Total Blackout Page 21

  ‘I mean it, Simon; I have a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘And I do not have a particularly good one,’ Debois added with a shrug. ‘What do you suggest: that we wrestle the guard, or perhaps dig a tunnel?’

  ‘We have to stay put and stay still.’ Hunter squeezed Terri tighter. ‘I’m sure we are too valuable a commodity to damage.’ He made eye contact with Debois. ‘Our governments will not let anything happen to us. They are looking for us; we are important.’

  ‘I am very important, and I am still hungry.’ Using the wall for support, Debois got to his feet. He banged on the door. Almost immediately the window darkened, the door opened, and the large Russian stood glaring at them. ‘We need to eat.’

  ‘Perhaps I should ring out for snails in garlic butter?’ The Russian sneered.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Sit down.’ The Russian shut the door.

  ‘I like snails,’ Hunter said, wistfully.

  ‘I do not,’ Debois said. ‘It is like eating a sneeze.’

  ‘Are you actually French?’ Hunter chuckled mirthlessly in the gloom.

  *

  In the hangar next door, Oleniuk addressed the pilot. He was not happy that the Chinese element of his organisation had insisted on their own people flying the jets. The co-pilot was already at his seat in the cockpit. Oleniuk repeated his curt instructions: ‘Pang, you are to collect Major Volkov and his men. Then you are to fly directly to Caracas. After that, your obligation to my operation shall be over.’

  ‘Understood,’ Chi Kong Pang replied.

  ‘That is all.’

  Oleniuk walked through the connecting door to the other hangar as Pang taxied away to the runway. Outside, not a single other electrically reliant item stirred. Neither planes, nor cars. The Russians stayed inside, away from the prying eyes of any watchers. Let potential eyewitnesses believe that the departure was a “one off” and that there was nothing else to see. Anyone who came knocking would be dealt with, like the caretaker who had been “disappeared”.

  Oleniuk checked his watch as he re-entered his office. He too would leave within the next three hours on his second jet. He would decide nearer the time exactly who went with him and who remained.

  British Embassy, Washington, DC

  Akulov continued to watch the embassy. Staff members started to leave in ones, twos, and small groups. One on a bicycle, the rest on foot. It was not a coordinated evacuation; the staff were not carrying boxes of belongings or files, and they appeared as though they were just leaving work early. He studied each face, mentally ticking them off from a memorised staff list. ID cards were updated periodically so the faces matched the digital images he had seen. What were they doing? Surely, as individuals, they were safer at the embassy than at home? Akulov sat up straighter as realisation dawned; the staff knew the embassy was about to be attacked.

  *

  Chang stood. ‘We need to go.’ He went to the window, gingerly raised a slat on the Venetian blind and peered out. ‘It all looks clear to me.’

  ‘Yes, time to go,’ Filler declared with more enthusiasm than he actually felt.

  They collected the two women and headed for the entrance foyer. The group crouched behind the large reception counter. Chang drew his Glock and handed Filler the silenced Beretta, taken from the dead Russian. Filler’s hand shook. ‘We don’t have handguns in the UK.’

  Chang rolled his eyes. ‘That end goes bang when you pull the trigger. Only point it at something you want to kill.’

  Filler’s fear blocked out the sarcasm. ‘Yes. Understood.’

  ‘Eric, give that to me. You’ll only end up shooting yourself.’ Helen stretched out her hand.

  Chang addressed the three Brits. ‘Wait here, I’ll make a run for the car. If anyone is out there, I’ll draw their fire.’

  ‘No you won’t.’ Helen Filler pursed her lips. ‘They’ll see you and know that we are coming. You’ll give them time to prepare their shot.’

  Chang agreed. ‘OK, we go together, all at the same time. I’ll lead, then Eric, and then you. Agreed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Chang scuttled across the open foyer, hugging the wall, and peered out of the door. He could see the two police officers diligently standing by the barrier, talking to the last local embassy staff member to leave. ‘Clear.’

  They exited the embassy in a tight huddle. The taxi was a matter of feet away – down three steps and immediately right. A breeze had picked up; the trees on the street outside gently swayed. Sunlight glinted on the windshields of stationary cars and the glass pillbox. The two police officers were still talking to the embassy employee. One of them pointed back at the embassy.

  Chang tried to stay calm. He reached the first step, his foot struck the second step, but as he reached the third, something glinted in his eyes from behind the trees. Chang did a double take and tripped as he turned right. Falling forward, he landed heavily on his knees as a piece of brick was torn away from the wall where a moment ago his chest had been. Chang took a second to realise that he was being shot at with a silenced rifle.

  ‘Move!’ he bellowed at the others and scuttled the remaining distance to the taxi. Ducking down behind the wheel arch, he blipped the locks and opened the passenger door. Both women managed to get inside before a round thudded off the armour-plated hood. Eric Filler jerked backward, colliding with Chang. They fell against the outer wall of the embassy.

  ‘I … I’ve … been shot …’ Filler stammered.

  Before Chang managed to pull himself out from under Filler, more brick disintegrated above them; another shot. Blood leaked from the right side of the diplomat’s chest. ‘You must get up, or you’ll die!’

  Filler grabbed the taxi door with his left hand, grunting with exertion as he pulled himself forward while Chang pushed him from behind. Filler fell across the rear passenger seat. Chang crawled into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. A round hit the roof above Chang’s head, making him duck, then another caused the windshield to craze like a spider’s web. Chang put the taxi into drive and, tyres spinning, they leapt away from the parking bay. The taxi rocked as two more rounds hit it, but it kept on moving.

  Up ahead, the police officers, sidearms drawn, had taken cover behind the pillbox. Unwilling to stop, the taxi ploughed past them and broke the barrier clean in two, adding another dent to the hood. Chang wrenched the wheel to the right and stamped on the gas. The modified taxi hit the street like a scalded cat.

  *

  Akulov was annoyed. He put his rifle on the passenger seat next to his empty first magazine and started the Tahoe. Never had he missed like this, not since he’d been a seventeen-year-old conscript! But something had made him pause, made him ensure that he did not hit the women and then the taxi driver had tripped; this he could not have foreseen. He doubted the taxi could outrun him, but there was no way he was going to lose it.

  He swung the SUV back onto the road and accelerated smoothly in pursuit along the section of Massachusetts Avenue known as Embassy Row. He sped past the South African Embassy then the embassies of Bolivia, Brazil, and Italy before racing across the Massachusetts Avenue Bridge. Akulov smirked; 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue aside, this was probably one of the most secure streets in the capital city. Yet here he was, a former Russian intelligence operative, hunting British diplomats. The EMP really had crippled the most powerful country on the planet. Ahead, the taxi slowed to navigate around an abandoned station wagon. Akulov called Oleniuk.

  ‘Where are you?’ The voice was gruff, the tone impatient. ‘Your backup is five minutes out.’

  ‘South on Massachusetts Avenue, in pursuit of the targets.’ The backup team was too late, he didn’t add. ‘They are in the taxi.’

  ‘Who exactly is in the taxi?’

  ‘Li Tam, the two wives, and Attaché Filler.’

  ‘Stop them! Use deadly force.’

  ‘On them all?’

  ‘Wait! No! Terminate the driver, do not kill the others.’ Ol
eniuk suddenly sounded panicked. ‘That is all.’ The line went dead.

  The women did not deserve to die, which is why he had not aimed at them; however, Akulov had hit Filler. There was nothing he could do about that. He now hoped the injury was not critical, but doubted that the man could survive a .338-calibre round. He focused on the road ahead. The taxi had started to increase the gap. Akulov upped his speed, but the taxi continued to pull away. The Chinese had done a great job upgrading the vehicle. His .338-calibre rounds had not penetrated its ballistic skin, and from the way it was driving, he could see that the engine and suspension had also been much enhanced.

  The vehicles hit Sheridan Circle Park then roared toward the Dupont Circle. The taxi drove the wrong way, darting through immobile cars, and flew onto Connecticut and North Street. Where the hell was the man heading, the Russian wondered – the White House? A large smile split his chiselled face; there would be no greater irony than to attack the targets outside the American seat of power.

  *

  Back inside the taxi, Filler lay sprawled across the entire length of the back seat, trapping the women beneath. Helen cradled his head with her right hand while she applied pressure to his wound with the other. Dawn Smith was silent as she held his hand. Filler had been both lucky and unlucky. The heavy .338-calibre round had hit him on the rebound, ricocheting off the taxi’s hood and into his chest. It was a life-threatening wound, but a direct hit with such a large-calibre round would have ended his life.

  Chang silently urged the taxi on as he kept the pedal flat to the floor. The nearest medical facility that could possibly save Eric was the George Washington University Medical Center. He’d have to double back, but could he get there with an assassin on his tail? The Mayflower Hotel flashed past on their left as the taxi sped on. Chang glanced back; they had increased the gap further back to the Tahoe. All he needed was a visual gap of a couple of seconds, a blind spot when the Russian would lose sight of him, and he could turn off and head for the hospital …

  Trees! Ornamental trees lining the meridian now obscured his view of the Tahoe, and its view of him. Ahead, the crossroads with Farragut Square gave traffic the choice of three routes. Chang took a deep breath and jerked the taxi to the right, onto the wrong side of the road, straight into what on any normal day would have been oncoming traffic and a certain collision. More trees obscured his path and he powered on. It was now a direct sprint to the medical facility.

  After a minute of watching his mirrors for the Tahoe, Chang was satisfied that he’d lost the Russian. He manoeuvred the taxi toward the wedge-shaped medical facility, ignoring the ambulance entrance, which was blocked by a white, blue, and red MetroAccess minivan, bumped up onto the sidewalk, and all but drove into the hospital lobby.

  ‘Stay with Eric,’ Chang ordered his passengers. After exiting the car, he made for the double doors of the foyer. Inside he saw structured chaos. Holding his badge aloft, Chang bellowed above the hubbub, ‘Police emergency! Gunshot wound!’

  Heads turned in his direction and an elderly woman shrieked. A white-coated doctor approached him.

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Male, late fifties. Gunshot wound to the upper right chest.’

  ‘And he’s still breathing?’

  ‘Ricochet.’ Chang didn’t waste time with any further explanation. ‘You need to see him. Now!’

  ‘You know we have no power?’ The doctor beckoned to an orderly. ‘Grab Jones and grab a gurney!’ Chang frogmarched the doctor outside. The physician’s face took on a strange expression as he saw Filler through the open door. ‘OK. We have to get him inside.’

  The doctor moved sideways to grant the two orderlies access to Filler, then hung back to observe the street as his passengers and the medics went inside. He’d given the Russian the slip – but for how long? Chang noted the entrance to the underground car park; he’d hide the taxi there.

  Chang closed his door; his hand hovered over the ignition. As a police officer what he was doing – risking his life for these people – was his duty, but Eric was the only witness to him killing Li Tam. If Eric died, he’d be in the clear.

  But Eric was going to cover for him; Eric was one of the good guys. Am I? Chang asked himself. I’ve killed two people today. Whether it was fatigue, stress, or lack of booze, Chang didn’t know but whatever it was had paralysed him. He sat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other holding the key in the ignition, unable to decide what he had to do. But then he heard a noise. He blinked, gazed around. On the street, pedestrians had started to move toward the taxi, like a scene from The Walking Dead, only they were talking and shouting at him. He needed to get the car away before he lost it by force or it was swamped.

  Chang started the ignition, swung the car back onto the street, executed a tight turn, and cut into the underground parking lot.

  College Park Airport, Washington, DC

  Oleniuk was once again outside the hangar. The air inside was stifling. He no longer cared about being seen. He took a deep breath; the heat of midday had given way to what would become a glorious evening. It was almost a shame, he thought, that he was leaving for the heavy Moscow summer with its clawing, dirty air and morose residents. Almost a shame, but not quite, for this was the start of his ascent.

  Failing health and one too many secret hair transplants had seen the incumbent president gradually remove himself from the eye of the people. The political strongman, who kept wild horses and boar at his dacha in Siberia, had not yet realised that it was time to abdicate power to the next generation. Oleniuk’s operation would be enough to secure his place as the next leader of Mother Russia.

  As Oleniuk stood alone in the deserted airport, the significance of its history became all the more ironic. It was here that Wilbur Wright had taught Americans to fly, and it was here that Oleniuk had clipped their wings. With a deep breath and a smile, he checked his Patek Philippe wristwatch; his other tactical units, missions completed, would be airborne within the hour. And then he heard the all-too-familiar sound of footsteps behind him. ‘Sir.’

  Oleniuk turned and grabbed his sat phone, which was thrust toward him. ‘Da?’

  ‘I have lost the targets.’

  ‘Repeat that?’

  ‘I have lost the targets.’ Akulov’s voice carried no emotion.

  Oleniuk battled to control his rage. ‘How?’

  ‘Their vehicle was faster than I estimated. The taxi driver knew the streets; he lost me.’

  ‘He lost you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was their last known location?’

  ‘Farragut Square.’

  It made no sense to Oleniuk. First that Li Tam would take the women from the British Embassy, secondly that Vlad had been unable to prevent this from happening, and thirdly that the taxi would manage to outrun and evade Akulov, one of his most trusted men. ‘Return to Filler’s house. See if they are by chance there.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But, what?’

  ‘I hit Filler. If he is alive, he will need medical treatment.’

  ‘No. The hospitals will be chaotic. Try his residence first. He only has one of those, compared to the plethora of medical facilities to search.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Akulov agreed, but did not sound convinced.

  Oleniuk resisted the urge to hurl the sat phone across the tarmac. Instead, he made a beeline for his office. Opening the drawer, he regarded the case containing the emergency Chinese sat phone. He placed it on his desk, laid his palms flat across the top, and closed his eyes as though he were looking for answers from a Ouija board. He inhaled deeply, exhaled deeply several times. In … and … out, in … and … out …

  He had two options. He could write off the hostages, leave them wherever they may be, and finish his mission – or he could attempt to find them. He knew which one made military sense, but that was not the option that satisfied him personally. He swiftly popped the catches on the case and retrieved the handset. It powered on insta
ntly under his heavy index finger, and he called the only number saved on it.

  ‘Yes?’ The voice answered on the second ring. It was curt and without any discernible accent.

  ‘I have lost track of your man – Li Tam.’

  There was a pause. Oleniuk could hear a whirring noise. ‘Lost track? What do you mean?’

  ‘I do not know where he is.’

  ‘So call him, not me!’

  Oleniuk silently counted to five before he replied. ‘He does not answer, and if he does not answer I cannot track him.’

  ‘I will call you back.’

  ‘When?’ Oleniuk drew the phone away from his ear and glared at it to show his disdain. No one cut him off! He placed the device on his desk before reaching back into his drawer and removing a hip flask. He unscrewed the top and poured the clear liquid directly into his mouth. The Russian vodka burned as it slipped down. Instantly, he could feel his chest relax. He had promised himself that he would not drink until he was safely airborne, but damn it, he needed it now!

  As he waited, he noted for the first time how quiet the hangar was around him. It creaked then groaned, sounding to his ears like the call of an elephant as a strong gust of wind rolled across the runway. Elephants indeed! Oleniuk shook his head; was imagining wild animals the first sign of madness? Well, if he was going mad, he perhaps could cure that with some medicine. He raised the hip flask, Doctor Vodka, and took another swig. He smacked his lips, “kill or cure” – that was the British phrase that sprang to mind.

  The Chinese sat phone chirped. Oleniuk pressed it tightly to his ear. ‘Yes?’

  ‘We have located his vehicle.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It is fitted with a tracking device of course.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘The taxi appears to be stationary and in the vicinity of the George Washington University Medical Center.’

  ‘Appears to be? What does that mean, exactly?’

  ‘The signal is weaker than our technicians expected.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Why is he there? What did he say? Have you given him new orders?’