Nobeca

by Lloyd Nesling

  So that’s why Bryant had closed the file after the Soviets announced Plushenko’s death. It was a politically crucial time. The Wall was in the process of being torn down. Intelligence had to tread very carefully. What the Soviets did with their own agents didn’t really concern them, but it explained why Bryant made a U-turn.

  “I had Plushenko and another guy, Mikhail Rykov, under surveillance for weeks,” Ryder continued. “The Russians won’t like the idea that Plushenko managed to outwit the KGB back in 1989, assuming it is him.”

  “He left the facility in the Alps when Wallace and I escaped. What he doesn’t realise is that we know he’s holed up on an isolated farm in Shropshire. Surveillance teams are watching him twenty-four seven. We suspected that he was somewhere in Shropshire from the maps Wallace found on the memory stick. Information gleaned from the owner of the firm who delivered crated equipment to the farm confirms our suspicions. It’s them all right.”

  Conrad had come into contact with Plushenko on one of his forays over the Wall. He was a handsome, striking-looking devil in those days. That explained why he wore a prosthetic mask – double protection in case he was recognised by Soviet agents. Not even his top aides in the Black Militia knew his real identity.

  “Wallace is holding off until I get to Shropshire. He issued a press statement about an armed gang on the loose, warning the public not to try any heroics. We don’t want the Generalissimo to know he’s been sussed.”

  “Everything will be on a need-to-know basis for the time being,” Pearce interrupted. “Any leaks could spark a major panic all over the country.”

  Washington was taking the same stance, but IMIC was in the thick of it. They had to stop the situation from escalating.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Shropshire, England

  Overhead, ominous clouds dominated the sky, obliterating a watery moon. It had been raining steadily all day; dripping off the branches, soaking the ground that was rapidly turning to squelching mud. A low wind moaned through the trees adding to the misery of the men concealed in the copse. Only the faint scurrying of nocturnal animals disturbed the silence.

  Conrad crouched low, scanning the distant farmhouse through his night-vision binoculars. Illuminated figures moved between the outbuildings and the huge barn. There was no sense of urgency in their movements.

  “Looks fairly quiet,” he whispered.

  “Too quiet,” Wallace replied.

  “We have to locate the Generalissimo – Plushenko, if it is Plushenko. Only he will have access to Black Crystal. He’s too paranoid to entrust it to anyone, not even his closest aides.”

  They had been watching the farm all day, waiting for the right opportunity. Every hour reports were coming in from all over Europe and the United States. A number of small-scale attacks had been made on nuclear power plants. Los Alamos in New Mexico, Diablo Canyon in California, Sizewell in the United Kingdom and Beznau in Switzerland. Public concern was mounting. Questions were being asked in Westminster, Brussels and Washington. The Generalissimo had all the trump cards.

  Wallace spoke quietly into his two-way radio to the armed response team positioned in the wood.

  “We’re going in. They’ll have security guards and dogs everywhere so the less movement out there the better. Whatever happens, wait until you hear the order. We don’t want bullets flying everywhere if we can help it.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “There’s an SAS unit and a chopper ready to go in if we don’t come out alive,” Conrad added. “Okay, move out.”

  They made their way across the ploughed field to the perimeter fence, stumbling in water-filled ruts. Crouching low beneath the security cameras they reached the fence. Electrified – too high to scale.

  Wallace touched Conrad’s arm and shook his head. Silently, he gestured for him to follow. He was a Shropshire man and knew the area like the back of his hand. Most farms backed onto each other. Somewhere, there would be a common fence. The Militia would have a hard job installing an electrified fence on adjoining land.

  They skirted the fence until they came to a patch of waterlogged ground about half a mile behind the farmhouse. It was just as he thought. The wire fence came to an abrupt end. Instead, a stone wall stretched horizontally into the distance.

  “Nice one, Ben,” Conrad whispered.

  “There may be a fence further in, but I doubt it. Fences within fences, especially electrified, would arouse suspicion. It would soon get around over a pint in the farmer’s local. Besides, there’s no access for vehicles or any public footpaths.”

  They scrambled over the wall and dropped down on the other side. Crouching low, they listened for any sound or movement in the darkness. No sound, only the wind whining through some nearby trees. They staggered on through the rain, mud squelching over their boots. Conrad stopped, peering through his night-vision goggles. Suddenly, he jumped on Wallace, pushing him to the ground.

  “Over there,” he muttered, “CCTV.”

  Wallace followed his pointing finger towards an enormous pine tree. Partially concealed, halfway up the trunk, a faint red light gleamed in the darkness. The slightest movement would give them away. Slowly, the camera swept the ground in front of them.

  “Make a run for it when the camera arcs back again. Get behind the tree and wait for me.”

  Nanoseconds after the camera swept the ground Wallace jumped up and ran towards cover. Crawling through the mud he rolled down the slope out of sight of the camera.

  “That was close,” Conrad muttered, hitting the ground. “There must be other cameras out here. Keep your eyes peeled!”

  They were about a quarter of a mile away. The farmhouse was partially concealed in a hollow surrounded by trees. Its position afforded good cover from the road, as it couldn’t be seen from that angle. There was no sign of light or life.

  They slithered along the wet grass on their stomachs. The ground around them had opened out making them more vulnerable, but at least there was nowhere to put surveillance cameras.

  “Bloody cows!” Wallace grimaced, wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

  “We should have some luck tonight then,” Conrad grinned.

  They crawled along until the shadowy outline of a large building loomed out of the darkness. In the near distance dim lights glowed in the farmhouse. Suddenly, a figure appeared in their line of vision and headed for the barn. Light poured out as the door opened and closed again.

  “That’s odd. This type of barn is usually open-sided,” Wallace commented. “There’s definitely something strange about it. The timber this side looks new and recently painted.”

  Stealthily, they half crawled, half ran towards the building. Conrad held out a warning hand as another black-clad figure walked towards the barn.

  “Let’s take a gander in the farmhouse first,” he whispered. “The Generalissimo likes his home comforts. He could be billeted in there.”

  Keeping low, they ran over the cobbled courtyard towards the farmhouse and came up under a large sash window. Both men pressed themselves against the wall, either side of the window, holding their semi-automatic pistols at the ready. A gap in the curtains gave them a good view inside the house. There was no sign of anyone. Conrad moved around the left-hand side of the house while Wallace took the right. A minute later they met at the back door.

  “There’s nobody downstairs on this side,” Wallace whispered.

  “Nothing on this side either. There are no lights on upstairs so it’s unlikely there’s anyone up there.”

  “Our man could be upstairs sleeping,” Wallace suggested. “After you.”

  Conrad turned the ancient door knob and pushed open the door. The flagstoned hall was lit with ornate, old-fashioned wall lamps. The hall ran the length of the farmhouse from front to back. Wallace pushed open a door and peered inside – empty. In the kitchen a kettle slowly boiled on an Aga. One by one, they eliminated each room.

  Satisfied, they went out into the hall and s
tarted upstairs. Conrad gritted his teeth as a floorboard groaned under his weight. He stopped, waiting for someone to appear. Breathing a sigh of relief, he climbed up to the landing – only four doors. He motioned to Wallace to check the two rooms on the right while he made his way along the landing to the rooms at the rear. The right-hand door revealed a good-sized bedroom: a single bed, wicker basket chair, bedside cabinet, reading lamp, a battered wardrobe and chest of drawers.

  Conrad slid open the top drawer – women’s underwear, tights and a few pairs of woollen socks. The second drawer contained sweaters and scarves of various hues. But it was the bottom drawer that grabbed his attention. It was crammed full of sweaters and balaclavas – all black. The wardrobe revealed the same. Navy slacks plus three pairs of black trousers and a black parka.

  Closing the door behind him, he crept to the right-hand door and waited. No sound came from within. He pushed it open and shone his torch around the room. It was a surprisingly modern bathroom with a large walk-in shower cubicle. Shower gels, shampoo and body lotions were lined up on a chrome stand attached to the shower wall.

  Wallace came up to his side and peered in. “Women’s things,” he whispered. “The other rooms have twin beds: men’s militia uniforms in one of the wardrobes. Judging by the armbands they’re all senior computer experts.”

  “There must be other dormitories.”

  “Maybe they’re in the outbuildings,” Wallace suggested.

  “They’ve probably dispersed most of the Militia. All they need now are the computer guys.”

  Stealthily, they moved back across the cobbled courtyard past the four single-story outbuildings. They appeared to be completely deserted. Like the farmhouse, they contained sleeping quarters. Rows of single beds arranged like a military dormitory, with lavatories and showers at the far end.

  “Judging by the number of beds there can’t be more than about twenty militiamen. Now, let’s find their boss. He’s probably got security and a handful of his inner circle protecting him.”

  “Perhaps he bunks up with the women?” Wallace grinned in the shadows.

  They backed against the stone wall as the Judas door in the barn opened. Bright light silhouetted a thickset figure emerging into the yard. He trudged towards the farmhouse and disappeared inside. Light flared in one of the bedrooms. A few minutes later the light went out, but the man didn’t reappear. Another figure emerged from the barn and walked towards the farmhouse.

  “They must be working in shifts,” Wallace muttered.”

  “Well, that’s two down,” Conrad whispered. “Move out.”

  They headed back to the house and crept upstairs to the bedrooms. Cautiously, they moved along the landing to the first room. Wallace pushed open the door. It was in complete darkness. A man lay on the bed snoring, his mouth wide open. Wallace put his hand over the man’s mouth while Conrad delved into his pocket and retrieved a syringe. The militiaman’s eyes shot open. He tried to sit up, but Wallace pushed him back onto the bed.

  “Hurry up!” he muttered.

  Conrad plunged the needle into the militiaman’s arm and counted. Gradually, he stopped struggling and went limp. Wallace pulled the bedclothes up under his chin.

  They waited a few seconds behind the bedroom door. No sound, not even a snore. Conrad stepped inside. The bed was empty. Suddenly, a figure sprang at him from out of the darkness. He dodged to the right, the glint of a knife whizzing past his head. He lunged at the man, bringing him down with a rugby tackle.

  Wallace held him down while Conrad injected him with a strong sedative. He wanted both men alive in case the Generalissimo escaped. They hauled him onto the bed and covered him with the duvet.

  “They’ll be out for hours,” Conrad said. He pulled a black balaclava from his pocket. “We’ll use their parkas.”

  “What happens when they wake up?” Wallace asked.

  “They won’t remember a thing.”

  “How are we going to get into the barn? They may have rigged up retinal scanners.”

  “I doubt they’ve had time for anything elaborate. Don’t forget they left Switzerland in a hurry.” Conrad searched the militiaman’s clothes. “Bingo!” he exclaimed, holding up a plastic key card.

  Walking casually towards the barn, Conrad peered at the side of the door. There was nothing there; no key card slot. Carefully, he pushed the door handle down and stepped inside. A guard was stationed beside another door made of solid PVC. At the side of the door he spotted a metal block with a slot for the key card.

  “Forgotten something?” the guard queried.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Conrad muttered, pulling the balaclava up over his mouth.

  “Nor him,” he added, indicating Wallace. “We’ll work for another couple of hours.”

  The guard nodded and stepped to one side. Conrad inserted the key card and pushed open the door into a small anteroom. It was stacked with straw bales on three sides. Another solid door opened into the barn. He didn’t expect to see what was inside. The whole barn was ablaze with lights. It had been subdivided into prefabricated rooms, separated with walls like an open-plan office. A bank of ten computers was set inside the largest of the spaces. The others contained single computers. All were manned except two.

  Conrad strolled towards one of the unoccupied units and slid into the swivel chair. Wallace went into the adjoining space. A militiaman, wearing a yellow armband, poked his head into the unit.

  “Back already?”

  “Couldn’t sleep – we both needed a pee,” Conrad said without turning around.

  The guard grunted and walked away. These computer nerds, they never stopped working. He would give anything for a couple of hours sleep.

  Conrad prayed they hadn’t changed the password, otherwise they were stuffed. He typed in OPERATION BLACK CRYSTAL in capital letters. The familiar icons popped up onto the screen, but now there were others he hadn’t seen before: gas, electricity, water installations, nuclear power stations, banks, hospitals, military establishments. He clicked on the nuclear icon. Immediately, a list of installations popped onto the screen showing which ones had already been targeted with minor attacks. He scrolled down again and again.

  It was unbelievable. The Penatgon, GCHQ, MI5, the FSB, Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. Hundreds of malicious threats were effectively intercepted every day. What was different about Black Crystal? He had to find out and fast. They had to destroy this new installation before the Generalissimo launched his cyber revolution.

  Trying to appear calm, Conrad searched for some indication of when the full-scale attack would happen, but there was nothing. Only some information was accessible. The majority of it was in hidden files that required individual passwords. God knows how long it would take to decipher the information, even if he could hack into it. The memory stick they had retrieved from the militiaman in the Alps was only part of the operation.

  He got up, yawning loudly, and walked casually by Wallace’s unit. Wallace stretched elaborately and cocked his head to listen.

  “Stay where you are. Look busy. I’m going to snoop around. If the Generalissimo is here my guess is he’s probably in this building somewhere where he has maximum protection.”

  He started moving down the narrow space between the units, flexing his shoulders and rubbing his neck. A security guard eyed him curiously, watching his every move.

  “My shoulders are killing me,” he complained, walking up to the guard. “Far too long at the computer. I need to walk to loosen up.”

  Conrad continued around the barn alternately criss-crossing the facility, searching for some evidence of the Generalissimo’s presence. He sauntered back to Wallace’s cubicle.

  “I’m ready for some shut-eye now.”

  “Me too,” Wallace knuckled his eyes.

  “He must be somewhere, but he’s not in the barn,” Conrad whispered.

  Together they retraced their steps towards the outer door, inserted the key card, and stepped in
to the vestibule.

  In the gloom Wallace noticed some of the lower straw bales making up the inner wall were jutting out from the rest.

  “They haven’t been lined up properly,” he said.

  “It looks as if they’ve been pulled out and replaced,” Conrad murmured.

  “But the whole thing would collapse.”

  “Exactly – why hasn’t it?”

  Conrad squeezed his hand between the bales. He shoved his arm in as far as it would go, cursing the sharp bits that scraped his skin. Suddenly, the ends of his fingers touched something hard.

  “There’s something behind here. It’s some kind of metal wall.” Puzzled, he looked at Wallace. “It could be a door.”

  Both men examined the area around the bales searching for some kind of lever or button. Wallace kicked aside the straw littering the large flagstones. The corner of one was broken in three pieces. Underneath was a button set in concrete.

  “This could be what activates the door,” he whispered.

  Conrad took out his Glock and pressed his back against the side of the bales. Wallace depressed the button with his foot then lunged to Conrad’s side. A low hum and the bales slowly swung outwards revealing a steel door. The straw bales had been stacked against an inner metal skin.

  “It’s a whole bloody wall!” Wallace exclaimed. “We’re not going to get in there, that’s for sure.”

  Conrad shone his penlight along the gap between the bales. It was about two feet wide, just big enough for him to edge along to the end of the wall.

  “It seems like a prefabricated, reinforced unit,” he said, sidling back to Wallace. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Keeping close to the sides of the barn, they worked their way around. There were no other openings or doors to be seen. They headed for a small thicket of trees about a hundred yards from the rear of the barn. Throwing themselves onto their stomachs, they donned their night-vision goggles. The barn and surrounding area lit up luminescent-green. The only activity was the illuminated figure of a guard as he walked to and from the edge of the courtyard.