Free Nine Lives by Tom Barber

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.
    *
    ‘Excuse me for asking Director, but how familiar are you with the current associations between drugs and terrorism?’
    Crawford spoke to Cobb’s back as he stood across the room, making them both a cup of coffee from his machine by the far wall. Cobb turned.
    ‘How do you take it?’
    ‘Black, no sugar. Thank you.’
    Cobb finished making the two drinks then turned and passed one to the DEA agent, who nodded in appreciation. Cobb took his fourth cup of the day and sat back behind his desk. He knew all about the links between the two trades, but he decided to keep his cards close to his chest.
    He wanted to test Crawford out.
    ‘To be honest, not very,’ he lied, answering the man’s original question. ‘Here in the UK the two are mostly exclusive. Neither gets to a very high level without being stopped; we’re an island after all. It’s hard to smuggle drugs through our borders and it’s even harder to plan a terrorist conspiracy without us knowing about it.’
    He paused.
    Well, almost, he thought, silently cursing at Simmons’ carelessness.
    Crawford nodded, taking a sip from his coffee.
    ‘Allow me to explain. In the last few years, my agency’s most recent intelligence reports have shown that over sixty per cent of modern terrorist organisations are in some way involved with drug-trafficking or narcotics. The United States has deduced that there are forty-three recognised foreign terrorist organisations in the world, FTOs, as we call them. Of the forty-three FTO groups, we know for sure that at least nineteen of them are heavily involved with the major drug cartels.’
    Cobb sipped his drink,