Total Blackout Page 17

‘I think you should put them in your holding cells until you can contact the federal government.’

  ‘I reckon that’s all I can do.’

  ‘But I have to leave!’ Oleg said, astounded. ‘You can’t arrest me. I have diplomatic immunity!’

  Donoghue and Tate exchanged looks; Donoghue spoke first. ‘Is he being serious?’

  ‘He really is.’

  Donoghue addressed the Russian scientist. ‘In order for you to have diplomatic status, you would have a diplomatic passport and the Russian government would also be required to log your details with the State Department. Now tell me, why would they have done that for someone working for a private military contractor?’

  ‘But I was promised; it was all explained to me by the founder of Blackline—’

  Tate cut the Russian off: ‘And his name is?’

  ‘Maksim Oleniuk,’ Oleg said, as if Tate were simple.

  Tate became quiet, as the events of five years before exploded into the present. Maksim Oleniuk! Tate remembered, in vivid detail the round that hit the GRU officer, the blood blossoming from his neck and the man falling. Oleniuk was dead. How could someone survive a 7.62mm round to the throat? Tate had to focus on the now and not the then. And did Oleniuk know about the operation with The Shadows in Ukraine? It couldn’t be mere happenstance that he was leading a mission in Washington where Simon was stationed.

  Oleg continued. ‘There is a new, streamlined process. I could use my existing passport and his connections would talk to the relevant ministry.’

  ‘Horseshit,’ Donoghue stated. ‘For someone who is obviously the most intelligent guy in the room, you are extremely dumb.’

  ‘What?’ Oleg did not follow.

  ‘You do not have diplomatic immunity,’ Tate stated.

  Oleg’s face fell. ‘That cannot be correct. I am a valuable asset, not just to Blackline but to Mother Russia. No, you are not telling me the truth. My employer assured me that my diplomatic status would prevent me from being hindered in any way by US law enforcement.’

  ‘And how is that working out for you now?’ Tate said thinly.

  ‘But my research, my evaluations!’ Oleg looked down as realisation suddenly struck him. ‘I’ve already sent my initial findings back to Russia.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘My Russian military satellite telephone was able to connect with one of our surveillance satellites. What a fool I have been!’

  ‘Your sat phone works?’

  ‘Yes, but it connects only with the Russian military.’

  ‘What about the Iridium handset I found?’ Tate had placed it in the trunk next to the weapons. ‘Have you tried that?’

  ‘It is operational, but there is no signal.’

  ‘How were you to exfil?’

  ‘You have the map,’ Oleg pointed out. ‘Our base is circled on it. A plane was to fly into Houlton.’

  Donoghue looked at Tate. ‘My priority is my town and my people. I’m going to take the Russians back to town, throw them in the cells, and commandeer their SUVs for Camden PD. Christ only knows how many other vehicles are working in Maine.’

  ‘About ten per cent,’ Oleg stated. ‘That is the figure I was given. The older the vehicle, the more likely it works.’

  Tate ignored Oleg’s interruption. ‘Chief, you take Sergei and one of the SUVs. I’m going to Houlton and I’m taking our new friend Oleg with me.’

  ‘The hell you are.’

  ‘Listen, Oleg knows the science behind all this. I have to get him somewhere where that can be used – and not by the Russians. I can pass for a Russian but the real Russians at the base know Oleg, not me. He’s my ticket in there. If a plane lands, I’ll hitch a lift and divert to London.’

  ‘Tate, you’re crazy.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘You know, in theory I have jurisdiction over these two, right?’ Donoghue said.

  ‘This is not just about the law. It’s not just national security, it’s international security. Are we really getting into this?’

  Donoghue chuckled. ‘No, Tate, we’re not. You can take our scientist here and one of the SUVs. And you didn’t see me put a round in the other guy’s knee.’

  ‘No, did you?’

  ‘No. I did not.’ Donoghue extended his hand. ‘I would say, see you around but that probably won’t happen. Camden is kind of an out-of-the-way place.’

  Tate took Chief Donoghue’s hand. It was larger than his and rougher. ‘Thanks. I hope Camden makes it. You’ve got a nice place there.’ He let go of Donoghue hand’s and started to push Oleg towards his Tahoe when he paused and turned. ‘Oh and say goodbye to Sara for me.’

  The police chief smirked. ‘Do you want me to say goodbye to my stepson too?’

  Tate opened the passenger door. ‘Oleg, I think the SIS are going to want to talk to you and try to find out how on earth Blackline did this.’

  ‘You are going to kidnap me?’ Oleg said with a raised eyebrow. ‘You are one man; how are you going to assault their base and steal an airplane?’

  Tate smiled. ‘Who dares, wins.’

  Chapter 17

  British Embassy, Washington, DC

  Chang hurried along the corridor, across the reception area, and out of the front door. In case the main entrance was being watched, he walked away from the embassy quickly but smoothly. Each step, he expected a Russian-launched bullet to end his life. He gave the guard hut no second glance as he passed, wanting nothing more than to ask where the hell the man had been when the embassy had come under attack. The problem was that the round had been suppressed and the conference-room window had been on the south side of the building, visible from further around the bend but not the main entrance.

  Chang reached the taxi and climbed in. He surveyed the street and the surrounding area. He saw no sign of any watchers. The GPS was in the glovebox lying on some loose papers, moved out of the way after Tam’s crash. Something had become stuck to the bottom of the unit, a photograph that he had not seen before. Chang held it up; it captured what looked like a university graduation. Li Tam stood with one woman, presumably his wife, and a second younger woman, probably his daughter. Chang had just shot her father … He started to shake … He shook his head and snapped out of it – he had to keep it together.

  A thought struck him: surely the mother must have known that Tam was a Russian spy, but had the daughter? Chang thought of his own, much younger daughter, a knot twisting in his stomach. She was out there somewhere with her mother, enjoying the Floridian sun courtesy of Robert – his ex-wife’s new man.

  He’d been a bad father, a bad husband, and a bad cop but now was not the time for self-pity. Now was the time for action, the time for redemption. Chang pressed the power button on the GPS and held his breath. It switched on. All he had to look for was an address on a taxi driver’s GPS, one address among a thousand, the proverbial needle in a haystack. He had no illusions that it may prove a fool’s errand.

  He navigated the menu and scrolled through the saved addresses. There were only four of them, and they were numbered. The first was called “Home” and was an address outside the city, the second was for an upscale restaurant that was so popular even he knew of it, the third was a location in Georgetown, and the last was College Park Airport. Was it so easy, Chang wondered? Was there no code at all? Was Li Tam so confident of not getting caught that he hadn’t bothered to hide the addresses? Was Location Three really the third address on the GPS? Was it Tam’s decision or had he been given the GPS pre-programmed with his home address as a warning – “We know where you live?”

  Chang would never know, but an old tactical mantra started to sound in his head. ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’ Simple and stupid would dictate that Location Three was the third address on the GPS.

  Chang buckled up, started the engine and, out of habit, checked his mirrors. Seeing a deserted street, he pulled away from the kerb. The GPS informed him it was a ten-minute drive to Location Three, and he had alre
ady wasted more than fifteen minutes since he had been summoned. He turned onto the deserted main drag and followed the simple instructions from the GPS.

  He passed a metro patrol car. It sat skewed at the side of the highway. Backup, that was what he needed. He was a detective and outranked the patrolmen. However, the Crown Victoria was empty. Further along, several more cars were parked at irregular angles as though they had rolled to a halt. Here and there he saw bewildered pedestrians. The only people who seemed unaffected by the EMP were bicycle couriers. Chang then saw a couple of cyclists wearing business suits.

  Up ahead, a pair of figures stepped onto the road and held up their hands in the universal sign for stop. Chang didn’t, but he did slow. Neither man was in uniform, at least not an official one, both wore dark suits. As he grew closer, the man nearer the meridian raised a sidearm and levelled it directly at him. Chang cussed; he couldn’t stop, not now, not for anyone. He hunkered down and floored the gas pedal. The taxi’s large engine growled and he was pushed back in his seat. The second man pulled his sidearm, also aiming it at him.

  Chang tried to reason how far he would get, how far they would go to stop him. Did they want the taxi or did they want him? Were they part of the Russian team or someone else? If they wanted the car, not him, they wouldn’t shoot out the tyres. If he kept on, they would have to move, have to give. Either way, his mind was made up.

  The taxi closed the gap, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the two men were on the ground in his rear-view mirror. He’d won this game of “chicken”. Chang breathed out a sigh of relief and took a left and then two rights before the GPS told him he’d be arriving at his location on his left. Georgetown was an upscale area and this street was no different. What was different, however, was that there was a black Chevy Tahoe parked directly outside one of the town houses, the address on his GPS – Location Three. Chang brought the taxi to a gentle halt behind the large SUV. Time to become Li Tam.

  His hand shot into his jacket pocket; he’d forgotten his badge and his Glock. He removed the leather wallet containing his ID and placed it in a door pocket then unclipped his pancake holster and pushed his sidearm under the seat. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, wished he could have a drink, opened the door, and stepped out of the taxi. He could hear the Tahoe ticking; it hadn’t been long parked.

  Across the street, a door opened and a woman stepped out. ‘I need to get to the airport!’

  Chang grimaced and took in her appearance. She was large and carried an equally large suitcase. ‘Sorry, already got a fare.’

  ‘I’ll share … I’ll double, triple whatever they are paying!’ She trundled down the path, the small wheels of her case rumbling on the concrete.

  ‘No.’

  She ignored his protestations and continued to advance. Chang turned his back on her and headed up the path to the target address. He was a couple of steps away from the front door when it was opened by a wide-shouldered man with short, black hair. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark blue windbreaker, similar to an FBI field agent’s outfit but not quite.

  ‘Get inside.’ Chang noted the man’s accent was Boston not Russian, and this confused him as he stepped into the dark hall. The door was immediately shut behind him. Strong hands clamped his shoulders, guiding him forward. ‘Were you followed?’

  ‘How? By bicycle?’

  ‘That is funny,’ the man grunted. ‘I saw your taxi at the embassy. Why did you not inform us that the ambassador was inside?’

  ‘I did not see him arrive. I don’t think he came by car.’ Chang’s mind whirred; was this the assassin? Why wasn’t he Russian?

  ‘Never mind. It is done.’ The man steered him into the living room. Two women sat on a toffee-coloured leather settee. Both were middle-aged, one had grey hair and the other’s was an unnatural shade of chestnut brown. They were gagged, their wrists and their ankles bound. ‘Ladies, your taxi is here.’

  Chang was taken aback. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t prisoners or hostages or whatever the women were. He thrust his hands into his pockets in an attempt to try to look casual as his heart pounded. His left hand closed around his disposable cigarette lighter. He’d never smoked but always carried a lighter. He’d once been told by a veteran detective that having the ability to light a suspect’s smoke made you more likable. He hoped he seemed likable now, or at least not disagreeable enough to shoot.

  Footfall sounded upstairs and then grew louder as its owner came down and entered the room. He was all but the twin of the man who’d met him at the door, Chang thought. They were even dressed the same except he was like a bonus box of cornflakes – twenty per cent bigger at no extra charge. He didn’t say a word to Chang. So far so good, Chang thought as neither man had questioned his identity. Perhaps they’d never met Li Tam or perhaps they’d worked with several drivers? Either way he had been accepted. Chang asked, hand still clasped on his lighter and as casually as his nerves would allow, ‘Where am I taking them?’

  ‘The airport,’ the first man confirmed.

  ‘College Park?’

  ‘Where else? We can’t very well put them on an Aeroflot flight to Moscow.’ His tone was sarcastic. ‘Deliver them to Oleniuk.’

  Outwardly, Chang agreed but inside he wondered, who was Oleniuk? Was he the voice on the phone? ‘Very well.’

  The second man grabbed both women and yanked them up and off the settee. The first spoke again. ‘Now Mrs Filler, Mrs Smith, Vlad will escort you to see Mr Oleniuk. Please behave yourselves.’

  Chang’s stomach pitched as though it were being poured into his shoes. Were the two women the wives of Eric Filler and of Dudley Smith, the slain British Military Attaché? He had to stop them being spirited away by the Russians to be disappeared or worse. But he knew his limitations; he’d had the basic hand-to-hand self-defence sessions with the Metro Police instructors, but both Russians were big, athletic men; more than likely Special Forces. Could he use their size to his advantage? He had no ideas at the moment and only about twenty-five minutes of travel time to come up with one that worked. Vlad started to remove the bonds on the grey-haired woman and then the brunette, leaving their gags in place.

  ‘Please act normally and you will not be hurt, I guarantee it,’ the first man reassured the women.

  The grey-haired woman reached up slowly, but confidently, and took the gag from her mouth. ‘Thank you, Ruslan.’ Her polished English accent betrayed not a note of fear. The second woman made no effort to speak as she removed her own gag. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed – she was in shock.

  ‘Time to go.’ Vlad gestured at Chang with his cleft chin, his voice seeming too high-pitched for a man of his size.

  Chang was still trying to work out who the first man was. His name was Ruslan but he sounded American, perhaps his English was just that good? Chang opened the front door and did a double take at the large woman standing next to the taxi, suitcase on the ground, hands on her hips. He looked back at the two hostages and Vlad as the door shut.

  ‘Move,’ Vlad ordered.

  ‘Ladies, I say ladies, you don’t mind if I share your ride?’ The woman’s voice was loud and firm. Her eyes tightened as Chang neared. He willed her to go away but did nothing and got into the driver’s seat. Making sure no one was watching him, he quickly reached under his seat, grabbed his holstered Glock and slipped it beneath his left thigh.

  ‘I’m willing to pay!’ The woman raised her voice.

  ‘There is no room,’ Vlad said. ‘Be nice. Please go away.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ Her tone changed to disbelief.

  Vlad stepped between the hostages and the woman. He opened the rear passenger door and shepherded them inside. ‘No space. Go away.’

  ‘You can fit three in the back and one up front. I don’t mind sitting with the driver, and I’m willing to pay.’

  ‘We have no room for you.’ Vlad shut the door.

  ‘What is it? Are you
calling me fat?’ The woman held up an accusative finger.

  Vlad lost his temper and snarled. ‘Go away, Elephant-woman!’

  ‘How dare you!’ The woman’s face became purple with rage and she thrust her chubby arm toward Vlad. Vlad punched her in the face. She fell like a stone onto the sidewalk. He unzipped his windbreaker, drew a silenced sidearm from beneath and shot her. Even though the round was suppressed, Chang still heard a thud. Vlad opened the front passenger door, still holding the smoking pistol, and clambered into the taxi. There was barely enough room for his long, wide frame to fit. As was the Russian way, he made no effort to fasten his seatbelt. ‘Drive.’

  Chang bit his tongue. He shook with rage as he started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. The Russian had shot an innocent woman in broad daylight on a public street. A pernicious cocktail of fury and remorse threatened to overwhelm him. He should have, could have, said something to her, warned her to move away, but he had become mute. He should have pulled his Glock before Vlad got into the car, shot him there and then; it would have saved the woman’s life. But he had done nothing. He really was not a good person. A whimpering from the back seat ended his thoughts of self-pity; he still had two lives he could save.

  ‘You savage! You barbarian!’ the grey-haired woman spat, her words tinged with malice.

  ‘What can I say?’ Vlad replied, matter-of-fact. ‘I do not like fat Americans.’

  ‘I hope your mother is proud of you!’ Her sarcasm bounced off the back of Vlad’s head.

  ‘She is, and I am proud to kill for my motherland. I like close-up work, but Ruslan, he is good with the long shots and of course explosives.’ He started to laugh humourlessly.

  ‘And you are a party to this!’

  Chang sensed her eyes burning into the back of his neck. He met her gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Disgusting!’

  ‘That is enough chitchat.’ The English phrase sounded strange from Vlad’s lips. He waved the silenced Beretta at Chang. ‘You just drive – that is your job. It is what we agreed with your bosses. Or am I to ask for a new man?’