‘Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça?’ Lacomte responded, picking up a map.
‘Ils sont à Valmy. Près de Sainte Menehould.’
‘Bien,’ Lacomte said, then switched to English. ‘The convoy’s on autoroute A4 and we’re getting a position report every time it passes a junction or service area. It took the northern route, through Metz, as we thought it probably would, and it’s now between Sainte Menehould and Châlons-sur-Marne, heading west. We have what I believe you would call a revolving long-tail, Mr Beatty. Six vehicles, swapping places regularly, sometimes ahead of the convoy, sometimes behind. The drivers pull in for fuel or just into a rest area to get behind the target, then overtake again later. As a matter of interest,’ he went on, ‘the convoy has been averaging almost exactly eighty-five kilometres per hour.’
‘Fine,’ Richter said. ‘What’s its disposition – where are the escorting cars?’
Lacomte addressed the question to one of the radio operators, who replied at once in rapid French. Lacomte translated. ‘The Mercedes saloons have been swapping positions fairly regularly, but generally they have one in front of the lorry and one behind, about a hundred metres distant. The limousine has always been the last vehicle in the group, sometimes as much as a mile behind.’ The radio operator spoke again and Lacomte paused to listen. ‘They’ve just changed places again. It looks as if their standard procedure is for both cars to accelerate in front of the lorry if they see any sign of problems ahead.’
‘How far ahead do they go?’ Richter asked.
Lacomte waited for a response from the radioman before replying. ‘It looks like about one kilometre. Why?’
‘Just an idea. What do you think they’ll do when they see our little accident?’
Lacomte shrugged. ‘If they do what they’ve done up to now, the two saloons will accelerate ahead to investigate it.’
‘Exactly,’ Richter replied. ‘We’re not really interested in the cars – it’s the lorry and the limousine that we want, so let’s isolate them.’
‘How?’ Colin Dekker asked.
‘First,’ Richter asked Lacomte, ‘have you got radio links with the lorry drivers?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Let’s revise our original plan. We don’t use the articulated lorries to block the autoroute in front of the convoy. We use one to block the autoroute in front of the lorry, but behind the two saloons, and the other to shut the back door, to block the road behind the limousine. I don’t want that car doing a U-turn and vanishing somewhere in northern France.’
They considered this for a few moments. ‘That’s better,’ said Dekker. ‘Separating the cars from the truck makes good sense, and might avoid some problems. But we still need to rig an accident or something else to entice the saloons ahead.’
‘Time is running out,’ Lacomte interrupted, looking at his watch. ‘If we are to implement this change we will have to do it quickly. I will have to re-brief the lorry drivers and the road crew by radio, and the convoy is probably now only around a hundred and ten kilometres away. That’s just over an hour.’
‘How’s this?’ Richter said. ‘Our lorries are waiting at the parking area in the Forêt de Samoussy, near Laon?’
‘If they aren’t there now they will be within about five minutes,’ Lacomte replied.
The radio operator interrupted again. ‘Saint Etienne-au-Temple,’ he said.
Lacomte nodded, glanced at the autoroute map on the inside rear door of the Trafic and checked his watch. ‘They’ve speeded up a bit. That puts the convoy due north of Châlons-sur-Marne, with about one hundred kilometres to run. Carry on,’ he said, looking at Richter.
‘Your plan was to get the lorries moving ahead of the convoy, block the road and wait for it to arrive, yes?’ Lacomte nodded. ‘Change the orders,’ Richter said. ‘Tell the first driver to move out as soon as the Russian lorry has passed the parking area, and the second to pull out after the limousine. When they get to the ambush site, the Mercedes saloons will probably accelerate ahead. Once the driver of the first lorry sees them do that, he should pass the Russian artic, get about a hundred yards ahead of it but still behind the two cars, and then brake hard, slewing the lorry across both lanes of the carriageway and the hard shoulder. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?’
Lacomte smiled slightly and shook his head. ‘No. That particular driver spends most of his spare time racing trucks on international circuits – that’s why we selected him for this job. It will not be a problem. And the second lorry will block the road in the same way, but behind the limousine?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What happens if the escort cars don’t accelerate in front of the lorry?’ Dekker asked.
‘Then we’re back where we started,’ Richter said. ‘No worse off than before.’
Erulin spoke up. ‘I would like the two lorry drivers out of their cabs as soon as possible after they have stopped,’ he said. ‘They should be briefed to climb over the central reservation, cross the southbound carriageway and lie flat in the scrubland off the autoroute. I don’t want them in the firing line.’
Lacomte nodded. ‘Agreed. They’re wearing orange jackets, as you requested, so you can identify them.’
‘La Veuve,’ the radio operator said.
Lacomte noted the position on his map. ‘They’re now north-west of Châlons,’ he said.
‘So what do we use for our accident?’ asked Dekker.
‘How about your Transit?’ Richter suggested. ‘As long as the Queen wouldn’t mind.’
‘Hopefully,’ Dekker said, ‘she won’t find out.’
Richter turned to Lacomte. ‘How’s this? The lorries proceed as we’ve just discussed. Your vehicle can be positioned on the hard shoulder to the east of the ambush site, well out of the way, with the bonnet open as if you’ve had a breakdown. We position the SAS van at the ambush site, slewed sideways across the right-hand lane, so that it looks as if it’s been involved in an accident. Lieutenant Erulin’s Trafic can be parked on the hard shoulder just behind it, blue lights flashing. The hazard warning lights on both vehicles should be switched on, warning triangles displayed, and a line of cones placed so that traffic is forced into the outside lane.’ Richter paused. ‘Just a normal, daily, minor accident on the autoroute.’
‘That should work,’ said Lacomte. ‘Any criticisms or suggestions?’
‘Only one,’ Tony Herron said. ‘We won’t need the rescue vehicles or any of the other personnel we were going to use for the big accident, so I suggest you withdraw them. The less friendly bodies there are out there the better, in my opinion.’
Lacomte nodded, turned to the radio operators and began issuing detailed instructions as everyone else climbed out of the van. Dekker nodded to Erulin and they walked off together, still discussing their force dispositions. After a couple of minutes the SAS officer came back. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I think we have agreement. Erulin will position seven of his men on this side of the autoroute, at about one-hundred-metre intervals, and the other three on the south side of the central reservation, closer to where we’ll park the Transit.’
Tony Herron interrupted. ‘Isn’t one hundred metres rather wide spacing?’ he asked.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Dekker said, ‘and if you can show me exactly where each of the vehicles is going to stop, we’ll tighten up the spacing. We’ve got to hedge our bets. By covering nearly one kilometre with that separation we’re hoping that we’ll have at least one sniper within about fifty metres of each vehicle. The plan is that, once the vehicles have stopped, the Gigènes personnel will close up into optimum positions.’
‘They’ll probably be seen when they move,’ Richter said.
‘A risk we have to take. What Erulin is hoping is that the convoy drivers will be looking ahead, at the two vans, and not into the scrubland beside the autoroute.’
Lacomte left the back of his van and walked over to them. ‘They’re approaching Reims,’ he said. ‘They passed the Aire de Reims-Cham
pagne six minutes ago.’
Washington, D.C.
The Top Secret Joint Emergency Evacuation Plan, or JEEP, is an evacuation plan for selected personnel who live and work in Washington. As soon as the Secretary of Defense reached the Gold Room, he ordered JEEP Preps to begin.
Fifty-five minutes later the last of the designated Army and Air Force helicopters was in position at the Pentagon heliport and on the paved terrace between the Pentagon building and the Potomac River. JEEP cardholders are specially selected military officers and civilians who are capable of running the United States during and after a nuclear war. They are required to be on permanent stand-by and in peacetime hold regular exercises to ensure that they can always get themselves to their designated collection points. There are two categories of JEEP cardholders – One and Two – reflecting the relative importance of the individuals concerned.
The first group of forty-four elite men and women, the government officials, scientists and technicians who held JEEP-1 cards, was airborne thirty minutes later. Some went to the Alternate Emergency Command Center in Raven Rock, also known as SITE R; others to the civilian government emergency bunker, known as the Special Facility, in Mount Weather in northern Virginia.
Four hours later, all but four JEEP cardholders had been flown to their assigned locations. Fifty-nine were at the Special Facility at Mount Weather, and one hundred and ninety-four had arrived at SITE R in Raven Rock. The remaining four cardholders were from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the government civil defence agency, and were still en route to the civil defence National Warning Center at Olney in Maryland.
Autoroute A26, vicinity of Couvron-et-Aumencourt, France
‘What about Trooper Jones?’ Richter asked. ‘Where is he going to be crouching with his wad of plastic and his Arwen?’
Colin Dekker shrugged. ‘Flip a coin,’ he said. ‘That bloody lorry could stop anywhere in about a five-hundred-metre length of autoroute. He’ll just have to do a bit of sprinting.’
Richter shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. I can tell you where it’s going to stop.’
‘How?’ Dekker asked.
‘Easy,’ Richter said. ‘Borrow one of Erulin’s snipers and tell him to take out one of the truck’s tyres as it approaches, preferably one of the twin tyres on the tug – we don’t want it to crash. If the driver’s any good it should be stationary in under eighty metres.’
The rear door of the light blue van opened and one of the radio operators gestured to Lacomte. He walked over, listened a moment, and then returned. ‘Reims,’ he said. ‘Now we just have to wait for them to make the turn off the A4 and onto autoroute A26. After that, there’s really nowhere for them to go but here.’
Dekker and Erulin summoned their men and ran through the briefing one final time, then ordered them to suit-up. They donned bullet-proof Kevlar waistcoats under their combat jackets and checked their weapons and ammunition packs. Finally, they retuned their personal radios to a frequency specified by Lacomte, which would allow direct communication between all personnel and the radio van. That done, they sat down on the grass beside the hard shoulder, waiting for the go signal.
Richter and Westwood walked over to Lacomte’s van, and reached it just as he opened the rear door. ‘They’ve passed La Neuvilette,’ the Frenchman said. ‘They’ve made the turn, and I estimate arrival here in about thirty-five minutes.’
‘Right,’ Richter said, and walked over to tell Colin Dekker.
‘How soon do we move?’
‘Lieutenant Erulin can deploy his men as soon as he likes,’ Richter replied, ‘and so can you, but don’t position the Transit until the convoy’s about ten minutes away.’
‘Understood,’ Dekker said, and began issuing orders.
A long ten minutes passed before Lacomte’s radioman announced that the convoy had passed the Vallée de l’Aisne junction. That would be the last check until the vehicles passed under the D977, just to the east of Laon, and just minutes after that they would be on them.
‘Close the autoroute,’ Lacomte ordered, and Richter relayed the news to Dekker and Erulin, who were still waiting beside the Transit. Lacomte had emerged from the rear of his vehicle, and was walking over towards Richter when the radioman shouted. He doubled back quickly and listened intently to the message.
‘What is it?’ Richter asked.
‘They’ve pulled off the autoroute,’ Lacomte said.
Oval Office, White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.
Ambassador Karasin had known the American President for three years, and believed he knew him well. He was also, from necessity, able to interpret body language and to use his intuition. And what his intuition told him, as he sat in one of the Oval Office’s comfortable leather chairs, was that, despite the President’s placid exterior, he was consumed with fury.
‘Mr Ambassador,’ the President said smoothly, ‘are you absolutely certain that Moscow knows nothing of this matter?’
The Russian shook his head. ‘Nothing, Mr President. Nothing at all.’ Walter Hicks, sitting in a chair towards the back of the room, nodded to himself. He thought Karasin was probably telling the truth. ‘I spoke with the President himself,’ Karasin continued, ‘and he gave me his personal assurance, his personal assurance,’ Karasin repeated, emphasizing the words, ‘that he had authorized no action of the sort you suggested.’
The American looked at him for a moment before speaking. ‘Well, Mr Ambassador, that’s certainly good to know,’ he replied. Karasin relaxed slightly in his seat. ‘Unfortunately,’ the President continued, just as smoothly, ‘that does present us with something of a problem.’ Karasin looked at him, but said nothing. ‘When we last discussed this,’ the American said, ‘I told you that we had information that an assault was being planned by Russia upon America.’
‘Yes, Mr President,’ Karasin said, nodding. ‘I remember our conversation. I hope you also remember that I said at the time I had no knowledge of this alleged assault. I repeat that now, with the further assurance from our President.’
The American spoke softly. ‘Quite so, Mr Ambassador. The problem is that we now have it on unimpeachable authority that this assault has not just been planned.’ He paused. ‘We now know – not believe or think, but know – that this assault has already been implemented.’
Karasin clenched his fists, his face growing white. ‘I assure you, Mr President—’
‘Assurances, Stanislav,’ the American said, using Karasin’s first name quite deliberately, ‘are no longer sufficient. I have no choice but to advise you that, unless we receive an unequivocal guarantee from your President that the assault has been halted, no later than fifteen hundred hours Eastern Standard Time – that’s twenty three hundred hours Moscow time – today, then one hour later we will launch our strategic bomber force without any further notice or reference to you.’ Karasin shook his head. ‘You should also be aware, Mr Ambassador, that the United States will go to DEFCON ONE in—’ he looked at his watch ‘—a little over eight hours from now. You are aware, I hope, of what that implies.’
‘Yes, Mr President. We know what that means. I repeat, our President has assured me he knows nothing of this assault. How, then, will he be able to convince you that it has been stopped? And how can he stop it?’
The American stood up. ‘Those, Mr Ambassador, are his problems, not mine. I have told you what we will do. Our position is non-negotiable. Good day to you.’
Autoroute A26, vicinity of Couvron-et-Aumencourt, France
‘What?’ Richter demanded. ‘Where? You mean they’ve turned off it?’
‘No,’ Lacomte said. ‘They’ve pulled into the service area just north of junction fourteen.’
Richter relaxed. ‘Probably just a fuel or food stop,’ he said.
‘I hope so,’ Lacomte replied, ‘but what concerns me is the traffic. I’ve just ordered the autoroute closed north of that junction.’
Richter thought for a moment. ‘We have to pre
serve the illusion of normality at all costs,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll have to open it up again until they get going.’
Lacomte nodded and jumped back into the van. Richter told Dekker his men could relax for a few more minutes, and climbed into Lacomte’s van to wait for news. The messages they were getting from the driver who had followed the convoy into the service area didn’t seem to indicate anything suspicious. The lorry had been refuelled, as had the cars, and the occupants were visiting the toilets and the shop, always leaving one person in each vehicle. After fifteen minutes, they started their engines again, and eased out into the traffic stream.
Lacomte waited until the pursuit car driver radioed that the convoy was established westbound, and then ordered the autoroute closed once again. ‘Now we wait,’ he said.
Twelve minutes later the radio speaker crackled and, behind the French, Richter could hear the sound of a big diesel engine. ‘The truck’s just passed the Forêt de Samoussy rest area,’ Lacomte said. ‘Our first truck is pulling out to follow.’ A minute later the second truck moved out to follow the limousine, then running about half a mile behind the second Mercedes saloon.
Richter opened the van door and called out to Colin Dekker: ‘Go.’ The SAS officer gave a thumbs-up sign and climbed into the Transit, started the engine and drove off slowly along the hard shoulder, hazard lights flashing. Erulin got into his Renault Trafic and followed.
‘Time we organized your breakdown,’ Richter said to Lacomte. They went round to the cab of the van and opened the bonnet. Then Richter turned on the hazard lights, took a warning triangle from the rear compartment and placed it about fifty metres behind the van.
The traffic flow had reduced markedly as the closures Lacomte had put in place at junctions 12, 13 and 14 took effect, and only an occasional vehicle passed in either direction. Richter looked up the autoroute. About three-quarters of a mile ahead, he could see one of the GIGN men placing cones in a narrow triangle to protect the Transit. To Richter, it looked convincingly ordinary, but his opinion wasn’t the one that mattered. He climbed back into the van, closed the rear doors, put on a headset and thumbed the button. ‘Colin?’
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