue tie. He looked fit and healthy, but at that moment also extremely worried. He ignored everyone standing there, turning the corner and followed Deakins straight into Cobb's office, hesitating a brief moment as he came face-to-face with the damaged glass on the door.

Inside the glass-walled room after the two men had entered, Cobb nodded at Deakins, who turned and shut the door behind him.

Jackson stood there in the ruined office in front of Cobb. The two men looked at each other.

'Hello, Ryan,' Cobb said.

‘Hello, Tim,’ Jackson said, ‘It’s been a long time.’

Over three and a half thousand miles to the west, it was early in the morning in the town of McLean, Virginia. The sun had just begun its slow climb at the base of the horizon, shielded by clouds, the air muggy and damp. Officially an unincorporated community on the map, Mclean was a town with over 48,000 residents, many of them diplomats, members of Congress, or high-ranking government officials. The reason for this concentration of population was that the CIA’s headquarters were actually at Mclean, Virginia, not Langley as so many people thought. Other major companies such as Capital One and Hilton Hotels were also based out of the area, adding to both its prestige and wealth, the affluence of the area evident in the high-end shopping malls, golf courses