Total Blackout Page 19

  The fate of the taxi driver did not concern him one iota. What concerned him was the fate of the man’s passengers. The two women were integral to his plan. Without them or their dead bodies, it would not be complete. From a military point of view, the mission’s objectives had been completed: the EMP had been deployed and deemed a success. Data on the EMP’s effectiveness on unshielded technology had been collected and his side mission – those who had caused harm to the Russian state – had been liquidated. He could, and should, give the order now to pull out, pack up, board his executive jet, and return home after a fully successful mission; after all, he now had Simon Hunter.

  But it would be a hollow victory if he could not make the Englishman accept, face to face, what he had been responsible for. First he would make Hunter suffer, demonstrate to him that his actions a decade earlier had-far reaching consequences. And those consequences were the death of all those he had ever admired or held dear. Oleniuk would finally get his revenge on the man who had stolen from him the only woman he had ever truly loved. Yes love was at the heart of Oleniuk’s hate for Simon Hunter, and he very well understood the irony.

  Oleniuk opened a drawer in his metal desk and slid out a thin steel case. Inserting a key, he unlocked it to reveal a second sat phone. This had been given to him by Chen Yan. It was for emergency usage only. He eyed up the strange-looking handset; it was not a brand he was familiar with.

  Where was the taxi driver, Li Tam? Oleniuk had to know. He started to second-guess himself. He should never have agreed to work with the Chinese, but the decision had not been his. He had needed Chen Yan’s money and Chinese scientific expertise. Without Chen Yan this chance would not have materialised. He closed the case and put it back in the desk. He refused to lose face to a woman. He marched out into the main hangar, ignoring the rise in temperature from that of his air-conditioned office, and over to the man operating his communications hub. Before the technician had a chance to speak, Oleniuk asked, ‘Is it possible to track the whereabouts of the taxi driver’s encrypted sat phone?’

  ‘Only if he answers a call from us, sir.’

  Oleniuk pointed at the machine. ‘In that case, set it up so that my phone calls his.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Maine

  Tate motored the reverse route he had taken two days before, this time driving from Camden via Belfast to hit the I-95 at Bangor. Oleg sat next to Tate in the front passenger seat. His wrists were still cuffed together to the door handle. They passed the occasional car, and each time they did so, Oleg strained to see its make and model. Every now and then abandoned cars littered the verge, having come to a rolling stop.

  They continued north on the rural 1A through green, rolling New England countryside and saw no other vehicles on the road with the exception of several pedal bikes. People came out of their homes in the hope that the Tahoe was either a rescue vehicle or law enforcement, but Tate did not stop until they hit Hampden and encountered a Crown Victoria parked across the entrance to a pharmacy at a strip mall. A pair of police officers stepped into the road and attempted to flag them down. Tate judged the angles and the width of the road; if the officers didn’t dive under his wheels, he could get past them.

  Oleg looked across at him, seeming to read his mind. ‘Their standard-issue 9mm Glocks cannot penetrate our ballistic plates.’

  ‘And you are sure?’

  ‘Quite.’

  Tate slowed the Tahoe to a walking pace and then just as the two officers stepped forwards, he yanked the wheel to the left and floored the accelerator. The tyres bit, the engine growled, and the big, heavy SUV jerked sideways before leaping forwards. Instinctively, Tate hunkered down in his seat, not trusting the armour plating as he aimed for the junction for the 202, which would take them to the I-95. Tate risked a glance in his rear-view mirror and saw one of the officers shaking his head while the other lowered his Glock. Perhaps Tate could have helped or perhaps they just wanted to commandeer the Tahoe; he would never know.

  ‘You are a very interesting man, Tate,’ Oleg stated after several minutes of silence.

  ‘The Camden PD were of the same opinion.’ Tate concentrated on the road.

  Oleg continued, ‘You speak Russian like you come from St Petersburg. For a foreigner, that is unheard of. You learned this in the British Army?’

  ‘I did.’ Tate wasn’t comfortable talking about himself but understood that if he was to get any intel out of Oleg, he needed to keep the conversation going, one operative to another. Give a little to get a little. ‘The Regiment has language instructors who teach on intensive courses.’

  ‘Regiment?’

  ‘The SAS.’

  ‘Ah yes, the British Spetsnaz. You were a Special Forces soldier?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘So one can conclude that you operated in a Russian-speaking environment?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Ukraine?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tate’s mind flicked briefly back to his mission with The Shadows and his shooting of Oleniuk before returning to his current predicament. Tate hoped he could use his language abilities when they reached Houlton, but he somehow doubted it.

  ‘I did not agree with the annexation of Crimea,’ Oleg stated. ‘It was a folly to take the land from Ukraine.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Our president was a lunatic; he still is. He is a survivor, but the end of his time is coming. He is still committed to the past and does not see that cooperation with China is the future. On the other hand, Maksim Oleniuk embraces this, and that is why he had to accept a deal with the Chinese.’

  Tate glanced at Oleg. ‘Had to?’

  ‘Yes,’ Oleg stated ruefully. ‘Once, our scientists were undisputedly the best in the world. We, after all, won the space race. For scientists, at least our system – the communist system – worked, and its legacy continued to do so. Our science was science. It was for the greater good.’

  Despite himself, Tate grunted with derision. ‘Attacking another country is the greater good?’

  ‘No, you misunderstand me, Tate. Let me explain. My research was into electromagnetic pulse weapons. While others worked on rockets or nuclear warheads with ever-increasing payloads, I was exploring how to beat an enemy without loss of life. Imagine, if you will, drawing a black line on a map around a target and knowing that all electrical equipment and motorised vehicles within that area are non-functional. That was the aim of our group, project Blackline from which the company takes its name.’

  ‘Are you confirming that it was a Russian EMP weapon that was deployed against the United States?’

  ‘Yes and no.’ Oleg took a slow, deep breath. ‘Alas I no longer have a wife, and when I die my line will end. Blackline have destroyed my loyalty with their lies. I have nothing to lose by telling you what I am about to. This is beyond classified. There was a virus in one specific, localised region of Russia. An outbreak of an unknown disease that hit hard. The young and the elderly were, of course, the most at risk. A small town with an overpopulation of elderly people was decimated. My research centre was in that town. Our scientists became infected. The belief was it was because they visited the shops and the markets, bought locally produced homemade produce et cetera.

  ‘But this was not the case. In fact, it was the exact reverse. They transported the virus out of the base. We realised that we had created the virus, and that it had escaped from one of the classified chemical weapons research laboratories in Arzamas-16. So what did the authorities do? Calling it a “quarantine” exercise, they sealed our facility with us inside. I was fortunate not to be infected, and several other colleagues also recovered; however, many of the finest scientific minds of my generation perished, and their research died with them. The Kremlin officially lost interest in our research and shut us down.’

  Tate could guess where the story was heading but wanted to keep the Russian talking, gaining his confidence. ‘This is where the Chinese came in?’

  ‘You are exactl
y right. A group of privately funded Chinese scientists, working under the employment of one of China’s largest technology firms, had also been working on EMP technology. Somehow Oleniuk knew about the work of both sides and brokered an agreement that the two teams should work together to develop a fully functional EMP device. The Chinese had been focusing on a payload delivery system – which is what they detonated above the USA this morning, while in Russia, I had been exploring a man-portable device.’

  Tate whistled. ‘That would be a complete game changer.’

  ‘And together, we had been developing EMP shielding.’

  ‘But now everyone will include EMP shielding in their vehicles or garages as standard.’

  ‘That is true, but how long that would take to implement? Also think of the benefits to law enforcement if a runaway or stolen vehicle can be brought to a halt with a simple, highly localised electromagnetic pulse.’

  ‘Let me get this straight; what was the point of a terrorist attack on the US? A smaller scale test could have been carried out elsewhere and in secret?’

  ‘I can see why you would call it a terrorist attack. As a scientist I demanded that I be included in a team on the ground here. And I am glad I was.’

  Tate shook his head. ‘So what’s the end game? The US has been disabled and what, China steps in to clear up the mess?’

  ‘Exactly. Russia can live with a strong China; it cannot live with a powerful USA. So Blackline brought both sides together, in a manner of speaking. It was better to be collectively strong than individually weak.’

  ‘Isn’t that the rationale behind communism?’

  ‘It is.’

  Tate again shook his head. ‘But Blackline is a private military contractor, not a governmental agency.’

  ‘Blackline is a power broker. Our two founders are well placed to coerce their governments.’

  ‘Oleniuk is one founder, who is the other?’

  ‘Chen Yan, a Chinese multi-billionaire.’

  The name meant nothing to him. Tate read the road signs in silence. Whatever Blackline was, it was a menace. ‘Now that it’s just you and me, tell me about the assassinations.’

  Oleg shook his head. ‘That is something I have no idea whatsoever about.’

  ‘You’re being honest?’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked out of the window, as though he was trying to locate a memory. ‘I did, however, hear Oleniuk once mention a “hit list”, when he took a phone call during a meeting we had at the research facility.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It was not verified, just a phrase he used. He could have been talking about the pop charts.’

  ‘I see.’

  Tate again became quiet as he concentrated on the highway. He still had no hard evidence that the assassinations were linked to Blackline. What he had was circumstantial; the timing fitted, and the vehicles matched and the victims themselves. ‘Was there more than one team?’

  ‘Two colleagues of mine, and by that I mean scientists, were also dispatched with men who were former soldiers. I do not know how many other groups there may have been, but what I do know is that the base at Houlton is large enough to accommodate many men.’

  ‘Tell me what happens next. What’s the next stage?’

  ‘After the operation, we regroup at Houlton before flying out of the country.’

  Both men fell silent. Tate agreed with the idea of non-lethal weapons, even though he couldn’t condone the Russian’s actions. Would Tate have accepted similar orders issued by his government? He would like to think not, but would he have accepted them if given by a private employer? His answer was a resolute no.

  ‘Why are you in Maine?’ Oleg asked.

  ‘I’m here on holiday.’

  ‘That is a silly cover story.’

  ‘Silly or not,’ replied Tate, ‘it’s the truth. I’d originally given myself a month to work my way down the coast to Washington.’

  ‘That is a long drive. Why visit Washington?’

  ‘My brother works there.’

  ‘I see. The EMP was detonated above Washington. It is our ground zero.’

  Tate felt himself go cold, but before he could ask anything more there was a sound from the glove compartment. He cast a glance at Oleg.

  ‘That was the Iridium satellite telephone.’

  ‘OK; can you take it out for me?’

  ‘How? You have me chained up like a convicted felon.’

  Tate took a deep breath. Oleg, he felt, was not dangerous. Even if he tried to escape, where would he go? He reached inside his jeans pocket and handed Oleg the keys. ‘Undo the cuffs; I trust you.’

  ‘Thank you, but what makes you think I will not hit you over the head?’

  Tate focused on the road.

  Oleg undid the cuffs, flexed his wrists, and retrieved the Iridium handset. ‘There is a text message on this. It claims to be from the Department of Homeland Security.’

  ‘Read it to me, please.’

  Oleg read the message.

  ‘A national state of emergency has been declared and is effective immediately for the continental United States. Widespread power outages have been reported. For your safety, and the safety of others, all citizens are encouraged to remain at their residences and to avoid any form of travel until further notice.’

  ‘They are trying to be clever and not mention the EMP.’

  ‘Perhaps they will not?’ Oleg shrugged. ‘The Soviet authorities did not acknowledge the Chernobyl reactor catastrophe immediately.’

  ‘This isn’t the USSR.’ Tate had an idea. ‘Your Russian sat phone can communicate with the other groups?’

  ‘Of course, but we were instructed to keep complete radio silence.’

  ‘Tell me about the base at Houlton. Who is running it and what equipment and hardware do they have?’

  ‘It is run by a former GRU major, who reports to Oleniuk; he has a team of six men. They have several SUVs like this, cars and trucks, as well as an arsenal of weapons.’

  ‘What communications system do they have?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And your exfil is today by plane?’

  ‘Yes, twelve hours after the attack.’

  Tate checked his Rolex; they were an hour away. ‘Piece of cake, we can make it.’

  Oleg frowned. ‘You want to make a cake?’

  Chapter 19

  British Embassy, Washington, DC

  Chang sat in the sagging leather chair at the side of Filler’s office. He was spent. Filler pushed a can of Coke across the desk at him. ‘I think you need the caffeine.’

  Chang agreed. ‘I’d rather sleep.’

  ‘Hm, no sleep for any of us for a while, I’m afraid.’ Filler took a sip from his own tepid can, pulled a face. ‘Tell me again what the Russian told you, the one at the house.’

  ‘He ordered me to take your wife and Mrs Smith to College Park Airport, where I was to give them to someone called Oleniuk.’

  ‘That’s what I thought you said.’

  ‘So why ask?’ Chang asked testily before he raised his hand and smiled in the form of an apology.

  ‘Oleniuk is not a very common Russian name; in fact, there are only two Oleniuks I have ever heard of. One was a general in the Great Patriotic War …’

  ‘Great Patriotic War?’

  ‘That’s what the Soviet Union, and now the Russians, called World War Two.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And the other was a member of the GRU – Russian Military Intelligence. They were related, father and son – Phillip and Maksim.’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘The son died in eastern Ukraine about five years back, or so we thought.’

  ‘One of the Russians holding your wife said he was GRU.’ Chang sighed; he hadn’t been this tired since his daughter had been a baby. He took a deep breath. ‘So the Oleniuk in the GRU is running the Russian operation here?’

  ‘It appears so, if in fact it is the same man – back from the
dead. And if it is, he is a heavy hitter. He was active in the Eighties and Nineties. His name used to pop up in briefings, et cetera. If now he has reappeared, something very big is about to happen.’

  ‘Something bigger than today? Really?’

  ‘That’s my theory.’

  ‘But why would he risk an operation here, in the US?’

  ‘He likes to be hands-on?’

  ‘He likes to be in control.’ Chang nodded. ‘Is this all usual for you?’

  Filler frowned, his face darkening. ‘What, the deaths?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ Chang held up his hand. ‘I meant the spy stuff.’

  ‘Not at all. You’re rushing around with a gun, tackling suspects with your unarmed combat techniques.’

  Chang let himself smile, although he and Filler knew it wasn’t funny. ‘I did judo as a kid.’

  ‘Wax on, wax off?’

  ‘That’s karate.’

  ‘Were you any good?’

  ‘No.’ Chang shrugged. ‘I was proficient at a couple of throws. But they were useful ones.’

  Filler’s face relaxed as he looked over Chang’s shoulder. His wife entered the room. Chang turned in his seat and then started to stand.

  ‘No’ – she placed her hand on him – ‘please sit. You must be exhausted.’ Chang didn’t reply. He was too tired. Mrs Filler remained standing. ‘Any word on Simon Hunter?’

  Filler shook his head. ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Very peculiar.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, my friend needs me.’

  Both men remained silent until they were alone once again. Filler spoke first. ‘She’s resilient, always has been.’ Chang remained silent. Filler addressed the elephant in the room. ‘So where is Hunter?’

  ‘He’s a diplomat; he’s missing. Eric, do I need to join the dots?’

  ‘Damn it, Hunter was a good man. They all were.’ Mouth abruptly dry, Filler sipped from his can before he continued. ‘None of this makes any sense to me.’