Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,65

and hooded sweatshirt, his t-shirt underneath damp with sweat from a combination of his workout and fear.

He pulled open the door and stepped outside slowly, checking the corridor left and right.

It was empty.

He moved out, locking the apartment quickly, then turned and realised he had a choice to make. The lift or the stairs. He went with the lift. He was on the eighth floor, and it would be faster. Then he could get the hell out of here, go somewhere he couldn’t be found, far away from any danger. An old friend of his from the service lived in Spain on the coast, leasing out boats. He could stay with him for a while. He walked quickly down the corridor, his bag over his shoulder, his mind racing through his options as he arrived at the lift. He went to press the button, but as he did it dinged in front of him, already arriving at the floor.

The light above the door lit up.

He stood there, checking either side of the corridor again, and waited for the doors to open.

Back at the ARU's headquarters, Jackson had left Cobb and his family to some privacy and had just connected to one of the two agents headed to pick up Fraser in Washington DC. It was still mid-morning over there and Fraser would surely be in his office. The phone held to his ear, Jackson stood behind the tech team in the ops room, fidgeting and on edge, pacing back and forth. Saving this man's life meant a lot more to him than Cobb and his team realised.

'Hello?' a voice said.

'Agent Wallace?' he asked. 'This is Operations Officer Ryan Jackson. Where are you?'

'We just entered the building, sir. Mr Fraser works on the fourth floor. We'll be up there as soon as the lift arrives.'

'You don't have time. Take the stairs. And stay on the line.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Are you armed?'

'Yes, sir. We both have our side-arms.'

'Good. Be ready to use them.'

Across the city, First Team made it to Angel fast, Porter getting them there with typically impressive speed in one of the back-up Fords from MI6. They pulled up outside the apartment building on Holloway Road as Nikki gave them details of the man over the hands-free phone hooked up to the car.

'He lives in Apartment 8B,’ she said. ‘Blond, six-three, distinctive. He's probably seen the news, so be prepared. If he’s there, he’ll be twitched or just won’t answer the door. He’s not picking up the phone, so we might have missed him.'

The four men nodded and stepped out of the car. They slammed the doors shut, Porter pressing the button on the key and locking it, and all four moved quickly towards the apartment building. As they pushed open the main doors, Archer saw a tall man coming the other way towards them.

Archer checked him out, but saw the guy had dark hair, not blond, so it wasn’t King. This man had a harsh face, a beak of a nose and slicked, jet black hair over angry eyes. Archer stepped to the side to let him pass, but they still bumped shoulders, the man turning and glaring at Archer. They held each other's gaze for a brief moment, then the man looked back to the street and walked off, disappearing out of sight.

Inside the building lobby it was quiet. No one was about. Porter turned to Chalky and Archer, who had just joined them.

'Take the stairs.'

The two men nodded and Archer moved across the marble floor, pulling open the door to the stairwell as Chalky moved through it, his weapon in the aim. The two men disappeared, sprinting up the stairs as Fox pushed the button for the lift. It was already there on the ground floor and once the doors parted the two officers stepped inside, Fox pushing the button for 8 and then hit the button for the doors to close.

Inside the Washington DC office building, former Staff Sergeant Matthew Fraser was indeed at his desk. He worked as a software analyst, a reliable if tedious job, a world away from his past life, but it provided a regular and stable pay-cheque and meant his family had a good standard of living. He'd left the United States Army Rangers in 2010 and in all honesty was struggling to make the adjustment from military to civilian life. Back then, he'd taken it for granted, but the places he'd been and the times he'd had, even in combat, had been