Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,34

in London, the second gunman who had attacked the ARU’s headquarters had made it to the edge of the River Thames. He was on the South Bank, not a hundred yards from where the politician had killed himself earlier that morning, the smell of salt from the water hanging in the air. Pedestrians were walking past him from both directions as he stopped and looked out at the water. He could hear the distant calling of gulls and the sound of the small waves splashing as they hit the stone walls of the riverbank.

He stood there for a few moments then climbed over the railings, causing several passing pedestrians to slow, watching and wondering what the hell he was doing. The man shuffled back and positioned himself so he had his heels over the edge of the brick, his back to the water.

He looked up to the sky. Fifteen years of planning and he had failed.

He knew what was expected.

He pulled his Beretta from the back of his waistband and flicked off the safety catch, then put the gun in his mouth, feeling the harsh cold metal of the barrel, tasting grit and gun oil.

And he pulled the trigger.

As people watching screamed, the back of the man’s head blew apart and his body went limp as all brain function was instantly shredded by the bullet. He crumpled and fell back, his body tumbling towards the choppy water beneath him. As onlookers watched in disbelief and horror, the man's body hit the Thames with a loud splash. The current started taking the body downstream immediately as it also started to sink. And within seconds it disappeared out of sight into the oily depths.

ELEVEN

‘How are you doing?’ Jackson asked, as Cobb passed him a cup of coffee, black, two sugars. He had sat down in the empty chair across the desk, the damaged glass behind him and nodded thanks as he took the cup and saucer from Cobb, placing it on the edge of the desk to let it cool.

‘I’ll live,’ Cobb said, taking his own cup of coffee from the stand and taking a seat behind his desk. ‘How’d you find me?’

‘Saw your report on the television. My assistant pulled an address.’

‘I thought you’d be back in Virginia?’

Jackson shook his head. ‘Not yet. Been in London fifteen years and counting.’

There was a pause, formalities over. Both men knew what was coming next in the conversation, but neither wanted to address it, as if not speaking about it would make it less real.

‘I don’t think I want to know why you’re here,’ Cobb added.

Jackson looked at him.

‘You already do though, don’t you?’

Another pause. Cobb looked up at the ceiling, cursing under his breath.

'Jesus Christ.'

'Earlier this morning, a Metro squad car found a guy strangled in his car outside a strip-club,’ Jackson said. ‘Looks like he got taken by surprise. Someone garrotted him with a wire from behind. And on the way here, I got a call from my secretary that another body has been found in New York City. Apparently someone broke into the guy’s apartment sometime last night and put one between his eyes as he slept. He was working as a bodyguard for an Arab Sheikh, but he didn't show up for work. They sent someone round to check on him and found him in bed, missing the back of his head.'

Pause.

'Their names were Jason Carver and Derek Spears. A former United States Marine Captain and an Army Ranger Sergeant, respectively.’

He paused.

‘Ring any bells?’

Silence.

Cobb didn’t speak. Instead, he put down his cup of coffee slowly.

‘Holy shit,' he said. 'I hoped I was imagining the worst. But that confirms it.’

Jackson nodded, leaning forward and taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Add their murders to Captain Adams’ suicide and the marks on the glass behind me and a pattern is emerging, I'm sure you'll agree.'

He leaned forward, returning the cup to the desk but never taking his eyes off Cobb’s.

'We're in some seriously deep shit, my friend.’

‘How is this possible?' Cobb asked quietly. 'I thought they were all in prison?’

'They must have got out.'

'So why the hell didn't we hear about it?'

Jackson looked at him wryly. 'C'mon, man. Places like the jails they were in don't officially exist. They don’t exactly produce a roll call.'

Anxious, Cobb leaned back and flicked his eyes back up at the television, which was running through the morning headlines. Each one seemed to be related to those in the know, and spelled serious trouble for the two