Blackout (Sam Archer 3) (15 page)

There was another pause.

‘What was the operation, sir?’ Porter asked.

Cobb flicked his gaze at Jackson, who stood watching him silently, his arms folded. The American nodded and Cobb continued.

‘Three soldiers from NATO ground forces had been kidnapped. One of ours, a British Army infantry Corporal, and two United States Marines. Intelligence reports said that they were being held somewhere in the Drenica Valley, a long gully in central Kosovo where a lot of the fighting took place. It was my job to find them and get them out. NATO had forces on the ground, but we had extensive access to undercover operatives, drones, bugs and wire-taps.’ He paused. ‘I was working on this alone with a carefully selected team of six. No one aside from the absolute minimum knew about it. My boss said that we couldn’t risk any kind of leaks. If the press became aware of the situation, it could compromise the safety of the hostages. There would be ransom demands and possibly filmed executions.’

He nodded.

‘Soon enough the team under my supervision found the three men by using a drone. It was just as they said. They were being held captive by a group of eight soldiers. I relayed this to my senior officer and he ordered me to organise the rescue operation, which was strange too.’

‘Why?’ Chalky asked.

‘At MI6, they use covert and undercover operatives, secretive tactics, similar to the work the CIA does. We weren't a military hit-and-run squad and definitely not a rescue team. But nevertheless, he ordered me to handle it, and put me in touch with an American agent from the CIA to assist me. That happened to be Agent Jackson here.’

The four ARU officers looked over at the American, who nodded, his expression unreadable, his arms folded. Cobb continued.

‘Given that two of the hostages were US Marines and that it was a NATO operation, Agent Jackson wanted American soldiers in the rescue team, as well as our own,’ he said. ‘Consequently, it ended up being a six-man squad, two teams of three. Captain Charlie Adams of the British Army in charge, Sergeant Derek Spears of the United States
Rangers his second-in-command. And the official name for the unofficial rescue was
Operation Blackout
.’

He paused.

‘The rescue operation would be performed by foot,' he continued. 'The captives were being held at a remote camp far away from both the Serb and KLA ground forces, out in the valleys towards Bosnia. We couldn’t use aircraft near their citadel. RPGs and bazookas were one of the most commonly used weapons in the war and we didn’t want to risk taking a hit. So the plan was to drop the team four miles to the east. They would infiltrate at night, move in, rescue the three hostages, then head back to the extraction point where it was safe to fly and for us to pick all nine of them up. We had to wait on the weather, and once it was in our favour, we were ready. Jackson and I were working together from a command post inside MI6, co-ordinating the operation. And on a Thursday night in late March in 1999, Operation Blackout was a
go
.’

He paused and nodded.

‘They abseiled in and the helicopter left without drawing fire or any attention. These were good men, you know, really good. They were under strict orders not to shoot to kill unless absolutely necessary. The team worked their way inside the perimeter under Captain Adams’ leadership. None of the enemy had a clue they were there, right under their noses. They moved right through the KLA camp, to the hut where the three hostages were being held. They got them out and headed back the way they came before anyone had any idea what had happened. Stealth over aggression, shadows over bullets. The helicopter picked them up at the RV point three hours after they dropped them off, and the entire team left unhurt with the three hostages, the mission a success.’

He paused.

Leaning against some of the damaged glass, Archer glanced across the room at Jackson, who was standing motionless, listening.

He looked tense.

‘Naturally, I figured my boss would be thrilled,' Cobb continued. 'It was a real coup. I was a young man, still twenty six, so naturally I was elated. The first big operation I'd run and it was a knockout. It couldn't have gone better. But then he called me into his office with Agent Jackson at four a.m. that morning, just after the operation had ended, before we’d even had a chance to leave and get some much needed rest. Obviously, with the nature of our work, we were both trained and familiar with discretion. Like everyone else, I’d signed the Official Secrets Act and Jackson the Espionage Act earlier in our careers. But we were each handed specially drawn-up agreements and ordered to sign
them immediately. If we ever said a word to anyone about this operation, the ramifications would be incredibly severe. Even now, I'm breaking the terms of that document I signed by mentioning what happened. If the wrong person heard this, I could go to prison.’

‘Why the silence, sir?’ Archer said. ‘I thought hostage rescues normally got leaked to the press? Good PR and all.’

Cobb looked at him.

‘You're right. They are. Normally someone at Downing Street can’t wait to tell the journalists. Such operations are real triumphs, something to lift the public, to reinforce their faith in our armed forces and government, showing our superiority over the enemy
etc etc
. But the document I signed was the most
uncompromising
I’d ever seen. To my knowledge, everyone involved in Blackout signed one. So I moved on, and it’s been fifteen years since I last thought about it.’

Silence.

‘So why were they so keen to keep you quiet?’ Chalky asked, by the door.

Cobb looked over at Jackson.

‘Most of our operations were classified Top Secret,' Cobb said, his eyes boring a hole into the CIA agent, who looked at the ground. 'But something didn't seem right here. And I’m guessing they didn’t tell me the full story. I should have known something was wrong when none of the military guys would touch it. This kind of thing is normally right up their alley.’

‘But wait a minute,’ Archer said, across the room. ‘I thought NATO was working with the Albanians and the KLA. Why the hell would they take some of our own guys captive? We were on the same side.’

In his chair, his narrative complete, Cobb turned to Jackson.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you would like to share? Why would they take three of our fellow countrymen hostage?’

The American paused and looked at him.

A long and somewhat awkward silence followed.

'
Speak
, Ryan,' Cobb said, his voice harder. 'No more secrets. It’s too late for that. It's time we started sharing some history. Why would they take three of our guys?'

Jackson looked up at him ruefully.

‘Because they were mass murderers,’ he said.

*

Before Jackson could explain further, Nikki rushed over to Cobb's office and after knocking, quickly entered the room. She couldn’t have entered at a worse time, but she had to talk to Cobb right away. None of the men paid attention to her. They all seemed to be looking at the American CIA newcomer.

‘Sir, I found one of the names on the list you gave me.’

‘Who?’

‘A Corporal Simon Fletcher, formerly British Army. He’s under care at a hospice twenty five minutes from here.’

‘Got the address?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So let’s go.’

Cobb rose from his desk and moved outside into the operations area, followed by the five other men, all of them turning left and headed for the lower level. Downstairs they found Deakins and another officer at the front desk, guarding the front entrance, MP5s in their hands. Archer saw that Clark's body had been removed, but he could still see faint blood stains on the floor and wall behind him.

‘Is there a problem, sir?’ Deakins asked.

‘We need to head out for an hour or so,’ Cobb said. ‘First Team is coming with me. Hold the fort till I get back. You're in command.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cobb nodded and the six men walked to the doors. He peered outside, then turned and looked back at the five men behind him.

‘We’ll go in my vehicle and Jackson’s,’ he said.

Satisfied it was safe, he pushed open the door and moved swiftly to the cars. In the lot, the three ARU vehicles had been torn apart by the Kalashnikov gunfire so the men ignored them and headed for the civilian cars parked beside them. Cobb and Jackson pulled their keys and clicked open each car, the two vehicles giving two chirps as they were unlocked. Jackson climbed into the driver's seat of his BMW, Archer and Fox with him, whilst Porter and Chalky went with Cobb. Both engines fired up, and Cobb took the
lead, reversing and heading out of the lot swiftly. One of the two Met officers stationed at the perimeter lifted the yellow police tape, and the two cars moved underneath, past the gathering group of journalists, news-teams and members of the public, and headed off down the street, moving fast.

In the lead car, heading down the road, Cobb thought for a moment then pulled his mobile phone from his inside suit pocket and pushed
Redial
. The call connected to Nikki back upstairs in the ops room inside ARU's headquarters.

'Sir?'
she answered.

'Nikki, call my wife,' he said. 'Tell her to come straight in and bring the boys. Until this is over, I want them all under armed protection.'

'Yes, sir,'
she said.

He ended the call, put his foot down and the car sped off down the street.

‘Simon Fletcher,’ Chalky said. ‘Was he a member of the rescue team, sir?’

Cobb shook his head, his face hard.

‘No. He was one of the hostages.’

Back at the command post, the big man sitting alone in the darkness saw the CNN screen flicker to reports of a double-homicide discovered in a family home in McLean, Virginia.

So they’d found the fat man and his wife. Finally. For a government town, they’d taken their time. He’d been expecting that discovery two weeks ago. When he and his team had arrived in McLean after leaving Belgrade, they had settled in a hotel and started to look around for what they were after. They had eventually found it sitting in a local bar, three days later. The man's name was Peter Shaw, an overweight and disgruntled analyst who worked for the CIA. Spider had stopped into a local bar for a beer, and had heard the overweight man complaining to a co-worker about how his talents were being misused, the two men
sitting
on stools down the bar nursing two cold beers.

Once Bug and Flea had joined Spider and the fat man’s friend had said his goodbyes and headed out, Spider had moved over and introduced himself, making up a bullshit story about his background and struck up a conversation. Over the next few hours, the three soldiers had proceeded to get Shaw increasingly drunk, encouraging him to talk and vent his anger about his perceived misuse by the Agency.
Shaw had gone on and on about how his skills were being wasted by his superiors, how he was the best analyst you could find in the entire damn town and how he was sick of being overlooked for
promotion again and again by people who couldn’t do their job without him. The three men kept nodding in agreement, feigning interest and feeding him more booze, fuelling his dissatisfaction and in the process finding out what his security clearances were.

Once Spider told his commanding officer about Shaw the next morning, they agreed he was exactly what they were looking for. The next step was when to give the fat man the assignment. The team knew that they couldn’t approach Shaw in his vehicle or anywhere near his office at the Agency headquarters. So they had accosted him twenty four hours later, just before he went to work early in the morning. He had opened the door, surprised to see his new friends from the bar standing on his porch. The men had stripped his wife naked in the living room and held a butcher's knife from the kitchen to her throat. She was as overweight as her husband, her pale fatty flesh marbled and stretched. Her nudity was an unpleasant sight.

The long blade to the fat woman’s jugular, the leader had said very clearly and simply what they wanted. If Shaw complied, he promised that they both would live and they would leave them be. But if he failed or tried to tell anyone what was happening, the leader of the group would let his men start on his wife. Worm had taken over and told Shaw they wouldn’t just cut her throat. They would start elsewhere, somewhere about a foot and a half south, and work their way up.

There were all sorts of things they could use on her, he’d told the fat man. In all sorts of places. Cork-screws, peelers, chopping knives, a cleaver. After all, the kitchen was very well stocked.

Unused to such ferocity, Shaw had been almost speechless with terror, instantly compliant, nodding frantically and trying not to wet himself with fear as his former friends from the bar held the knife to his naked wife’s throat. Despite being scared witless and a complete slob, he had proved to be as good at his job as he claimed and had got the team what they wanted before lunch that morning. The team had remained vigilant, checking outside to see if this was a set-up or if Shaw had talked to the cops, but he hadn’t.

When he returned, no one followed him.