Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,40

absence stood out seeing as everything else in the room was in place.

There was a wooden knife rack across the kitchen by the toaster.

But the two biggest knives were missing.

Keeping his pistol up, Beckman reached for his radio with his free hand, pushing the buttons either side of the handle clipped to his left shoulder.

'This is Sergeant Beckman. I need back-up at 41-44 41st Street. 10-54 in progress,' he said.

A 10-54. A call no officer ever wanted to make.

Possible dead body.

'Copy that.'

He turned and moved back into the hallway, joining up with Vasquez. The two cops glanced at each other, their faces mirroring their growing feeling of unease.

They looked up the stairs simultaneously. Vasquez took the lead, her pistol going everywhere her eyes did, the hair-trigger on the Sig making tiny little jumps in her hands as her heart pumped adrenaline around her body. She crept up the stairs, taking care to not make a sound, Beckman following immediately behind her.

There were two bedrooms, a small cupboard and a bathroom. The doors to three of them were open, and she could see from where she was that all three looked empty. Beckman moved up alongside her, and the two of them stood facing what must have been the master bedroom.

The door was shut.

They moved slowly forward, the two Sigs trained on the wood, and arrived outside the door.

Outside the room, Beckman turned to Vasquez.

Ready, he mouthed.

She nodded.

He reached for the handle and twisting it, pushed the door open.

Outside Cobb’s office at the ARU headquarters, First Team were standing in a group, watching through the damaged glass as Cobb talked with Jackson. They'd been in there for about fifteen minutes, and even from here the four officers could see that the atmosphere between the two men was tense. Around them, the clean-up operation was still in full swing, the tech team sitting in their area and although still traumatised, were slowly recovering from their ordeal. But across the room, the four officers stood motionless, curious, concerned, desperate to be in the room with Cobb and Jackson and have some light shed on the situation. On the far right, Archer stood watching Cobb, seeing the unusual anxiety on his boss's face. Even in deep shit, Cobb was always cool and calm. To spook him, something really must be wrong.

‘I don’t like the look of this,’ Chalky said quietly, in the middle of the group.

None of the other men responded.

Watching the two men, Archer suddenly felt the phone on his tac vest vibrate and he pulled it out of its Velcro home. The screen was flashing and it was ringing quietly. He looked at the caller ID but it was a number he didn’t recognise. He pushed the green button and put it to his ear.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ a familiar voice said. Feminine.

American.

It was Katic.

He saw the other three officers were looking at him, and he motioned 1 second with his finger and walked off down the corridor.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How did you get this number? This is my work phone.’

‘C’mon, Archer, I work for the FBI.’ Pause. ‘I saw on the news here that your police station got attacked? Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. They killed one of our guys though.’

‘How many of them were there?’ she asked.

‘Two gunmen.’

‘Who were they?’

‘We don’t know. We’re trying to find out. There’s a CIA agent here now talking with my boss. You heard of Ryan Jackson before? Apparently he’s an Operations Officer.’

‘Doesn’t ring a bell. I can check him out?’

‘I thought the Feds didn’t have access to CIA files?’

‘We don’t.’

‘So what are you going to use?’

‘Google, stupid. Hang on.’

He smiled as he heard the tapping of keys down the line. There was a pause. He took a few steps back into the level and checked through the glass of Cobb’s office. He and Jackson were still engrossed in conversation.

‘Bulls-eye,’ she said, as he returned to the top of the stairs.

‘You found something?’

‘Yeah. It’s a news report from The Washington Times. Dated April 23 1999. CIA agent Ryan Jackson awarded Distinguished Intelligence Medal for Outstanding Performance and Service.’

‘What does the report say?’

‘Hang on.’ Pause. ‘He was twenty six at the time. There’s a photo too. They had a presentation ceremony in DC where the Deputy Director of the CIA pinned it on his suit. All the top people from the Agency were there, as well as the Chief of Staff. Damn, Archer. This guy was a hero.’

‘What was it for?’

‘It doesn’t say. Just the official blurb- for