Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,45

Worm had taken over and told Shaw they wouldn’t just cut her throat. They would start elsewhere, somewhere about a foot and a half south, and work their way up.

There were all sorts of things they could use on her, he’d told the fat man. In all sorts of places. Cork-screws, peelers, chopping knives, a cleaver. After all, the kitchen was very well stocked.

Unused to such ferocity, Shaw had been almost speechless with terror, instantly compliant, nodding frantically and trying not to wet himself with fear as his former friends from the bar held the knife to his naked wife’s throat. Despite being scared witless and a complete slob, he had proved to be as good at his job as he claimed and had got the team what they wanted before lunch that morning. The team had remained vigilant, checking outside to see if this was a set-up or if Shaw had talked to the cops, but he hadn’t.

When he returned, no one followed him.

The CIA kept immaculate and up-to-date records on anyone who had ever been involved with the Agency’s dealings over the years. Some tight, high-level security protocols had been in place with this file, but the information Shaw had rushed home with on the memory stick had been exactly what they were after, ten names and addresses of the men from that operation all those years ago. Only one man was missing from the list, but they already knew his name. Once the dominos were falling, one after the other, they would find him soon enough.

Back at the command post in London, watching the screen, the man saw police tape pulled up around the house in McLean, an ambulance team dressed in white working alongside a forensics team. He saw two large black body-bags wheeled out on two gurneys. Mr and Mrs Shaw respectively.

The commanding officer was a man of honour, but he was also ruthless. The safety and security of his men was his foremost priority and he knew sooner or later the Shaw’s would tell someone what had happened and could describe what each member of the group looked like. So once the fat man had returned with the information, the group had killed him and his wife. It had been relatively quick. They’d gagged the couple, taken them upstairs, then used two knives from the kitchen so as not to alert the neighbours. Knife-work was always messy. The pair of them had both bled like stuck pigs as Worm and Bug cut their throats, blood soaking into the white bed-sheets of their double bed. Each was around two hundred and fifty pounds, and blood had pulsed and pulsed out of their obese bodies onto the sheets and the carpet. The bedroom looked like a horror film by the time the team had left.

Watching the fresh report, a lime-green light suddenly started flashing on the desk beside the television, lighting up the room like a large firefly. It was the screen of his mobile phone. The big man picked it up from the desk and answered it.

'Yes.'

'Sir, I have news,' a voice said. It was Worm.' Jackson is with Cobb. They just left the police station. I don't know where they’re going, but it must be important. They’re not hanging around. I’m following.'

‘You didn’t get a shot?'

'No, sir. I was parked down the street, and they drove too fast when they pulled out of the gates. They also have four cops with them. They're all armed.'

‘Don’t lose them. Report back when you know where the hell they are going. And don’t screw up.’

He ended the call without waiting for a response.

He placed the phone back on the desk and looked down at the list of names in front of him. Tim Cobb, ARU it said there, in dark letters. Ryan Jackson, CIA just below it. Judging from Worm's report, these two now had an armed escort everywhere they went. The original plan for Jackson was to take him out during a meeting he had scheduled at noon. He thought it was going to be with the Syrian ambassador, but in reality he would have arrived at the meeting place, an empty conference room, and found himself walking on plastic sheets, a silenced pistol put to the back of his head.

But it was now past midday and his assistant had called earlier to cancel the meeting, so the plan had been aborted. And now Jackson was with Cobb. Both would have made the connection by now