Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,53

surprise.

‘What? How?’

‘One shot himself. Another was garrotted, and the third was executed in his sleep.’ He pointed at the television. 'You saw the reports of the attack on the police station?'

'Yes, sir.'

'That was my Unit. They were trying to kill me.'

Fletcher stared at him. He was sweating even more, the pillow behind his head already sodden.

‘They’re coming for revenge,’ he said. He looked at Cobb and Jackson. ‘They're after everyone who was involved that night. Which means you’re both on the list.’

'And so are you,' Archer said, quietly, by the door.

Fletcher licked his lips, looking back at Archer, fear in his eyes.

‘Look, I’ll talk to the Met,' Cobb told him. 'We’ll get some extra security here, guarding you, till this is over.'

Fletcher shook his head.

‘Don’t bother, sir. I’ll be dead before long anyway. And if they come for me, no one will be able to stop them. God doesn’t want me to live anymore. Maybe it’s just my time.’

He paused.

'You know, every night that I lay there in the hut in agony, I used to pray over and over again. I promised God that I'd be a better man if I made it out of there, that I would do good, that I would spend the rest of my life trying to help people.' He shook his head. 'But I didn't keep my promise. I've done nothing worthwhile since. So maybe it's about time they came back and finished the job.'

'Can you tell us anything about these men?’ Archer asked him. ‘The Black Panthers?’

Fletcher nodded.

‘Like I said, they are Albanian Special Forces. Once I healed up, I wanted to know who the men were who did that to me. I read everything I could find about them. But I can tell you they were the toughest group of soldiers I've ever seen. Their own army didn't want them, they were so ruthless.'

'How can we beat them?' Chalky asked across the room, from the window.

'You can't.'

Fletcher paused and coughed again. It seemed as if his stamina was almost gone. Across the room, the silent television flicked to show a Breaking News report of a car-bombing in upstate Connecticut, US. No one saw the screen change.

'How do we find them?’ Archer asked.

‘You won’t. They’ll find you.’

‘OK, so what do we do?' Chalky asked the room, irritated. ‘Just sit back and wait?’

Fletcher turned to him. As the man spoke, Archer found himself looking at the man's severed feet again.

‘You want my honest advice?’ Fletcher said to Chalky, his voice raspy, his throat dry.

Chalky nodded. 'Go on.'

‘Hide.’

Just outside the parking lot of the hospice, a teenager in a matching white Adidas tracksuit leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette and looking into the car park. He'd been walking past, heading down to the bookies to place some bets on the Premiership football this weekend, when something had caught his eye. He'd stopped and lit a cigarette, and was now taking a closer look at what had grabbed his attention.

His name was Leon. Just turned nineteen years old, he'd been in and out of juvenile detention centres and then prison since he could remember. He'd just finished his most recent stint twenty two days ago for breaking and entering. He and two friends had gone after an expensive apartment in Fulham that they knew belonged to a Premiership footballer. The guy was on over a hundred grand a week, so they knew there would be plenty of cash-value stuff to steal inside.

Leon had been cautious and planned ahead, waiting outside in the car with the other two and watching the player head out with his girlfriend on a Saturday night. However, every alarm went off the moment they picked the lock and stepped inside the front door. There were cameras all over the building and on the street outside and although they got out, two days later Leon and his two pals were hauled into Hammersmith and Fulham in handcuffs and booked. It was the latest in a growing list of convictions, the first of which was a simple fine for possession of marijuana, and was a list he knew without a doubt would get longer.

He'd started when he was thirteen. Like most kids in his area, he used to go down to the park and sniff glue or smoke puff, drink bottles of cider and try to get lucky with the local girls. But then he'd begun smoking more and more, and by the time he was sixteen he’d developed a fondness for cocaine