Total Blackout Read online

  Chang had a moment of inspiration. ‘Could it be that one operation has piggybacked on the other?’

  Filler sat back in his chair then pointed at Chang. ‘You mean like a Trojan Horse? The EMP blinds us to the acts of the assassin?’

  ‘That would make sense. The Russians get to settle old scores without anyone being able to point the blame at them.’

  ‘Until you got in their way.’

  Chang felt the weight of Li Tam’s sat phone in his pocket. He’d already missed two calls from Oleniuk. He raised his eyebrows. Things had been moving so fast that he hadn’t wanted to think about that, about his own personal safety. But he wasn’t the only link; he wasn’t the only loose end. ‘If they know I am here, they will assault the embassy. They will make sure that none of this ever comes back on them.’

  Filler’s face lost its colour. ‘We have to get word out, somehow, and we have to do it now.’

  ‘Without working communication equipment, we are sitting ducks.’

  ‘Bollocks.’ After finally getting hold of the emergency Iridium sat phones, Filler had checked and double-checked them. They had not powered on. ‘Can we use Li Tam’s sat phone?’

  ‘Risky.’ Chang retrieved it from his pocket. ‘What if they are monitoring the calls?’

  Filler’s eyes went wide. ‘Monitoring? What if they are tracking it? Turn it off!’

  Chang shook his head. ‘No. I can’t do that; it may not power back on. We’ll use it, but when we are somewhere the Russians can’t easily get to us.’

  Filler didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Tell me about your evacuation plan; how and where are embassy staff taken in the event of an emergency?’

  ‘We go to Ronald Reagan Airport, where a requisitioned UK commercial airliner, either British Airways or Virgin Atlantic, takes us directly to London.’

  ‘I can’t see the UK government sending a commercial airliner into the unknown. We don’t even know if Reagan’s runway is clear.’

  ‘Then it will be a C-130 military transport.’

  ‘Again doubtful. They would have to scout the runway. And there is no guarantee that there will not be another EMP. No, if your government sends anything, it’ll be something they can get in and out quickly.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ Filler slammed his fist on the desk.

  ‘Eric, I’m going to make a suggestion and you are not going to like it.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I evacuate your key personnel.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Me in the taxi.’

  Filler swigged his Coke, finished it, and threw the can at his waste-paper bin. It bounced off the rim – nothing was going his way. ‘Who?’

  ‘You, Mrs Filler, and Mrs Smith.’

  ‘I can’t leave my staff. I have a duty to the British government.’

  ‘Eric, your life and that of your wife are in danger! You have a duty to yourself.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Send your staff home. The Russians can’t check up on every address, and why would they want to?’

  ‘This is unprecedented.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What about our files? They haven’t all been destroyed yet.’

  ‘Is there anything life-threatening?’

  ‘No.’

  Chang’s temper flared. ‘Then screw your files, Eric!’

  Filler’s eyebrows shot skyward. ‘And the dead? Li Tam and the ambassador?’

  ‘Think about the living.’

  The sat phone rang, causing both men to recoil. They exchanged glances. Chang let it ring out.

  Georgetown, Washington, DC

  The Tudors were away and had been all weekend, according to a very helpful, chatty neighbour. Ruslan Akulov smiled pleasantly and thanked the woman, who had told him to call her Nancy. She was often next door, sharing a glass of wine or three with Janet Tudor, she had said, now that she herself was a single, divorced woman. She found the couple to be extremely pleasant, but they were older than her, she emphasised. Nancy asked him if he knew anything about the blackout. Akulov said he had heard there was a problem at the local substation that would be fixed by the end of the day. Nancy accepted this and invited Akulov in for a drink, looking genuinely upset when he’d refused.

  Akulov knew the effect he had on women when he used his smile. He beguiled them, won their trust. It was a tool, and a deadly one. He’d used it to enter the Filler house, which was how he had corralled the women and then bound them up. Many intelligence operatives were “grey men” – nondescript, unmemorable – but he was not. Unless he wanted to be. He thanked Nancy again and walked away from her house, which was next door to the British Ambassador’s official residence.

  It was odd, he thought, while the Russian residence was protected behind a large fence and had armed guards, the British diplomatic address resembled any other upscale detached Georgetown home. The security measures were electronic – digital rather than physical and now rendered utterly useless by the EMP. The street was quiet. On any other weekday, he would surmise that its residents were either at work or perhaps, as it was the height of summer, vacationing out of town. But today was not any other day. Were the locals staying inside, hiding? He didn’t care; all that mattered was that he could return to his vehicle and drive away. He continued to walk along the tree-lined avenue, knowing that eyes hidden behind twitching curtains were watching his every step, but he had no choice. Akulov retrieved his sat phone and called Oleniuk.

  ‘Da?’

  ‘The target is not at the residence.’

  Oleniuk swore. ‘Do you have any idea where the ambassador’s wife may be?’

  ‘No. According to a neighbour she and her husband have been away all weekend.’

  ‘Not good. Proceed to the British Embassy. If Li Tam is there, terminate him and reacquire the women.’

  ‘They are not with you?’

  ‘No. They are not.’

  Akulov turned a corner and crested a rise. He could now see where he had parked his Tahoe. A small crowd stood on the sidewalk beside it. An elderly man with neat, grey hair placed his hand on the hood and gesticulated to another who had his hands on his hips. Several more locals stood a few paces away. Akulov weighed up the situation. He continued to approach the Tahoe as, one by one, the crowd turned.

  ‘Hey, son, is this your vehicle?’ the elderly man asked.

  ‘Yes, sir, it is,’ Akulov replied, his Russian accent completely hidden by a Boston drawl.

  ‘It drives? I mean you drove it here, today?’

  The gap between Akulov and the Tahoe lessened. ‘I did.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one!’ The elderly man held out his hand. ‘The name’s Sam, Sam Wheat.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ Akulov shook his hand but did not offer his name. He waited to hear Wheat’s proposal; he knew one was coming.

  ‘I’ve been chatting to my neighbours here; none of our cars are drivable.’ Wheat looked at Akulov, expecting a reply. When none was forthcoming, he continued, ‘I have a medical emergency. I have an appointment today at the hospital that I can’t miss and no one can get me there. Son, seeing as you have a working vehicle, and seem like a nice fellah, can you take me?’

  Akulov studied the face of the elderly man and saw something he recognised, something he had himself lost twenty years ago. He sensed an emotion that he had been trained to suppress – remorse. In the last twenty-four hours, he had killed many men. They’d had no warning their lives were about to end. One moment alive, and the next eternal darkness. The old man, Sam Wheat, reminded Akulov of his great-uncle. A man he had loved like a father, the only relative he had ever known, lost also to the darkness. Akulov felt his resolve start to crack as the watery eyes continued to stare up at him pleadingly.

  ‘I’d be forever grateful, son,’ Wheat added hopefully.

  Akulov dug in his pocket for the key fob, clicked the button and unlocked the doors. Wheat started to smile. Akulov pushed past th
e old man, climbed into the car and locked the door. Wheat’s face, now perplexed, appeared at the window. Akulov started the engine and pulled away. He took a deep breath and focused on the road ahead. His great-uncle had been killed by an American, mown down by a drunk driver while on vacation.

  It was less than a ten-minute drive to the British Embassy on roads devoid of moving traffic. A few pedestrians tried to wave him down, but he encountered no real opposition. As he followed the leafy curvature of Massachusetts Avenue, the utilitarian-shaped British Embassy came into view. Akulov bumped up off the road and onto the sidewalk. Part hidden by the foliage of the mature trees lining the street, the dark Tahoe made a comfortable observation post. He swung a pair of field glasses to his eyes. He scanned the embassy building and saw a taxi in the parking lot. It had to be the one used by Li Tam. The man must be inside, with the two women.

  He weighed up his options. It had been easy for him to take out the ambassador, luck rather than skill had come into play, but could he alone enter the building and abduct two British citizens? He now saw a pair of police officers by the barrier. Akulov knew his limitations, even if Oleniuk did not. If he was to assault the British Embassy, he would do so as part of a team and not like a one-man army. He called Oleniuk.

  ‘Have you located Li Tam?’

  ‘He is at the British Embassy.’

  ‘Is it done?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’ Oleniuk snapped.

  Akulov took a deep breath. ‘The task cannot be undertaken by one man. I need a team.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Three more.’

  ‘Three?’ Oleniuk paused. Akulov could hear him breathing heavily. ‘They shall be there.’

  *

  Oleniuk shook his head and rubbed his neck. He had had enough of this. Everything was taking too long. His own embassy was less than a mile away from the building used by the British, but now as a private citizen he was not sanctioned to use its facilities, personnel, or hardware. He pushed open the door to the room where the prisoners were being kept and pointed at Terri and Hunter. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Why?’ Hunter was indignant. The guard accompanying Oleniuk hauled him to his feet.

  ‘Time to talk.’ Oleniuk turned on his heels and stalked back to his office. He sat heavily as his prisoners were hustled in. He spoke to the guard. ‘Put him in that chair, hold her arms behind her back.’

  ‘If you harm her, I’ll—’

  ‘Talk.’ Oleniuk leered unpleasantly. ‘If I harm her, you will talk.’

  Hunter remained silent, his cheeks reddening as he took in the man opposite him. Oleniuk had gained a few pounds over the past five years and now sported two thin white scars on the left side of his neck thanks to his brother’s work.

  ‘Tell me please, Simon, what security personnel do you have at the British Embassy?’ Hunter remained silent. Oleniuk sighed and addressed the guard. ‘Punch her.’

  ‘No!’ Hunter yelled.

  ‘Answer my question.’

  ‘We have a team of four. Two are on duty at any given time.’

  ‘Two men.’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Are they armed?’ Hunter didn’t reply. Oleniuk waved his arm. The guard punched Terri in the lower back. She screamed and fell forward onto her knees. Hunter rose angrily from the chair. ‘Sit.’

  ‘You bastard.’

  Oleniuk crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair. ‘Are they armed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sidearms or assault rifles?’

  ‘Sidearms.’

  ‘You are certain?’

  ‘This is Washington, not Baghdad.’

  ‘Are there any firearms in the embassy?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Now another question. Does the embassy have a secure area, such as a panic room?’

  Hunter was too slow to reply. Oleniuk’s eyes moved to the guard. ‘No, don’t!’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s in the basement. We call it “the bubble”.’

  ‘Very original.’

  *

  Oleniuk spoke quickly in Russian. ‘Take them back and you, keep your ears open.’

  Unseen, behind Hunter’s back, Terri gave a slight nod.

  Oleniuk again felt as though the mission was slipping from his fingers like the grains of sand he had played with on a Crimean beach as a child. He’d spend hours designing and building intricate sandcastles only to see them obliterated, wiped out, washed clean by the encroaching, unstoppable sea. Each time he would create a stronger fort, use driftwood, dig channels to divert the uncompromising waves, but the result was always the same; he suffered defeat. Today he would not be defeated.

  Oleniuk picked up his sat phone. He would not admit it to himself, but he needed reassurance. He needed to hear it from someone he trusted. He dialled the number for his second-in-command, the man running the operation further up the coast, in Maine – Major Valentin Volkov.

  ‘Da?’ Volkov gave no name when he used satellite communications, encrypted or not.

  ‘Progress report?’ Oleniuk asked formally.

  ‘All reports have been received. We have, however, lost contact with one team.’

  Oleniuk glowered. ‘A critical unit?’

  ‘No. They completed their objective before they went dark.’

  ‘Then that is acceptable.’ Casualties were to be expected. ‘Where did this happen?’

  ‘Camden,’ Volkov replied without emotion.

  ‘Camden?’ Oleniuk repeated the word, as memories of a successful operation in the other Camden flashed before his eyes. ‘What was their last report?’

  ‘Status green. Mission accomplished. Returning to base.’

  ‘Could it merely be a communications failure?’

  ‘It could be,’ Volkov replied, his voice noncommittal.

  ‘Inform me immediately should any new intel arrive.’ Oleniuk ended the call. It really made no difference to him when or where the men had vanished. The US authorities were in no state to put two and two together. The training of the former Spetsnaz men was among the best in the world; it would take an extremely determined individual to stop them and a highly sadistic person indeed to get them to confess. However, the former GRU scientists were a different matter.

  Chapter 20

  College Park Airport, Washington, DC

  ‘Wake up!’ The Frenchman shook Hunter sharply.

  It took a couple of seconds for the SIS man to remember where he was and then he jerked into a sitting position, embarrassed that the heat had made him sleep. ‘What?’

  ‘Pardon, not what.’

  Hunter sighed; he wasn’t in the mood for more of his friend’s banter. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I hear an engine.’ Debois held up his index finger. ‘Listen.’

  ‘I can’t hear anything.’ Terri’s face was turned away from the duo.

  ‘Listen,’ Debois repeated.

  Hunter heard a faint, low rumble. ‘Yes. I hear it.’

  ‘See?’ The noise changed in tone and then the clatter of a chain moving and a heavy hangar door opening. ‘A plane.’

  ‘We are at an airport, Remy.’ Hunter yawned.

  ‘Oui, but it is the first sound I have heard outside all day. It is odd, no?’

  ‘No,’ said Terri.

  ‘Ah, you have been snoring, what do you know?’

  ‘I do not snore!’

  ‘You do, Terri,’ Hunter added. ‘That’s two of us now who have told you.’

  She ignored the insult. ‘So what does it mean?’

  ‘That you are either fat or your nasal passages are deformed,’ Debois explained.

  ‘Shut up, Remy!’

  ‘It means that someone is getting ready to retreat, to pull out.’ Hunter’s tone was flat. ‘What that means for us, I would not like to say.’

  *

  Terri experienced a wave of unease wash over her; she had a very clear idea what it meant for them. She mov
ed nearer to Hunter and leaned against him. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘It’ll be OK. We are diplomats, remember? The Russians wouldn’t dare hurt us.’

  Terri could tell by Hunter’s tone that he did not believe his own words. She was ten years younger than him, but he was the one who sounded naive. All was fair in love and war. The problem for her was that this was a war but she was in love, and with the enemy. It was something that she had been trying to suppress, something her instructors had drummed into her. She must not confuse her physical relationship with a target for an emotional one. If she engaged in sex, she must understand that it was work. It was a technique with which to mine more intelligence for her employer. Simon Hunter was the target of her operation, but Simon Hunter was also a good man who did not deserve to be tortured or worse by Oleniuk’s department. She started to shiver.

  She’d been stupid; she’d been used and now she felt like the lowest form of life. Lower than the drunks and addicts who had ogled her on the street as she passed on her way to university lectures. Lower still than the two boys at the military academy who had got her drunk, dragged her into an alley and held her down. Terri sensed a tear escape from her tired eyes; they had tried to rape her. She had been forced to kill them. The little flick-knife she kept in her bag for slicing fruit had viciously sliced the groin of the first and then the neck of the second. Dark, arterial blood had discoloured the fresh Moscow snow as both boys writhed and died.

  This canvas of killing had garnered the interest of the SVR, who spirited her away, trained her, and gave her a position as an undercover operative. She had been an intelligence agent for six years before meeting Oleniuk and leaving the SVR for his organisation. Her first assignment with Blackline had been Simon Hunter, and that had been a year ago. From day one she knew being with him was not like her previous assignment. She knew the time would come when she had to leave him, move on to her next mission, and break her heart in doing so. Oleniuk had made it clear: Blackline owned her heart. Her mission had been about monitoring and intelligence gathering. Terri had never once imagined that Simon would be in any danger, and that thought alone made her lose her mind. ‘We have to escape.’

  Hunter sat up straighter. ‘Ssh – they’ll hear you!’