Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Tell the others to go to the car.”

  “Bill!”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  He pulls himself partially into the hanging car. A small square opening sits in the middle of the ceiling—an escape hatch with a ring-pull. The dog must be on the other side but Bill is too big to squeeze through the space. He’ll need help.

  “Jess!” he calls.

  “Yes?” Her voice booms. She’s right behind him.

  “Oh,” he remarks with surprise. “Sorry, I thought you’d gone. “Get up there, will you?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. There’s a dog trapped above the car. If we can get that hatch open we can get it out.”

  “A dog! We’ve got murdering bastards to kill and you’re worried about a dog!”

  “Jessie.”

  “Sure. I get it—trapped dog equals Bill needs to help, but you’re kidding, right?” she queries looking up into the car. “You want me to get in there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Yep, now get your arse up there.”

  “Yes, Sarge,” she replies with good humour laced with disbelief as she shrugs off her rucksack and pulls herself up to the car’s floor. “If this thing bites me ...”

  Bill helps lift her, boot in hand, and she crawls through the narrow gap, then reaches for the ring pull. Scrabbling sounds. She stops. “It had better not bite me ...”

  “It won’t.” It probably won’t.

  She pulls at the ring. The hatch jerks down. She holds it in place and waits as Bill shines his torch on the ceiling. A large black nose pokes through the gap.

  “It’s not a chihuahua then!” Bill laughs as she jerks her face away from the enquiring nose.

  “Looks like a friggin’ bear!”

  “Alsatian cross I’d say,” Bill says with confidence, “from the shape of its nose and muzzle.”

  “Must be an albino then, it’s completely white.”

  It pushes against the hatch and a large, white paw sticks through. Startled, Jess stands back and the hatch drops open. A mass of white fur yelps and drops to the floor knocking her against the wall. For a second the dog lies stunned. Jessie scoots to the gap and drops down to the safety of the ground. Bill waits. The dog eyes him through the gap.

  “Steady,” Bill says, his voice calm. “It’s a young Swiss Shepherd.”

  “Swiss Shepherd,” Jessie says backing up to the doors. “Not heard of them before.”

  “They’re a beautiful dog. Highly intelligent. Easy to train. Good with kids.”

  The dog continues to sniff at the gap as Bill continues to talk in a sing-song voice and crouches. “Here girl.”

  “Girl?”

  “Maybe,” he says reaching slowly for his pocket. “That’s it.” He pulls a strip of dried meat from his pocket. He was hungry but the dog was probably hungrier. It sniffs at the air and moves forward. “That’s right. Here you go.” He offers a small piece to the dog and it takes it gently from his fingers. He holds another piece and steps back from the gap. The dog sniffs at the air, scrabbles at the lift’s hanging floor, then squeezes its body through the gap.

  “It’s a big one,” Jessie says as she watches the dog jump down.

  Bill throws the dried meat to the dog. The dog sniffs at it then gobbles it down. “Good girl,” Bill soothes. “Job done, Jess. Let’s go.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  He laughs and follows Jessie down the corridor, giving the dog a final glimpse before leaving the building.

  Uri ushers the boy and the two women into the car as Harry and his gang mount their bikes. The dog falls by Bill’s side unnoticed.

  “Has she told you?” he asks as he reaches the car and Jenny closes the door. As tall as Bill, she’s a striking woman with her mass of synthetic red hair. He’d need to have a word though; she stood out like a Belisha beacon.

  “Yes,” she replies and then laughs inexplicably.

  As Bill stands confused by her reaction, and simultaneously realises that there’s no longer room for them all in the car, something wet and warm slides across his fingers. Startled, he stares down at a mass of white fur and huge brown eyes as he jerks a slather-covered hand away. “You followed me?” he laughs, incredulous. The dog nuzzles at his hand and licks its lips. “Oh, I see. Cupboard love!” Bill reaches into his pocket for another strip of meat. “Go on, Jenny. I’m listening. What does she know?” Listening with rising anger as Jenny relays Jasmin’s story, his determination to squash Bin Sayeed flat has never been stronger. What the terrorist was planning was truly dreadful. He had to be stopped at all costs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Bin Sayeed waits behind Mohammed as he knocks on the door in the stuffy corridor. It opens a fraction. A man’s face appears between the gap and the door opens just enough to let the men through. Tonight would be the grand finale of their work. It had taken years, but Mohammed and Faisal had done well, integrating themselves among the dirty pig-eaters and getting Bin Sayeed the information he needed. When the English talked about the Irish Troubles they’d called the groups of Irish men living among the natives, waiting and ready to fulfil their assignments, sleeper cells, but the IRA terrorists that had come to the mainland had been amateurs compared to Bin Sayeed, and limited in their aim. All they’d wanted was to force the government to accede to their demands back home. His vision was far greater.

  “Salam,” he greets the men. Sunlight fills the room as he makes his way to the table. “Show me,” he commands. A cigarette packet is held out and he takes one, lights it on the proffered match and then stares down at the map laid out on the table. The room stinks. Above the smell of fried food and cigarettes is the unmistakable stench of body odour and alcohol. “It smells like a brothel in here,” he snaps. “Open a window.”

  He looks back down at the map with its route plotted out in black marker pen. “How far is it from the house back to the city?”

  “About thirty miles.”

  Bin Sayeed grunts. “And you’re sure they will be here tonight?” he asks stabbing at the destination ringed in red.

  “One hundred percent. It’s emergency protocol. This is their safehouse.”

  “Some safehouse,” Bin Sayeed scoffs as he takes another drag from the cigarette and picks up the detailed blueprints of the house photocopied by Faisal at work. “It is very secure,” he says scrutinising the plans.

  “It was,” Faisal laughs.

  “You’ve made the adjustments then?”

  “Yes. We will be able to walk in there and take the whole family. I drew up the security detail for tonight myself. Jamal and Daoud are both working their shifts and the other officers can be disposed of once we arrive. They don’t stand a chance.”

  “Westminster? Yes. He’s ready. It helps that he’s the deputy to their security adviser.”

  Bin Sayeed snorts with a derisory laugh. “Idiots! You know.” He leans back in the chair and takes another drag of the cigarette. Smoke billows from his mouth as he exhales. “My father told me the English were once a nation of warriors. What is left of that spirit now? Take a look in the streets. Fat. Lazy. No interest in anything but themselves. It makes it almost too easy. Not one of them could run for a bus never mind fight for their country.”

  “They shouldn’t be allowed to breed,” Khalid adds.

  “We will fight for their country,” Faisal laughs. “Fight for it and dominate it.”

  “One day Islam will dominate the world.”

  “Insha’allah.”

  “He does will it. We have the proof. He gave us the blackout to help our efforts.”

  A collective murmur of agreement.

  “Get me a drink,” he demands then takes a slug of the whiskey offered. Tonight he would make a wound so deep in their collective conscience that they would beg for his mercy, bow to his demands, and cower before his soldiers. “They will live in fear from this day onwards,” he smirks. And afte
r this day he will go back home. There were enough soldiers to keep the country on its knees until it was truly broken. He could die in peace, in his homeland knowing that he had brought England to the yoke of Islam. Once it was destroyed then they would begin the job of rebuilding it to be fit for the new nation. In his country they knew better than to bow to the demands of minorities and that was why this nation was dying and his, the nation of Islam, was rising. His muscles tense and he clenches his jaw. Every last one of them would die if he had his way. Jamal was right. They shouldn’t be allowed to breed. Perhaps that would be the next stage—forced sterilisation. Wasn’t there a pill that made women sterile? Yes, he’d read about it; it was being used somewhere in Nigeria on female children and one of the side effects was sterilisation. There were enough brothers and sisters working in the health service to make it possible. If he could begin shipments here ... perhaps he wouldn’t leave quite yet. He smiles. He would talk it over with Faisal tomorrow. Certainly, it was not as bloodthirsty and personally fulfilling as the current campaign, but it would mean fewer of his men’s lives would be lost. Genocide by stealth. They had already begun a concerted effort to populate the country with their own. The only drawback that he could see was that it would take a long time to accomplish, but then, perhaps playing the long game was the smartest thing to do.

  “Yallah!” he shouts and stamps his feet on the floor as he tips the chair forward. “Let’s go.” He takes another swig of whiskey and strides for the door. Prayer and food would have to wait. The night would be a long one and he couldn’t wait to get started.

  “You have the video camera?” he asks as he turns to leave.

  “SO, YOU’RE TELLING me that Bin Sayeed’s plan is to abduct the Prime Minister’s family and then burn Parliament down with them in it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And film them ... it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Evil, Goddamned bastard.”

  “Yes.”

  “How the hell are we going to stop them? I have no idea where the Prime Minister or his family will be.”

  “Sounds like Bin Sayeed and his cronies do.”

  “How the hell would they know a thing like that?”

  “Infiltration into the highest levels of government. Sleeper cells,” Bill replies.

  “Hell!”

  “This country is lost!”

  “If we don’t know where the PM is, then what are we supposed to do?”

  “We know where Parliament is.”

  “And?”

  “We wait for Bin Sayeed and his cronies there.”

  “And rescue the family and stop him burning the place down?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “Well, this is ...”

  “Some scary shit.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if we fail.”

  “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “We won’t fail.”

  “They’re organised. They’ve managed to get the information they need, no doubt information that has the highest security clearance, on a need-to-know basis, top-secret, kind of shit. What the actual!”

  “Could have hacked the system?”

  “Why do they need to hack the system when they’ve infiltrated it? Unbelievable!”

  “The bastards are everywhere. The other week I was looking for a job and MI6 had a job advert on a website. They were recruiting for spies! I mean – FFS! On a website!”

  “FFS?”

  “He means for fu-”

  “Yes, I know, but sounding out the initials is kind of dumb.”

  “You calling me dumb?”

  A groan. “Children!”

  “Bill. What are we going to do?”

  The dog nuzzles at his hand. He strokes its head, glad of its calming presence as his head explodes with questions and his belly is gripped by anger.

  “We go to Westminster Palace and wait for them. It’s likely that they’ve already got someone waiting on the inside.”

  “Probably more than one.”

  “Probably.”

  “So we check it out.”

  “Yes.”

  “Parliament’s in London, right? So how far is that?

  “Hundred miles or so.”

  “Best get moving then.”

  As the air fills with the roar of motorbike engines, Uri starts the car.

  “Got enough fuel?” Bill asks as he slips into the passenger seat. As he looks over at the dashboard, and the array of dials and lights, a flurry of fur and paws jumps onto his lap. He jerks back in surprise as the dog fills the space before him.

  “What the!”

  Laughter from Jessie as she squeezes onto the backseat. She pulls the back door closed with difficulty. Even Uri manages a laugh as the dog’s legs slip off Bill’s legs and scrat at the seat. Within seconds it is upright, its backside seated firmly in the footwell, its eyes staring expectantly at Bill.

  “Looks like you’ve got a new best friend,” Jessie laughs.

  “He cannot come with us,” Uri states.

  “He looks friendly enough.”

  Bill stares down at the dog. “Sorry, bud, but you can’t come with us.” He takes hold of the dog at the scruff of the neck and gently encourages it to leave. The dog sits still, pulls away from his hand then licks it.

  “We have no time for this,” Uri says and moves the gear into first.

  Jessie laughs from the backseat.

  “Come on, girl!”

  “Is not beetch.”

  Beetch? “Out you go,” Bill encourages, pushing at the dog’s shoulder and rump. The dog sits firm.

  “Is dog.”

  “I know it’s a dog.”

  “He means it’s a boy.”

  “Is obvious.”

  Bill reaches down to lift the dog’s leg and push it out of the car. His hand presses against something he’d rather not touch. “Agreed,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a boy.”

  Jessie’s laugh is raucous from the backseat and even Jasmin raises a smile.

  The car rolls forward. “Close door, Bill. Dog will have to come with us.”

  Bill grunts as he reaches for the door and slams it shut. Looking at the mutt, he should be annoyed, but the truth is, he’s secretly pleased.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The small screen glows, illuminating Bin Sayeed’s face as the van makes its way through the narrow lanes. Hemmed in on either side by tall hedgerows, only a narrow cone of light brightens the way. Clouds skim the moon, darkening the sky.

  “Careful!” Bin Sayeed chides as the van jolts and he’s thrown to the door.

  “Sorry.”

  “Slow down then,” he says with irritation and returns his attention to the screen.

  Waving at him from the colourful rectangle of the video recorder’s screen is Khadeeja. She sits in the sand by the beach, her black hair waving in the breeze, her smile bright—a moment of perfect happiness. The day had been hot, too hot for them to venture outside until later afternoon, and she’d urged him to take her somewhere private where she could swim in the sea and feel the wind in her hair. Later that evening they’d made love and afterwards laid together and laughed until the night had cooled enough for them to sleep.

  The following morning had been hectic as Saleem had ordered them back to the compound to plan their next attack. It was then that Khadeeja truly shone: her passion for the cause, her brilliance as a strategist. He’d thrilled at her hatred for the West and shared her need to destroy it. She was his soulmate and together they were going to crush the non-believers until they begged for mercy.

  Her ideas for the terror attacks in England had been taken up by Saleem, and Bin Sayeed had sat with pride burning in his heart as the gathered men had listened with respect as she’d outlined her ideas for the next stage of the infiltration and overthrow of Europe. Speaking with absolute conviction, she’d
convinced him that their jihad should be taken to the next level. The terror attacks that had gone before were amateurish, killing just dozens at a time, they weren’t making the impact Allah desired. No, nothing less than the genocide of all non-believers, she’d argued, was the only course of action.

  For a moment a flicker in her eyes as they stare directly at the camera’s lens reminds him of the woman back at the flat. Jasmin. He pauses the screen and looks instead to the grey tarmac bright in the headlights. Jasmin could never replace Khadeeja—the woman was only there to satisfy his needs. He clenches his fist. He hated her, despised the fear that leaked off her. Guilt stabs at him as he remembers the despair in Jasmin’s eyes as he’d raised his arm to punch her again as rage, loss, despair, whatever it was that roiled inside him, had spilled over. He hadn’t been disloyal to their love. He hadn’t! This woman was just a whore to satisfy his physical needs. He didn’t even like her. Khadeeja would understand. Wouldn’t she? He grits his teeth. The woman was a mess now; had stopped looking after herself, and either whined or tried too hard to please him. It was pathetic. After today, he’d have her removed. After today, he’d be true to Khadeeja again.

  Unpausing the video, he watches his wife as she walks to the sea, her long hair flowing in the wind and lets the anger ride over him. That night had been the last time he’d held Khadeeja in his arms. As they’d sat the following day with Saleem and the gathered leaders, a drone had discovered their location and, within the hour, their compound had been bombed into rubble and dust.

  They hadn’t won though, the kafirs, the dirty, pig-eating non-believers. Bin Sayeed would continue Khadeeja’s work and bring Europe to its knees, just as she’d planned.

  “We’re here.” Khalid slows, turns left, and drives the van onto a rough track. The van jolts along the deeply rutted dirt road then comes to a stop. As the lights cut out they’re plunged into darkness until Bin Sayeed fills the cab with torchlight.

  Jumping out of the cab he walks to the back of the van, opens the doors, and takes out his rucksack.

  “This way,” Faisal says as he pulls on his own rucksack.