The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1)

by Christopher Read

  Koval continued, “Obviously, you are not exactly guests, but I will try to make your time here as comfortable as possible. You’ll find plenty of choice on the television – all the usual satellite channels. We can also supply you with books, DVDs, and a wide range of music. If you are short of clothes or other essentials, then we can help out there as well. Please just ask.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” said Charlotte. “That’s very much appreciated.”

  “The Princess Eloise is a delightful vessel,” Koval said, with a hint of pride, “and I trust you will have a pleasant voyage. I’m afraid I must lock you in your cabin at night and when we go through the Kiel Canal, but I will try to ensure you can spend some time each day either on the bridge or in our small gym. During such periods you will need to be escorted by a member of the crew. Please do not attempt to persuade them to help you in any way. Whilst your arrival in Gdansk is to be preferred, it is apparently not essential, and I would rather not have to do anything unpleasant.”

  “As would we,” Charlotte said quickly, before Anderson could speak. “Although, if you were to pretend we got lost somewhere, I’m sure we could make it financially worthwhile for all of you. Just one phone call would be all it would take.” She felt it was worth a try, although she hadn’t a clue as to whom she would call.

  Koval smiled broadly, and under different circumstances Charlotte felt she could have got on well with him. “Even if I believed you,” he said, “there are certain things in life that override such concerns as money. It might be sad to say this, but seeing Russia suffer brings a warm glow. If I can ensure Russia’s pain continues by transporting the two of you to Gdansk, then that is no less than my duty.”

  “We get the message, Captain,” Anderson said without emotion.

  “But,” Koval continued, “let’s not concern ourselves with such matters. The weather is glorious, your cabin comfortable I think; if there is anything you need, please do let me know. And perhaps in an hour or so, I can give you a tour of the Princess Eloise.”

  Charlotte again was quick to respond, “Thank you, Captain; there is one thing. Do you have someone who could look at my friend; I’m worried he might have fractured a rib?”

  “No doctor, I’m afraid; there are only seven of us. But I will see what I can do...”

  True to his word, Koval returned in just over an hour. First on his agenda was Anderson, the Captain checking his chest and back, nodding now and again as though to convince them he knew what he was doing. Eventually, he declared that Anderson was just badly bruised, prescribing ice, ibuprofen, and deep breaths.

  Their tour of Princess Eloise was next, the Captain proving to be a charming host. Even if it was only for a short while, he seemed determined to distract them from thinking of what the following week might bring. Charlotte almost convinced herself Koval’s helpfulness could eventually be turned to their advantage, then she looked again at his cool blue eyes and appreciated how false her hope was. At heart Koval was just another McDowell, albeit one who smiled often and was far more charming.

  The Princess Eloise was a Dutch-built multi-purpose freighter, registered in St Vincent and the Grenadines under a flag of convenience: ten years old; ninety metres long; gross tonnage just shy of three thousand tonnes. Her Boston cargo had been animal feed, and she generally voyaged between the UK and the Baltic carrying grain, animal feed, phosphates and wood products. Captain Koval was keen to recount the minutiae of the ship’s finer points, and even though Charlotte listened attentively there didn’t seem that one extra-special fact which would somehow help them to escape. To make use of a lifeboat or liferaft, they would have to disable their escort, plus whoever was on the Bridge, then launch their chosen option and hope no-one noticed.

  With an awful lot of luck it might be possible, but Charlotte was far from convinced. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be a plan B.

  Moscow

  To the TV crew stationed by chance in Lubyanka Square it had all the elements of a flash mob, although more properly it was referred to as a smart mob – the intelligent coordination of people through instant messaging. From all directions an organised tide of protestors swept into the square; while many held placards condemning the State of Emergency, other banners were more personal, attacking the President and accusing him of corruption and incompetence. A good proportion of the activists were non-Russians, emerging onto the streets to show their anger and frustration at the Government’s draconian policies. The security forces were slow to respond, and in any case were unsure as to where the crowd might head next – the Lubyanka itself seemed not to be the target.

  Belatedly, the authorities followed August 14’s lead and blocked the cell phone services. Even as the police moved to cordon off Lubyanka square, thousands of protestors headed from there west towards Theatre Square, where another vociferous crowd was gathering. The newcomers were similarly responding to messages on various social networks; however, their anger was targeted elsewhere, their support for the President shown by the wearing of something red, representing allegiance to the concept of ‘One Russia’.

  Both gatherings were in direct conflict with the new laws, and with just two hours remaining before the start of the curfew, even that was likely to be ignored, thousands still heading towards an inevitable confrontation at the very heart of Moscow.

  The two opposing groups met near to the Bolshoi, bricks, fireworks and petrol bombs from both sides showing their intent. The police communications network was itself under attack and the officers in the area were far too few in number to do anything but watch. Yet more protestors swarmed in from the surrounding areas to boost both sides, arming themselves with anything that came to hand. Missiles bombarded the two front lines; at least a dozen vehicles were set alight, some used as flaming battering rams.

  As police reinforcements finally started to move in from the south, water cannon and tear gas were used to separate the two sides. Slowly the protestors were driven apart, the fumes from the tear gas drifting lazily in the breeze to cover much of the square. Some protestors refused to go quietly, kicking or simply flinging the smoking canisters back towards the police lines, a scarf or forearm their only protection against the searing anguish of the tear-gas.

  The situation was gradually being brought under control when shots from a building on the western edge of the square reignited the tumult, both police and protestors hit. The gunfire drew an instant response from the east, shots fired from several sources. A police helicopter was itself targeted, and as the number of injured increased, many of the protestors sought sanctuary wherever they could. The buildings surrounding the square, even the Bolshoi Theatre, were attacked, doors and windows smashed open so as to force a way inside – anything to escape the gunfire scything through the protestors from east and west. Those who tried to flee down the side streets were handicapped by the crowd’s sheer numbers and new fighting erupted as people became desperate, driven on by the screams of those they had left behind.

  The rattle of gunfire intensified, automatic weapons now sounding out from all corners of the square. Theatre Square became a shooting range, with several thousand terrified panic-stricken targets. Outside the Bolshoi, a live TV feed revealed the continuing turmoil as protestors cowered beside the theatre’s stone columns, or crouched down behind fountains and abandoned vehicles. In the centre of the square a score of bloodied figures lay unmoving, a brave few trying to help them or drag them to safety.

  In a totally separate but apparently coordinated attack, a swarm of protestors fought their way into the national television centre at Ostankino, the small police guard overwhelmed by the ferocity and number of their attackers. Some two dozen TV stations went off air. As if in response, the police’s tactics immediately changed and they abandoned their futile attempt to bring order through restraint. A well-armed anti-terrorist squad retook the television centre after less than thirty minutes, while in Theatre Square the security force’s own guns were now added to those of Govern
ment opponents and supporters. For another hour the square echoed to the sound of automatic fire, until increased numbers and armoured police vehicles finally managed to clear the streets.

  Initial police estimates put the number of deaths at fifty-three – including twelve police – with some five hundred injured. The news reports were less optimistic, with most independent sources more than doubling the number of casualties.

  By eleven in the evening, some two hours after the official start of the curfew, Moscow finally settled down for a worried night’s sleep, the security forces determined to keep the streets clear, whatever it took.

  Chapter 15 – Friday, May 21st

  K-335 Gepard

  The humpbacked silhouette slipped gently under the waves, foam boiling briefly around the submarine as the air swept up out of the ballast tanks. Despite the occasional gentle groan of protest from the hull, there was no sign of apprehension on the faces in the control room: familiarity had helped the crew overcome their initial fears and now they treated such sounds, if not with contempt, then with scant respect.

  For Valeri Karenin, the Gepard’s captain, the condensed environment aboard the submarine was little different to his cramped apartment in St. Petersburg, and at least the Gepard’s well-ordered world was immune to the trivia and irrelevance of city life. Anna had never understood why her husband was willing to give up so much, and she hated the weeks apart, having to take sole responsibility for every decision while learning how to be both mother and father to Mikhail and little Daria. The Gepard’s isolation had begun to represent more than just a physical barrier between them, and each separation merely widened the cracks in an already rocky marriage.

  Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, much of Russia’s navy had been left to rot. The Gepard had been relatively lucky, not scrapped or sold, the boat’s commissioning merely delayed, eventually joining the Northern Fleet in 2001. Known by NATO as an Akula (shark) fast-attack submarine, NATO’s name had far more charisma than Russia’s choice of Schuka-B, or pike, despite the latter’s aggressive tendencies. The submarine was now rather past its prime but given a second life with the Baltic Fleet, the Baltic Sea a familiar haven from the Gepard’s original sea trials. Nuclear-powered, double hull, anechoic coating and advanced noise reduction – like its namesake the cheetah, the Gepard was still well able to match speed and stealth with aggression when needed. Armed with multi-purpose torpedoes, missiles and mines, Karenin truly believed the Gepard remained a potent hunter-killer, and only slightly inferior to the latest American Virginia-class and British Astute-class attack submarines.

  The nature of the Baltic Sea meant that any confrontation would be a claustrophobic affair, more so with warships presently cruising just a few kilometres apart. Average width 200 kilometres, average depth just 55 metres, nine countries sharing its coastline – the Baltic was more the preserve of the smaller diesel-electric Kilo-class. The Gepard needed space to hide, space to creep up on its prey, certainly not the restraints of territorial waters, numerous islands, complex currents and restricted depth. With the Baltic Fleet’s ageing ships and relative lack of resources, the Gepard’s transfer was purely a consequence of political necessity, and Karenin viewed the redeployment more as a challenge than taking it as some sort of demotion.

  While not specifically regretting the demise of communism, Karenin had little faith in Russia’s latest attempt at democracy, and the Government was in grave danger of throwing away the hard-won successes from the Putin era. The prejudices of a lifetime were difficult to ignore and for Karenin the greatest danger to Russia was still the misplaced arrogance of the United States. Superior weapons, superior technology, superior ships – these were advantages Karenin was keen to dispute, and with the Gepard, he might possibly have the means.

  Their present patrol area was to the north-east of Poland, and for several hours the Gepard cruised slowly from west to east, picking out a merchant vessel to track, before Karenin carried out yet another practise attack drill. The boat kept well clear of any NATO ships, if necessary Karenin taking the Gepard deep to sit silent and immobile whilst the warship passed.

  The regular midday meeting of the senior officers was an event Karenin often cancelled, preferring a more personal and relaxed approach to the everyday running of the boat. Today was different, Karenin knowing that a formal briefing was a better way to gauge his officers’ enthusiasm as to their new orders.

  The others were already seated in the senior wardroom, and Karenin paused only to collect a mug of strong sweet tea before sitting down at the head of the table. With just the five most senior officers present there was enough space for him to be able to stretch out his legs – the fact he didn’t was almost a signal as to the gravity of the occasion.

  The others waited expectantly for the Captain to speak, all eyes watching him as he sipped the steaming drink. Finally, Karenin rested the mug on the table-top and met their gaze.

  “I have been ordered,” he reported, “to brief you fully on the present situation in Russia and the Baltic, so that we all understand how crucial the next few days will be. Moscow is close to complete chaos, communications disrupted, banking systems frozen, stock market closed, airports, train and metro stations shut down, fuel and food shortages, wildcat strikes... Overnight there were more clashes between rival groups and police; hundreds of protestors have been arrested, but thousands more are still out on the streets. The official number of those killed in the last twenty-four hours is put at ninety-eight, including twenty-one from the security forces.”

  Karenin paused, giving the others a chance to absorb what he had said. “In terms of Poland, the United Nations Security Council is still trying to hammer out a suitable and permanent compromise; however, NATO seems to have finally lost patience. They have effectively given Russia an ultimatum – withdraw and end the blockade, or face attack. In practical terms, from 1200 Zulu on Saturday, NATO will abandon the agreed inspection system and offer to escort merchant ships into the ports of Gdansk and Gdynia. Any Russian ships hindering the ‘rightful’ progress of such vessels will be subject to attack, and if necessary sunk.

  “Our new patrol area will be to the east of Gdansk, our new orders directing the Gepard to assist the surface ships presently enforcing the blockade. Specifically, if any of our ships are attacked or unable to prevent a foreign vessel from breaching the exclusion zone, then the Gepard is authorised to use all possible means to defend our comrades and halt any such incursion.”

  Karenin sipped his tea in silence, noting with interest that only the Gepard’s elderly Chief Engineer seemed unmoved by NATO’s threats. If it came to a fight, the Gepard lacked the guile for gentle persuasion – a killing blow was all the submarine was designed to deliver.

  Graythorp, England

  The large wall monitor showed scenes from various news channels, while the touch-screen table was split between differing data streams and updated projections as to future outcomes. Nothing was certain, but Rebane and his team of experts had developed a feel as to how Russia would react. Carter’s simulations were always a useful starting point, but of more importance was the wealth of data that was constantly being fed to Erdenheim. Real-time satellite imagery; public and private CCTV networks; phone, email and internet protocol interceptions; social-networking sites; police and internal security reports; its own agents still spreading their poison on the streets of Moscow – August 14 used whatever resources it could to keep abreast of events in Russia and elsewhere.

  It was far too much data for one person, or even a team of a hundred to absorb, and Carter’s computer expertise was once again put to good use. Tested and refined over some six months, the bespoke software analysed, filtered and prioritised, producing a manageable set of data for Rebane and his present team of nine to work with. Now, with wisdom born of experience, they could assess and react to Russia’s actions almost as they happened.

  With months to plan and prepare, Erdenheim had the time to search out which of
Moscow’s infrastructure systems and large businesses were susceptible to being hacked. Carter and his army of computer allies – some human, the overwhelming majority innocent computers infected by a zombie virus and hundreds or even thousands of miles away – were able to disable their chosen targets almost at will. Russia’s security analysts were having to do catch-up, blocking one attack only to be met by another. The smart-mob incidents were almost entirely orchestrated by Erdenheim, Rebane managing to either divert police resources elsewhere or create false reports. Through denial-of-service attacks, certain banks and other financial institutions had had their systems temporarily frozen, and a good proportion of Moscow’s citizens were now unable to access their money, or even be paid. Their only option was to return to a cash-only environment, but cash too was in short supply. A dramatic run on the Rouble was also threatening to add rampant inflation to the long list of Russia’s woes.

  Erdenheim still had a few more cards left to play, the pressure on Russia inexorable, ultimately revealing the many divisions that would split the Federation apart. The final wave of agents from Poland and Lithuania had been due to arrive in Russia in the next week, and while their future absence was a significant setback, August 14’s earlier successes had been far more effective than anticipated, thus ensuring they were well ahead of schedule. The remaining resources were badly stretched, but secessionist elements were finally readying themselves to join with August 14.

  Rebane stood beside the touch-screen table and stared down at the latest analysis, worrying that his timing as to the next attack would have to be based purely on intuition rather than logic. The others would offer their advice, but the decision would have to be his. Still, he was more focused now Anderson was out of the way and, with the notable exception of the naval blockade, Russia’s leaders had reacted much as expected, the complication of NATO now becoming more of an advantage than a concern.