Total Blackout Read online

  They would, however, struggle to explain why everything with wires, everything electronic, had instantaneously and catastrophically failed.

  No sirens broke the unnatural silence, but a dull thud and a shrieking of metal did. Oleniuk looked earthwards. There was cursing from the street below; a limousine had come to a halt, striking the back of a taxi. Both drivers were out of their vehicles and berating each other. Just past the collision a pair of identical, black SUVs were parked within the hotel’s turning circle.

  ‘Time to leave,’ Yan stated.

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘It is better for you that I do not tell you.’ She thrust out her right hand; it held her champagne glass. ‘Goodbye, Max, we shall see each other again when the operation is fully completed and everything has settled.’

  Oleniuk took her glass. ‘Goodbye. Safe travels.’

  Yan left the balcony, navigated her way deftly through the darkened room and then took the stairs down to the lobby. Oleniuk watched as she climbed into the first Tahoe. Its light switched on and it drove away, the only moving light in a sea of darkness.

  Alone now, a euphoric giddiness overtook Oleniuk as he slowly set down both glasses. With a trembling hand, he lifted the cold, sweaty bottle of champagne from the ice bucket. He drank greedily, raggedly, directly from its neck. He had never felt so powerful, so alive. He was a vengeful god.

  The home of his enemy, the White House, now reduced to a spectre in the pre-dawn gloom, scowled at Oleniuk as he turned on his heels and made his way carefully downstairs to his own EMP-proofed Tahoe. He now had a few hours before the fun and games really began.

  Camden, Maine

  When the phone rang this time, Tate was dry and sitting on his bed wearing a green cotton outdoor shirt, black jeans and a pair of boots. ‘Tate.’

  ‘Sorry I cut you off. Now as I was saying we got a hit on the faces in the passports. Both are GRU. Sergei Yesikov, until recently, was a member of 561st OMRP – Baltic Fleet Spetsnaz.’

  Tate felt his pulse increase. His last mission in Ukraine with E Squadron had targeted the Baltic Fleet Spetsnaz. ‘And the other one?’

  ‘Oleg Sokol, curiously used to work at—’ The call dropped out, and at the same time the lights cut out.

  Tate dived to the floor; immediately his training screaming at him that he was under imminent attack. Hell, why was he unarmed? They’d jammed his phone signal and pulled the switch on the electrics.

  But nothing happened. No flashbang was hurled through the window to subdue him, no shaped charge was blown to obliterate the door, and no armed Russians rushed into his room. Around him Camden was still asleep.

  Tate leopard-crawled across the room into the bathroom and only then did he stand. He checked his iPhone but the screen was blank. He pressed the power button, but nothing happened. Tate frowned. When he’d received the call from Newman he’d had sixty-two per cent of his battery remaining. So what had happened to it? He checked it for damage – none. His OtterBox Defender was one of the strongest phone cases on the market; he’d never even cracked the screen, but now the handset would not power up.

  His mouth moved silently as his brain tried to process what he was seeing. A jammer would deny his service, a conventional attack would damage the transmitter but none of this would turn his phone off. He went to the door, risked opening it.

  On the other side of the car park a silver Ford Explorer was moving soundlessly. It jerked to a sudden halt. The driver stepped out, kicked the front tyre and popped the bonnet open. A passenger emerged and started to walk around the car with her mobile phone held up at arm’s length. Tate frowned. In the grey, pre-dawn light he could make out that both passenger and driver were dressed for hiking wearing boots, khaki shorts and shirts. So what had happened? Had they been setting off for the day when the Ford had cut out?

  He stepped back into the darkness of his doorway. He wanted to observe without being seen. So their car wouldn’t start and the woman’s phone couldn’t get a signal. Could the phone even switch on?

  A figure dressed in a suit appeared from another room, and ignoring the stricken Ford made his way to a BMW. He pressed his fob and then tried to open the door. He tried again and pulled the handle before he fiddled with the fob and opened the car with the manual key. And then nothing happened. A minute passed before he got out again and, clearly unable to make the BMW start, wandered over to the couple by the Explorer. For one car to refuse to start was unfortunate; for two to fail to start was unusual, but was it a coincidence or was something happening here that Tate just did not understand? He remembered the words of the older Russian: “Not many will start. The Winnebago is diesel, which may have a better chance.”

  Where was the Winnebago? He couldn’t see it. Strange. He went back into his room and collected his wallet and passport from the bedside cabinet. He buttoned his passport into his left chest shirt pocket and pushed his wallet in the side pocket of his jeans. He left his dead phone where it was but picked up the remote key fob for his Tahoe and once outside attempted to blip the doors open. Nothing happened. He tried again. Again nothing. He looked at the fob, depressed the button again. There was no red light to say the unit was working. He slid the inbuilt metal key out of the fob and opened the driver’s door. A mechanical thud released the door and he got inside.

  He looked at the door light – it hadn’t switched on. He checked the roof light – it was switched to “door”. He flicked it to “on”. It didn’t switch on. He found the alarm light, watched it and waited for it to blink. It didn’t. Finally Tate tried the ignition. No trace of a spark, no low groan. Tate got out of the Tahoe and manually locked it.

  A second couple now appeared, also hikers or walkers or perhaps just one of those middle-aged couples who enjoy wearing matching “active wear”. Their vehicle too was dead. Tate liked a puzzle as much as the next man, liked finding the clues before Columbo, but here he had no frame of reference.

  All these items had circuitry, all these items used some type of wire … A cold, black fear gripped Tate.

  He looked skyward for a sign, for a mushroom cloud, for any sign of a nuclear detonation. There was a slight breeze, but he could see no strange glow, no strange cloud and felt no unexplained heat. All the circuitry had failed and the only thing he knew that could do that would be the electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear detonation.

  Tate saw that the curtains in the window of the Russians’ room were open. He moved to their door and swiftly darted his head forward and then back. The room looked empty. He looked again now but for longer, feeling more confident that he wasn’t about to be blasted through the glass by a 9mm. By what he could see in the pre-dawn gloom, the room looked to be clinically clean – the twin beds had been stripped down to their mattresses yet he couldn’t see any trace of the bedding on the floor.

  Tate turned and for the first time noticed a third black Chevy Tahoe was parked, in the deep shadows past the far end of the other accommodation block. It was an unpaved access space, he presumed for the maintenance staff. He walked directly towards it, trying to provoke a response. It would either move or it wouldn’t. He drew nearer and noted that the number plate did not belong to either of the two Russian SUVs. Was it just a popular model or was that too much of a coincidence? He carried on towards the SUV and now saw a sticker in the windscreen for a rental company. He sighed and then he heard someone curse.

  Outside the reception Joe was shaking his head and looking skywards, as though for divine intervention. Tate jogged over to him and said, with more calm than he felt, ‘What d’ya know, Joe?’

  ‘All I know is that the power’s out and I can’t get the damn backup generator to work.’

  Tate took a deep breath; this would be interesting. ‘Joe, I think this is more serious than the power. I think it’s some type of attack.’

  Joe’s eyebrows came alive and tried to leave his face. ‘On the hotel?’

  Tate quickly explained about the effects of an EM
P and what could cause it.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Joe said, shaking his head.

  Tate had an idea. ‘Sara said you had a ham radio set?’

  ‘Sure do. I talk to people all over the world on that.’

  ‘Do you have any friends in the UK?’

  ‘You bet I do.’

  ‘Can you try to contact one of them for me?’

  ‘You betcha!’ Joe sprang out of the chair. ‘Follow me.’

  Joe led them through the back of the reception area, along a corridor, and up a flight of stairs. He opened a door to a room, which overlooked the road. It was not much bigger than one of the standard hotel rooms, but there was a metal box sitting on the stand next to the television. ‘It isn’t much, but it’s home.’

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘Yep. OK then, let’s see what we can do.’ Joe pulled a chair over and sat in front of the box. He undid the clasps to reveal his pride and joy. ‘It runs on battery or mains power. I take it out with me sometimes. There’s nothing better than sitting on top of Mount Battie and broadcasting to the world.’

  Tate dragged over a second chair. ‘Let’s just hope we can broadcast to the UK.’

  ‘Yup.’ Joe turned on the set and beamed when a red light appeared. ‘Now we’re cooking.’ He twiddled a dial and started to speak. There was nothing for a while and then a croaky elderly voice spoke.

  ‘Hello, General Custer! Thank heavens you are safe!’

  ‘General Custer?’ Tate mouthed.

  ‘It’s my handle. Reading you loud and clear, Bombardier.’

  ‘Well, I must say, I’m very glad to hear you. I’ve just had my fix of BBC Hard Talk interrupted by a news flash. It all sounded very ominous to me.’

  ‘Can I?’ asked Tate.

  Joe nodded. ‘Bombardier, I have a friend with me from the UK. He’s going to talk to you now.’

  ‘Bombardier, my name is Jack Tate. Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Tate.’

  ‘Good, now I need you to listen to me. I work for the SIS.’

  ‘SIS?’

  ‘MI6, I’m an agent for MI6.’ Even most Brits didn’t know it was actually called SIS; Tate blamed Ian Fleming.

  ‘Ooh, how exciting.’

  ‘Can you tell me what you’ve seen on the news?’

  ‘Well, it’s on all the channels now – breaking news. Something has caused the power to go out over the US. I’ve got the television on here watching it. Of course, they don’t have any video footage yet.’

  Tate tried to process the information. ‘Has there been any mention of a nuclear weapon?’

  ‘A nuclear weapon?’ The voice from England rose a key.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. One expert said that something exploded in the atmosphere above the continental United States, but he thought it may have been a meteorite.’ The line became static for a moment.

  ‘Oh, heavens above!’

  ‘Bombardier,’ Tate said, ‘are you still there?’

  ‘Yes. And you?’

  ‘I hope so. Can you tell me any more about the attack?’

  ‘Let me look.’ There was silence and then Bombardier spoke again: ‘OK, the satellites say that the power is off all across the continental United States of America. We’re sending the RAF over to take a look. Nothing is coming out of the US at all – no transmission except yours.’

  ‘OK, Bombardier, I need you to call my office for me. You need to speak to my boss; her name is Pamela Newman. Have you got that?’

  Tate heard a scratching at the other end. ‘Just writing that down.’

  ‘Tell her that Jack Tate is active and is going after the Russians. OK?’

  ‘Going after the Ru—’ The set cut out.

  Tate looked at the handset in disbelief.

  Joe threw his hands up in the air. ‘The damn battery!’

  Tate went back to the window. The street outside looked the same, but he now saw a large figure crossing the road and purposefully walking towards the hotel. ‘Joe, where’s Sara?’

  ‘She took a sleeping tablet and said she didn’t want to be disturbed unless there was an emergency.’

  Tate gave Joe a look. ‘I think this qualifies.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Joe remained still for a moment and looked at Tate. ‘So you’re a real-life spy?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not all sex and fast cars.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Sometimes the cars are slow. Now go and wake Sara.’

  *

  Donoghue met Tate by the reception desk. ‘My son’s got two black eyes, a swollen nose, a dislocated jaw, a badly bruised shin, a dented Nissan, and a huge ego.’

  Tate said nothing.

  ‘No one in Camden would have dared give the little bastard a beating, except you. So I’m going to thank you.’

  ‘Does your patrol car work?’

  Donoghue frowned at Tate’s question. ‘No, it does not, and nor does my personal vehicle or my wife’s. I don’t know about Clint’s Skyline. Do you know what’s happening?’

  ‘The US has been attacked.’

  ‘What?’

  As Tate explained, the chief of police stayed silent. ‘When I took this job, I vowed I’d protect this place. I said that whatever happened in the future, Camden would be safe.’

  ‘It is, for now.’

  Donoghue frowned. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Joe got his ham radio working; we spoke to someone in the UK. He was watching it on a BBC News channel.’

  ‘Who was covering it here?’

  ‘No one. There are no electronic signals coming out of the US. Chief, what’s your emergency plan?’

  ‘Disaster plan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We have the citizens assemble in the car park next to police headquarters.’

  ‘And how do you let them know?’

  ‘Telephone calls to first responders and announcements from the PA address system on top of our police cruisers’ – he shook his head – ‘which now will not work.’

  ‘They may; I don’t know. Joe’s radio set worked, but that was kept in a metal box.’

  ‘But cars are metal boxes.’

  Tate shrugged. ‘I’m not a scientist.’

  ‘Who are you, Jack Tate?’

  ‘Secret Intelligence Service.’

  ‘MI6?’ When Tate nodded, Donoghue continued, ‘I knew it. So you were on an assignment?’

  ‘No, I really was on holiday – I was ordered to take some time off. Look, there’s something else I haven’t told you: I overheard the Russians last night saying how cars wouldn’t work today. They knew it was coming.’

  ‘You speak Russian?’

  ‘Da.’

  Donoghue ran his hand through his mane of salt-and-pepper hair. ‘How are the Russians related to this attack, unless it’s the Russians who are attacking us? And how in the hell did they arrange it?’

  ‘I have no idea, but if we grab the Russians we can find out.’

  ‘Agreed. Are they still here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Great plan, Tate.’

  ‘Yep. Where are the rest of your men?’

  ‘According to the roster yesterday, one was on an early morning patrol and the others don’t clock in until seven a.m.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Damn, even this is busted.’

  Tate checked his Rolex. ‘It’s six. Look, somehow you need to get the town together to brief them. Nothing stops panic spreading better than facts and a friendly face.’

  ‘You think I have a friendly face, Tate?’

  ‘No I don’t, so I suggest you get someone else to brief them, maybe the mayor or someone.’

  ‘The mayor is on vacation.’

  ‘You make the address then, but try to smile a bit.’

  Donoghue heard a voice call, ‘Chief!’ He turned his head and saw an officer riding a pink bicycle. With a screeching of brakes, the bike stopped and the officer stumbled as he dismounted.

  ‘Tate, this i
s Officer Edger.’

  ‘Nice wheels,’ Tate said.

  ‘It’s my daughter’s,’ the diminutive officer replied.

  ‘Steve, do you know what’s going on?’ Donoghue asked.

  ‘Some sort of power outage?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  Tate looked out across the car park. First at his Tahoe and then at the other. ‘I think we need to check Joe’s paperwork.’

  Chapter 12

  Washington, DC

  Li Tam had slept for longer than he had intended to but had still been on the road in time to see the detonation. His radio, set to his favourite station, had been playing jazz and the soothing, husky sounds of a saxophone filled the taxi as he had headed back to central Washington. The sky had still been dark but some streaks of light appeared over the horizon. As the music continued to float around his ears, he had imagined himself playing in a band before an adoring crowd. Lights started appearing in buildings and more cars joined the road. He’d stared up at the sky and smiled; understanding what was about to happen.

  The clock on his dash informed him there were just a couple of minutes to go – he’d hummed to the tune on the radio and tapped his fingers on the wheel. A semi-truck ambled directly in front of him, its red taillights glowering at him like eyes of an angry dragon … and then it had happened … a greenish flash in the sky. The taxi had shuddered and the radio had died. Li Tam had coasted to the side of the road and switched off the engine.

  Now not a single light shone, not a single car moved. Up ahead the semi had also stopped. The bemused driver was still looking in the open hood. Li Tam stretched and climbed out of the taxi. He felt the mild pre-dawn chill as he opened his zipper and urinated on the side of the road. The Russians had not called him. He decided that now he had done enough for them. If they wanted him, they could call him like normal people. He would go home and await further instructions there. His family needed him but to get back to them he had to take a chance and drive through central Washington.

  Tam took a deep breath, stared up at the heavens and flashed a thumbs up as he imagined one of his nation’s own spy satellites smiling down at him. He got back into the taxi and turned the ignition. The car started the first time, his lamps the only manmade light he could see. He was thankful that the scientists had been proved right. Their technology – both the EMP device and the EMP shielding fitted to his taxi – worked.