Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,60

dead before midnight.

SEVENTEEN

After Deakins and Spitz had arrived with the two replacement black 4x4 Fords MI6 had supplied, Cobb, Jackson and First Team had piled in and left Fletcher, the hospice and the two smoking wrecks of the cars behind. As they got into the vehicles, Cobb had ordered the two drivers to take a different route back to the Unit’s headquarters, regardless of the time it would add to the journey. And thirty five minutes later, the men found Nikki waiting for them inside the briefing room at the ARU's headquarters when they walked in.

She had been working hard since they’d left and had drawn up a chart on a board on the wall with the list of names Cobb had given her. In total, there were eleven photographs stuck on the board, forming a makeshift pyramid.

At the top were two men, Cobb and Jackson, the two men who had run Operation Blackout. Both photos were official ones from the file, and they were stuck side-by-side. Below them, the other nine were separated into three columns of three, neatly spaced out. The team looked at them closely. To the left were the three soldiers from the British Army, half of the rescue team from that night. Adams, McCarthy and King. Adams’ photo had a big X over it, but the other two were untouched. In the middle were Spears, Fraser and Webster, the three U.S Rangers, the other half of the rescue team. There were two big X’s over Spears and Webster.

And to the far right were the three former hostages.

Carver, Floyd and Fletcher.

Archer looked at the top two photographs, putting faces to the names of the two men. The photos were from some old military file, both guys dark-featured with short buzz-cuts and pale faces. Carver’s lips were almost sneering, his brown eyes glinting with arrogance, whilst Floyd’s expression was blank, just staring straight ahead. The two faces were forgettable. Archer pictured them both going berserk with M16s, mowing down women and children in a dark camp somewhere out on the plains in Kosovo.

Not a pleasant thought.

Shifting his gaze, Archer looked at the photo of Fletcher below them and was taken aback. It was an old photo and not an official one, but nevertheless Fletcher looked like a completely different person from the frail, damaged man in the hospice bed. In the picture he looked strong, healthy and confident, full of vitality, wearing a beret and his combat fatigues and smiling at the camera. He was about a hundred pounds heavier and a hundred times happier. The person in the hospice was just a withered shell of this man, like the skin that was left behind after being shed by a snake.

‘Here you are, sir,’ Nikki said. ‘I hope these are the right men. I heard about the cars. Are you OK?’

'We’re fine,' Cobb said, examining the board. 'And yes, these are the right men. I recognise them all. Outstanding work.'

He paused and stepped forward, tapping Webster's photograph on the board. Archer saw he was a blond-haired guy, dressed in desert combat fatigues, a similar photo to the one of Adams. He had a big black X across the photograph, concealing most of his face and features.

'They got to Webster?' Cobb asked her.

Nikki shook her head.

'No, sir. He was killed in Iraq, 2004. Stood on an IED.'

Cobb nodded, then stepped back, examining the board with the other men. He turned to Jackson, and Archer saw his face harden.

'So, CIA Deputy Director Carver was behind this?'

'It was classified,' Jackson said. 'You know the way it works. I couldn’t have told you.'

'I don't believe this. I was the one running the damn operation. I needed to be given the facts.'

'Oh don't play all innocent, Cobb,' Jackson replied. 'You're telling me you've never withheld operational information before?'

He paused.

'This was a case of national security. Carver was connected. If the press had got hold of what his son did, the damage would have been immense. You think the public would still have supported the war? All this shit happened just after the Clinton impeachment. The entire US didn’t know who to trust anymore. The American public had lost faith in its Government. Just picture it - not only does the son of the Deputy Director of the CIA murder an entire village of women and children on a drunken rampage, but then he gets rescued from capture because his father didn’t want him to get hurt? Right there in bold print, next