TWELVE
‘It was 1999,' Cobb said. 'I was twenty six, and was working on a six-month transfer detail at MI6. The war in Serbia was really taking off, and things in Kosovo were going from deep shit to worse. NATO had just got involved, As you may recall, there were two sides, the Serbs and the Albanians, the Christians versus the Muslims as the press liked to portray it, dubbing it a modern holy war. But to the rest of us, it was just a real damn mess. It was already a bad situation, but then NATO stepped in and started shelling Belgrade like it would fix all the problems.’
He paused.
‘I’m sure you know the history. They’ve been fighting over that land for centuries, as far back as 1389. A conference right here in London just over a hundred years ago officially stated that the Kosovo lands from then on would belong to Serbia and Serbia alone. But during the last century, the population in the area gradually became more and more Albanian. Serbia ended all self-government in Kosovo in 1989, and the police force became all Serbian. The Albanians in the region were pissed. They had lost jobs, political rights and dignity. And soon enough, as the 90’s ticked by, they started to demand their independence, saying that the land wasn’t Serbia’s but theirs.’
‘But the Serbs disagreed,’ Fox said. Cobb nodded.
‘And in 1998, the exact same as in 1389, the fight was breaking out all over the country again, across the plains and in the valleys, two sides going at each other just as they had six hundred years ago.'
He paused.
'Like all wars, some really bad stuff happened. Houses and villages were torched, women raped, villagers and civilians executed, entire towns razed and burned to the ground. Stuff that the BBC and CNN didn’t show in their reports.’
The room was silent as each man listened closely.
‘Anyway, I got called into my boss's office in March 1999, just before the NATO bombing of Belgrade had begun,’ Cobb continued. ‘To my surprise, there was a covert operation that he wanted me to handle. He claimed that he was passing it to me because he wanted to give me an opportunity to see what I could do, more responsibility, to see how I handled the pressure, etc. But even at the time I knew that was all bullshit. The fact is, no one else wanted it. It should have been a military job, but for some reason that I never discovered, no one would touch it, all making up long and elaborate excuses as to why it wasn’t possible. So it got passed down and I ended up being the schmuck who was too junior to say no. If I did, I would have been transferred straight out of there and stuck behind a desk. My career would effectively have been over before it had begun.’
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.
The CIA kept immaculate and up-to-date records on anyone who had ever been involved with the Agency’s dealings over the years. Some tight, high-level security protocols had been in place with this file, but the information Shaw had rushed home with on the memory stick had been exactly what they were after, ten names and addresses of the men from that operation all those years ago. Only one man was missing from the list, but they already knew his name. Once the dominos were falling, one after the other, they would find him soon enough.
Back at the command post in London, watching the screen, the man saw police tape pulled up around the house in McLean, an ambulance team dressed in white working alongside a forensics team. He saw two large black body-bags wheeled out on two gurneys. Mr and Mrs Shaw respectively.
The commanding officer was a man of honour, but he was also ruthless. The safety and security of his men was his foremost priority and he knew sooner or later the Shaw’s would tell someone what had happened and could describe what each member of the group looked like. So once the fat man had returned with the information, the group had killed him and his wife. It had been relatively quick. They’d gagged the couple, taken them upstairs, then used two knives from the kitchen so as not to alert the neighbours. Knife-work was always messy. The pair of them had both bled like stuck pigs as Worm and Bug cut their throats, blood soaking into the white bed-sheets of their double bed. Each was around two hundred and fifty pounds, and blood had pulsed and pulsed out of their obese bodies onto the sheets and the carpet. The bedroom looked like a horror film by the time the team had left.
Watching the fresh report, a lime-green light suddenly started flashing on the desk beside the television, lighting up the room like a large firefly. It was the screen of his mobile phone. The big man picked it up from the desk and answered it.
'Yes.'
'Sir, I have news,' a voice said. It was Worm.' Jackson is with Cobb. They just left the police station. I don't know where they’re going, but it must be important. They’re not hanging around. I’m following.'
‘You didn’t get a shot?'
'No, sir. I was parked down the street, and they drove too fast when they pulled out of the gates. They also have four cops with them. They're all armed.'
‘Don’t lose them. Report back when you know where the hell they are going. And don’t screw up.’
He ended the call without waiting for a response.
He placed the phone back on the desk and looked down at the list of names in front of him. Tim Cobb, ARU it said there, in dark letters. Ryan Jackson, CIA just below it. Judging from Worm's report, these two now had an armed escort everywhere they went. The original plan for Jackson was to take him out during a meeting he had scheduled at noon. He thought it was going to be with the Syrian ambassador, but in reality he would have arrived at the meeting place, an empty conference room, and found himself walking on plastic sheets, a silenced pistol put to the back of his head.
But it was now past midday and his assistant had called earlier to cancel the meeting, so the plan had been aborted. And now Jackson was with Cobb. Both would have made the connection by now and realised from the list of the dead what this was about. That explained the armed escort.
Alone in the dark command post, the big man cursed.
Killing Jackson and Cobb was going to be harder than he’d thought.