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  He heard engines, the heavy growl of V8s. The sound seemed to be all around him and it was then he realised one was approaching up Lundeen Road towards him and one was coming down the road behind him. They were converging, and fast. He saw them both, one after the other, a second apart. Big, aggressive shadows in the night, and then the headlamps switched on. Flooding the entire area with harsh, hostile white light. There was nowhere for Akulov to go. If he got out of the Tahoe, he’d be either hunted or shot down. He had three options: ram the car in front of him, ram the one behind or break left or right and drive through a wire fence into the fields. If he could get away, he would draw the Russians, and it had to be the Russians, away from Tate and give him time to find George Eastman.

  Akulov flicked the light setting to “off”, switched on the ignition, took the handbrake off, floored the gas pedal and launched the Tahoe forward, tyres chirping …

  The two assault vehicles were still tearing towards him, the one at the rear now arriving where he had been a moment before. The vehicle racing up the road was moving a little slower as it battled gravity. Akulov jerked the wheel to the left and the nose of the two SUVs missed each other by an inch. Akulov felt the front tyres hit the grass-covered bank at the side of the road as he bounced upwards in his seat and then the Tahoe crashed down the other side. Akulov braced himself and kept his foot on the gas pedal but the nose of the Tahoe hit the ground. Airbags exploded all around him and he was jerked first one way then the other.

  *

  Tate left cover and ran across the lawn, then darted towards the entrance to the road. He hugged the trees and moved nearer to the break in the foliage. Hearing more voices and muffled thuds, he poked his head out of cover and saw two dark shapes blocking the road, two SUVs slewed one above and one below where his should have been.

  There were figures moving, the lights of the SUVs casting long shadows, their features rendered black by the harsh lighting. He saw several climbing up out of the field and they were dragging someone. Tate looked past them and could just make out, illuminated by the headlights, the rear of a vehicle protruding upwards from the grassy field. It had to be his hire car and it had to be Akulov they were dragging away. Tate watched helpless as they deposited him in the back of the rear SUV. Their doors slammed and both vehicles sped towards him. Tate scurried backwards as the convoy passed. And then Lundeen Road was silent and dark once again.

  Tate moved back into the cover provided by the trees and waited. There was no more movement from the road or any of the cabins. Akulov had been snatched by the Russians. They’d arrived in two eight-seater SUVs. Akulov had been overpowered and Tate’s presence would not have made the slightest bit of difference.

  A tide of hopelessness started to rise around him, lapping at his feet. If Vetrov had already made it to his team then unless there was something Tate was missing, the Russian had surely already given the order to release the new footage and launch the cyberattack. He shook his head and clenched his fists. He wouldn’t lose. This wasn’t about the weapon or the world, this was about his brother and his dead parents.

  Tate checked his Rolex and estimated that it was still at a minimum eight hours before the E Squadron team arrived. By that time Vetrov would have vanished, taken George Eastman with him and left Akulov, he imagined with several new holes in his head. Tate was on his own, which was nothing new, and he had to act.

  He skirted the trees, taking even more care this time not to trip any sensors, until he was at the back of the complex and near to the end cabin. He could see just a single light illuminating the building he had been in minutes before, but nothing from any of the others. Tate darted to the nearest cabin and stopped by the side wall. Stock-still, he listened to the eerie silence of the compound. He moved around the edge, checked for a light or a sensor, saw none and went to the back door. He paused next to it, out of sight of anyone inside, and listened again.

  He took a moment to try to comprehend what had happened. Had he and Akulov been pinged in their Tahoe and just Akulov targeted? No, that made no sense. Why just take one of them? Tate moved out of cover, peered through the door glass. He saw his own reflection caused by the moonlight, and realised the answer was looking him straight in the face. The snatch squad hadn’t known there were two of them. The Resident was working for Vetrov. Tate thought back on their conversation, how the Resident had answered with long, rambling sentences – playing for time perhaps? And then when the Russians had appeared and seen a man in a vehicle, they had mistaken him for Tate. It made sense. Tate had pretended to be Akulov, and as they now had Akulov there was no reason to think that Tate existed.

  Behind the Resident’s cabin was a tall barn. In this type of place a motion detector would be constantly going off with the movement of the trees and the scourging of the local wildlife, which begged the question, why was one installed at the front of the Resident’s property? Why was it so powerful? It seemed liked overkill. Tate made directly for the rear of the Resident’s cabin. Across the dry grass his feet made no sound and left no trace, and then he stepped onto a concrete slab, the start of the patio, and another light snapped on. Tate hopped sideways into the shadow, and hid around the side of the cabin. Less than ten feet away he heard the sound of the back door open, and then the Resident came out onto the patio. He started muttering to himself. The man’s phone rang and he answered it in Russian.

  ‘I did exactly what you ordered me to do.’ There was a pause and Tate heard the old man sigh. ‘Now please, let me speak to my daughter.’

  Tate moved out of hiding to see the Resident facing the barn. Without being seen he slipped into the cabin behind him and continued to listen from behind the open door.

  ‘Have they hurt you?’ The Resident’s voice sounded softer but strained. There was a moment of silence, and then the man whimpered and ended the call. The Montana air became silent and then slow footsteps approached. The man shut the door and came face to face with Tate. His mouth fell open and he dropped his phone. It landed on the floor but was in a rubber case and bounced rather than broke.

  ‘You looked surprised to see me,’ Tate said flatly. The Resident didn’t reply so Tate continued. ‘They have your daughter, is that right?’

  ‘Y … yes they do.’

  ‘Go back in the lounge, take a seat and tell me about it.’

  The Resident shuffled into the lounge and retook the same seat he’d sat in earlier. ‘Who are you?’

  Tate remained standing. ‘Who did you think I was?’

  ‘Wolf 6.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps this is a test? You are one of them sent to see if I’ll talk?’ Tears started to form in the older man’s eyes and his shoulders slumped. ‘Look, you have my daughter, what else do you want from me? Georgina is a sweet and intelligent girl with her whole life ahead of her.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Twenty-three.’ The Resident puffed out his chest and raised his chin, a steely resolve appearing in his eyes he stood. ‘If you have to kill someone, kill me. Take me and not her.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Make me!’

  ‘Listen, Rambo, just sit down! I’m not Russian.’ Tate switched back to English. ‘I’m not American either. I’m here because four years ago Vetrov murdered my parents and two days ago he shot my brother.’

  Frowning, the Resident sat. ‘You are British?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ The Resident’s eyes seemed now to be staring past Tate, seeing something else. The next word he said was the last Tate expected to hear: ‘Camden.’

  Tate sat, his legs leaden. All thoughts banished from his mind. ‘My parents were murdered in the Camden bombing.’

  ‘Then both my daughter and I are already dead.’

  ‘Explain.’ Tate’s voice was terse.

  The Resident sighed. ‘I have been here for thirty years. I served the Soviet Union, and then Russia. I met a local woman, and we had a daughter. Her
mother left me, and I was left with my daughter. She is gifted with computers. It is something that is beyond my comprehension but she can write code, defeat security measures, and yes she can manipulate images. It’s what all the kids do with those face app things, but she wrote her own years before these existed. Living here with me she could not get a job. She has phobias, you understand? She gets distressed when anything changes, and she is scared of people. She became frustrated and then she lashed out, hacked the wrong people. The associates of those wrong people offered her a job.’

  ‘Blackline?’

  ‘Da. A man came to see me; I of course knew him by reputation, for even thirty years ago he had not escaped his own father’s shadow. And he said there was a way that my daughter could escape mine – you see I was not supposed to have a child. This man’s name was Maksim Oleniuk, the founder of Blackline.’

  Anger flashed within Tate, and he wished it were possible to end Oleniuk’s life a second time. ‘So he offered her a job?’

  ‘He did not offer, he ordered it be so. For five years my daughter has worked for his company, but for one year of that time she has been forced into hiding.’

  Tate had a question: ‘Where did she work?’

  ‘Here. In my barn, which is not a barn.’

  ‘And where does she work now?’

  The Resident recited the address Bravo had given Miguel. Tate felt relief that the Giant had told the truth. The Resident continued, ‘It is not far from here; it is where those men were taking the man they believed to be Wolf 6.’

  ‘That was Wolf 6.’

  The Resident’s eyes narrowed. ‘They have your friend, yet you are sitting here with me?’

  ‘He’s not my friend. He’s an assassin. He killed two British diplomats. They were good men.’

  ‘And who is not, in their own mind?’

  ‘Tell me what you know about Camden?’

  ‘My daughter was ordered to tamper with certain footage taken at the scene with an iPhone. This is the footage that was only given to the British authorities a year ago. It was to test out advances in her process.’

  Tate was now finding it all but impossible to control his wrath. ‘Oleniuk staged that bombing to assassinate my parents, and then later decided to also use it as an opportunity to test a new weapon?’

  ‘Test is a good word. And that is what he did. He tested my daughter’s process, her programming, her technology, and it passed. It was not detected. And it became a weapon.’

  ‘And you know all this, how?’

  ‘I spied on her. I am her father, and that is my job.’

  Tate took a moment to calm himself. Then he said, ‘You knew Vetrov was the real bomber?’

  ‘I met him ten years ago when he came to check the cache. I had to hide my daughter of course. Then the next time I saw him was on that film.’

  ‘Film?’

  ‘On “the film”.’

  ‘When you saw the found footage on the news last year you knew it had been faked?’

  ‘Of course, my daughter faked it. Something makes me believe that you already knew it was faked?’

  Tate didn’t answer the question. ‘Did your daughter back up her work?’

  ‘She made copies of everything, just in case …’ His voice trailed off. ‘Don’t you see? She was forced to do this. If she hadn’t done her best work, it would have been noticed and then both her and I would have been slaughtered.’

  ‘Where are the copies?’

  ‘I will give them to you for full immunity for my daughter and I, and safe passage.’

  Tate took a deep, calming breath. He was not going down that route again. ‘No. You give me the files and I will rescue your daughter. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and wait for my team to come, and they’ll tear this place apart log by log until they find them. After that you’ll get handed over to homeland security, and in the meantime your daughter will be either in Russia or dead. Your choice, Vlad.’

  ‘My name is not Vladimir. My name is Yuri. What assurance can you give me that you will not kill me as soon as I hand over the files?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘You are not a good salesman.’

  ‘I’m not selling.’

  ‘OK, what choice do I have?’

  Tate shrugged. ‘None at all.’

  ‘Thank you for your candour. Now listen to me. The men who took Wolf 6 will be coming back to move the vehicle he crashed. This is a small community and a vehicle left by the side of the road will immediately be reported. They are going to place it in my barn.’

  ‘When are they coming?’

  ‘I would say within half an hour. Once they get back to their base of operations and then return with a tow truck.’

  ‘They have one?’

  ‘How do I know? But they can’t call anyone, so they will do it themselves.’

  A thought struck Tate, a question: ‘Who lives in the other cabins?’

  ‘No one now. Over the years, they were put up for sale and purchased by a Russian-owned shell company. We have the place completely to ourselves.’

  ‘I need to see the copies of the files your daughter made.’

  ‘I’ll take you to them now. They are in the bunker.’

  ‘With the weapons?’

  ‘Yes, hidden under the noses of Blackline.’ Yuri rose from his seat. ‘Follow me.’

  Tate let the Russian lead him to the back of the house and into the en-suite bathroom next to one of the bedrooms. Yuri got down on his hands and knees and used his shoulder to push the heavy-looking, freestanding bath out of the way. The plinth it was on moved too. Underneath there was a trapdoor. He pulled it up and automatically a light switched on, revealing a set of steps.

  ‘Would you like to go first?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ha-ha, I understand.’

  Yuri started to move down the steps. Tate let him reach the third then followed. He did not want to give the man the chance of raising an alarm or grabbing a weapon. It was still not decided in his mind if the Resident would rather let Tate help his daughter or just turn Tate in.

  They reached the bottom. It was surprisingly high and Tate did not need to stoop. The subterranean space they had entered extended all the way under the barn. It was illuminated like a miniature aircraft hangar.

  Yuri pointed at a bunch of boxes over to one side. ‘Fortunately not everything has been taken by Vetrov’s men. The older items have been overlooked.’

  ‘How many men are there?’

  ‘I do not know exactly. I have only ever seen four at a time. They have come here on several occasions during the course of this last year. Immediately after the EMP strike they came looking for electrical components. This bunker was well shielded from the EMP. The place they are holding my daughter is on the water. I own the place.’

  ‘You own the site they’re using?’

  ‘I bought it to go fishing at the weekend. Its only ten miles from here. Secluded, waterfront, one road in and out.’

  ‘Perfect for a Spetsnaz secret base?’

  Yuri smiled. ‘Yes, and now that is what it is being used for.’

  ‘Any immediate neighbours?’

  ‘No. Rexford has about fifty occupied houses, the rest are summer rentals or holiday homes. So I would expect some people are there now, drinking and being loud on the water. In Eureka you see, everyone knows you and your business; over there they are used to people coming and going especially if one is the daughter of the owner.’

  Tate was puzzled. ‘So your daughter is allowed out?’

  ‘Not on her own.’

  ‘Show me the files.’

  Yuri walked to a packing crate in the corner. He prised it open, using his strong fingers to pull up loose nails, and removed part of the top. Inside were what looked like ammunition boxes for 7.62mm rounds. He carefully put two on the concrete floor then extracted a third. He handed it to Tate. ‘Inside here is all you need. Some type of high-tech storage device. She told me off for calling
it a floppy disc.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Yuri nodded. ‘You must understand that I have only ever served my country, but what they have forced my daughter and I to do serves no one but Blackline.’

  Tate had no comment to make, so instead he said, ‘Show me what type of firearms you have.’

  Chapter 19

  Rexford, Montana, USA

  Akulov had an egg-sized lump on his forehead and wouldn’t be winning any beauty competitions soon, but apart from that he was fine. No sooner had the Tahoe come to rest than Vetrov’s men had dragged him out. There was nowhere to run or hide so he’d pretended to be hurt worse than he was and just let them manhandle him into their nearest vehicle. They’d punched him a few times to soften him up, squashed him into the rear footwell of the SUV, and driven away with their heavy feet pressing on him. Akulov lay there listening to the sound of the road, trying to work out which direction they were going and seeing if it tallied with the address they had.

  The road they were travelling on was remarkably smooth but then the vehicle slowed to negotiate several turns before it came to a crunching halt. The barrel of a handgun was pushed into his cheek. He remained still, daring to move only his eyes.

  ‘Get up slowly,’ the man holding the gun said, in Russian. ‘And then get out.’

  Akulov unfolded himself, head throbbing. In a kidnap situation Akulov knew that the quicker the abductee escaped the better their chance of survival became. But as he pulled himself up off the seat he felt his head start to hammer. He dragged himself out of the SUV and half stood, half leant against it. He didn’t need to feign being disorientated. On the bright side, nothing was broken. He was bruised and cut, and otherwise still one hundred per cent operational apart from the throbbing in his head, which he knew was no way bad enough to be a concussion.