you guys also murdered people in the US. Former soldiers. Unlike us, the Americans still have the death penalty. They'll push for extradition. Then the lethal injection. For you and all your friends.'
'Where is the man called Cobb?' Wulf asked, ignoring him.
'He's here. He's outside, watching.'
'You're lying. Only a fool would stay here.'
Pause.
Wulf’s eyes examined Archer’s face, and his expression.
'You think you've won, don't you, young man?'
'Sure feels that way, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’
‘Take a good look around you.'
Wulf smiled.
It was unnerving.
'You haven't won. Everyone in this building is going to die.'
'That seems pretty unlikely right now.’ Pause. ‘Besides, what did we ever do to you?'
‘You got in the way.’
Pause.
'Where are the rest of your friends?' Archer asked him.
'Where is Cobb?' Wulf asked back.
'You're in no position to ask questions.'
'Yes, I am. You should respect me, boy. You are just a police officer. Someone like you wouldn't last an hour in our life.'
'Is that so?'
Wulf looked at him, his blue eyes almost freezing over with frosty contempt. 'Look at you. You are soft and weak. You live in comfort. My parents died when I was a child. I killed my first man when I was eleven. I spent fifteen years in a prison where you wouldn’t survive one night. And you think you can beat me?'
He laughed, filling the silence.
It was harsh and deep, and echoed around the room.
'I'm going to kill you. All of you. Then I will execute Cobb. Wherever he is, wherever he is hiding, I will find him.'
Pause.
The room was silent.
'Cobb had nothing to do with what happened.'
'He freed the men who did it. That makes him guilty.'
'It wasn't his fault. He didn't know what those men did.'
'He should have left them to die. But he gave them freedom. And they put me and my men in jail. They murder our families and we are the ones who are punished for it.'
'Move on. You can’t change the past.'
'They shot both my children in the head. They were twins. Three years old. A boy and a girl. My wife was shot as she tried to protect them.'
'I'm sorry. But move on. Cobb didn’t pull the trigger.'
‘Tell me where he is.'
Pause.
‘Why did the KLA expel you?’
The man looked at him. Said nothing.
‘They abandoned you. And I think your men have abandoned you too. You’re all alone.’
Wulf went to reply, but suddenly, the room went dark.
The lights had cut out.
As Archer looked around in the sudden blackness, confused, he heard that laugh again, deep and threatening, rumbling around the pitch black like distant thunder.
'They're coming,' Wulf said. 'You're going to die, young man.'
'What the hell was that?' Deakins said, out by the reception desk.
He was with two other members of Second Team, all three standing in the darkness, their visibility slightly better than down the corridor due to the lights from the streets outside. A few moments later, Agent Jackson and Porter appeared through the door from the corridor, both of them looking anxious.
'Power cut?' Porter asked.
'No, it-'
But before Deakins could respond, there was a smash of glass. Beside Porter, Jackson was thumped backwards, blood sprayed all over the wall and onto Deakins and Porter, as the CIA agent took a bullet in the neck.
He fell back, collapsing on the ground.
'Shit!' Deakins shouted.
The whole team crouched low and took cover, hustling fast through the doors back into the dark corridor of the holding cells. Porter grabbed Jackson's collar, pulling him into the corridor, blood smearing on the ground under the wounded man as Porter dragged him behind the cover of the door. Jackson was clutching at the wound, his eyes wide with shock and fear, and blood pulsed out of him through his fingers, already soaking the top of his shirt and suit jacket and leaving a stained crimson trail on the white floor.
'C'mon Port!' Deakins shouted, helping him with Jackson.
There was a thump and a kick of plaster as another bullet hit the wall by Porter's head and he fell back into the corridor with Jackson, Deakins locking the door. Heaving Jackson over his shoulder, Porter and Deakins hustled down the corridor, towards their team-mates, most of whom were standing in the corridor, confused.
'Get back!' they shouted.
And behind them, the door suddenly exploded, as it took a rocket from a bazooka head on.
The force of the blast smashed it off its hinges and the twisted frame flew down the corridor, coming to rest in a smoking dented heap on the floor. The officers had their MP5s to hand but