Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,69

fresh air, feeling his headache start to ease off.

The street was relatively quiet, only a few people about, just another midweek morning in a London suburb. He saw a postman doing his rounds, going from door to door, and a couple of guys carrying out maintenance on the road to his right. He'd lived in Notting Hill since 2004, managing to buy a small property with money he’d inherited from his parents. He’d timed it just right. Given the recession and the increase in house prices, he wouldn’t even be able to rent a place here now. He remembered just after he moved here how hectic the street was on a daily basis. Back then, tourists were still visiting the area to see where they'd filmed the Hugh Grant movie several years earlier. Most of that interest had died down now, but at the weekends and on Fridays the place was as busy as it ever was.

He walked along the pavement to his car parked on the street and sliding the key in the lock, he opened the door and climbed inside. He put the key in the ignition, firing it, and pulled on his seatbelt as he took a bite of the muffin. Putting the car in gear, he checked over his shoulder for any traffic, then released the handbrake and pulled away from the kerb.

Suddenly, a black 4x4 Ford pulled into view from a side street up to his left, moving fast. It stopped midway across the road abruptly, blocking it from both directions, just as McCarthy was pulling out into the street. He slammed on the brakes, jerking him forward. The Ford was directly in his path. Angry, he jammed on the handbrake, pulled off his seatbelt and opened his door, climbing half-way out of the vehicle and glaring angrily at the black car.

‘What the hell?’ he shouted at the driver up the street. ‘Get out of the road!’

He watched as the doors opened and four men quickly stepped out of the vehicle, all dressed in police gear, MP5 sub-machine guns in their hands. He froze.

The lead officer started approaching him quickly.

‘Are you Lee McCarthy? Formerly British Army?’ he shouted as he moved towards him.

‘Yeah. That’s me,’ McCarthy called back, frowning. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Sir, I need you to come-’

He never had a chance to finish the sentence.

During the exchange, McCarthy had sensed some kind of movement down the street to the left, about sixty yards away. Someone had stepped out of a silver car, a big figure dressed in black.

Distracted, he turned his attention from the cop, and saw the man was wearing a balaclava.

And he had a long weapon on his shoulder.

Aimed straight at him.

The bazooka suddenly whooshed and gave a flash.

McCarthy didn’t even have time to blink.

The rocket-propelled grenade hit the fender of the car. The explosion reacted with the fuel in McCarthy’s car instantaneously and the entire vehicle exploded in a huge fireball, killing McCarthy instantly. Porter was only just out of the blast radius which saved his life, but the force of it threw him back hard into the ARU’s car, making him shout in pain as he slammed into the vehicle. Behind him, Archer, Fox and Chalky were all knocked off their feet from the explosion, the fireball billowing out ahead of them. Car alarms on other vehicles on the street were set off as dogs in houses and gardens nearby started barking, adding to the cacophony of sound.

Staggering to his feet, his ears ringing, Archer was the first to react. As the blackened shell of McCarthy's car was engulfed in flames, Archer moved around Cobb's car and saw a man drop a bazooka to the ground. The guy was huge, dressed in black fatigues and had a balaclava shielding his face. One of the Panthers. He was next to a silver car, another man in black and a balaclava behind the wheel, and the guy on the street started to run around the car towards the passenger seat.

‘Hey!’ Archer shouted, raising his MP5.

Hearing him, the huge man paused, reached inside the back of his car and pulled out an AK-47 Kalashnikov rifle. Without a moment's hesitation, he snapped the weapon into his shoulder and started firing as Archer dove for cover, falling to the hard concrete and scraping the skin on his palms as a volley of bullets smashed into the car where he'd been standing. He heard people further down the street who’d been drawn by the explosion, screaming as