by Tom Barber
EIGHT
At the ARU’s headquarters, the unexpected discovery of the three members of the terrorist cell had left Cobb both extremely relieved and extremely worried.
The safe-house they’d been holed up in wasn’t on any of the databases or listed on the raid-sheet to be searched, which was more than concerning. Right now he had Nikki and her team working the three guys’ mug-shots through every file they had. Mac had just called, saying he was on his way back and that he’d ordered the team from Farha’s apartment to return. Two of the arrested suspects were already on their way here for questioning. The other was headed to the morgue.
As Nikki worked at her computer in the tech area, Cobb stood behind her in silence, desperately trying to think where the other six suspects could be. It was only by a stroke of ridiculous luck and a nosy old lady that they had stumbled upon these three. They couldn’t rely on such good fortune again. Turning, he withdrew to his office, shutting the door behind him as his mind ran through every possible scenario.
Lost in thought, he sat back in the chair behind his desk. His office was a modern design in that the walls were made of clear transparent glass, which meant he could see what was happening outside without leaving his desk.
It also meant he saw the moment the newcomer arrived, escorted by the detective who manned the front desk downstairs.
The stranger was dressed in a dark suit, with a badge clipped to the breast pocket that said Visitor in bold red letters. He was wearing a blue shirt with a red tie, smart but simple, no bullshit. The guy looked like a typical corn-fed Southern boy in his mid-thirties, lean and tanned, blond hair bleached from years of sun combed smartly over green eyes. Kind of like a younger Robert Redford Cobb thought, as he watched the two men approach his door. American. He has to be. He noticed the newcomer paid no attention to the processes of the intelligence team behind him, which told Cobb that he’d seen it all before. A government guy.
Cobb rose from behind his desk as the detective escorting the man knocked on the glass door. He nodded, and the two men entered.
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but this is Special Agent Crawford,’ said the detective. ‘He’s with the DEA.’
Cobb hid a frown. The DEA was the United States Drugs Enforcement Administration, the agency tasked with leading the world-wide war on narcotics from the frontline. On any day regardless, Cobb would have been baffled as to why this man had walked into his office. The DEA battled cartels and dealers in South America and at their own borders, not in the UK. His presence here today was too coincidental and it filled Cobb with immediate unease. It had been a morning full of unpleasant surprises and he could do without any more.
Swallowing his sense of foreboding, Cobb nodded to the detective who turned and departed, leaving them alone.
The visitor stepped forward, offering his hand and introducing himself.
‘Jason Crawford. As your man said, I’m a Special Agent with the DEA. Pleasure to meet you.’
Cobb shook the man’s hand. ‘Tim Cobb, Director of Operations.’
He waved a hand towards the busy intelligence team in the Operations area.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, Special Agent Crawford, but now really isn’t a good time.’
Crawford turned to glance at the ops room. He looked back and nodded.
‘I understand, Director. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t crucially important. I only arrived from Paris twenty five minutes ago. I flew here just to speak with you personally.’
Cobb was confused and didn’t hide it.
‘About what?’
The American looked into his eyes.
‘Dominick Farha,’ he replied quietly.