by Alex Shaw
‘I need you,’ Terri said theatrically.
Hunter smirked. ‘You need to get to work too.’
‘I don’t start until nine. I’m not crazy like you.’
‘That’s very true.’ He kissed her on the forehead and went downstairs. His laptop was in the lounge where he always left it. On a whim, he sat and tried to power it on. Nothing happened. He’d charged it the day before; it should have worked. Mystified, Hunter popped the laptop into its leather carrycase and left the house. Outside, a black SUV cruised past. He recognised the model as some bulky Chevy. Cars in the US were huge. They were like driving armchairs; he doubted they’d fit on UK roads or in UK parking spaces. He walked down the path to his cherished, diplomatic Land Rover Defender and opened the door. Outwardly, the overall design of the boxy British legend had barely altered in seventy years. Under the skin, however, electronics now replaced a wire and a prayer.
A sudden screech of tyres made him look up. The SUV had reappeared, pulled up, and blocked in the Defender. Before Hunter had time to react, a pair of large men bore down on him. The first was holding a silenced 9mm pistol.
‘Get back in the house, Simon.’ The words were English, the accent Russian.
Hunter’s eyes flicked toward the Land Rover, betraying his thoughts of escape.
The second man skirted the vehicle and slammed the door shut, trapping the laptop bag within. ‘He said go inside.’
‘OK … OK.’ Hunter’s heart pounded in his chest. ‘I’m putting my hand in my pocket for my key.’
‘If it is not a key, I will shoot you here in the street, like a dog,’ the first Russian said.
Shaking, Hunter retrieved his key and fumbled with the lock. As he pushed the door open, he knew what he had to do. There was no way he could escape but she could. ‘Terri! Run to the back door now!’
‘Stupid.’ The Russian grabbed Hunter’s head with one meaty hand and with a second, plunged a syringe into the diplomat’s neck. Hunter dropped onto his parquet floor like a stone.
*
With supreme effort, Li Tam opened his eyes. The August sunlight dazzled him, making them snap shut once more. He could hear voices, although they were distant and the words were indistinct. His neck was numb and his head throbbed. Where was he? He tried to remember and, slowly this time, opened his eyes. Grey shapes, colours bleached away by the seemingly blistering sunlight, gradually gained colour and clarity as his senses adjusted, but the throbbing in his head increased. Tam stayed stock-still, confused, not aware of his surroundings or the reason he had been injured. A shadow fell, followed by the face that had caused it – a Chinese face.
‘Keep quiet and I’ll get you out of here.’ The language was Mandarin, the accent Hong Kong.
The man moved away, his place now taken by a paramedic. Tam tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. The medic leaned down and poured droplets of water from a bottle into his mouth.
‘Thank you,’ Tam croaked. ‘What happened?’
‘You can’t remember?’
Tam frowned; it caused him pain. ‘Not fully.’
‘My name’s Frank. I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?’
‘Li Tam.’
Frank shone a light into Tam’s eyes. ‘Look left, right, up and now down. Do you feel pain anywhere apart from your head and neck?’
‘My right leg … my ankle.’
‘OK, that was probably the pedals. Can you move your feet for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘The fact you can feel pain in your legs and move them is good; it indicates there is no underlying spinal injury. But you do have whiplash and a concussion. The fact you lost consciousness and cannot remember the event indicates to me that it may well be serious. We need to get you to a hospital, but our vehicles won’t start.’
Tam remembered … everything. His mission, the EMP, being cornered by the police and then attempting to escape.
‘I’ll take him in the taxi,’ the Mandarin speaker said, now reappearing in Tam’s vision but speaking English.
‘What about your man, Detective Chang?’
The Mandarin speaker glanced over to the ambulance. Inside, the injured officer lay on a gurney while Milligan chatted to him. ‘I presume he needs to keep that leg extended? There’ll be no room with my suspect in the back and he won’t squeeze into the front. I’ll make a second trip.’
‘Looks like we have no other option. I need to stay here but I’ll put a neck brace on our patient before we move him.’
‘Knock yourself out, Frank.’
Frank gently secured Tam’s neck in a foam collar, and with the help of a colleague, eased Tam carefully to his feet.
‘Hold out your arms,’ the Mandarin speaker, whom the paramedic had called Detective Chang, said.
Tam complied, confused, and a pair of police-issue handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists. Chang and Frank led him to the taxi and eased him into the back seat. The ignition started and the taxi started to move off.
‘How are you feeling?’ Chang continued speaking in Mandarin.
With a dry mouth and a throat that felt as though it had been cut, Tam replied, also in Mandarin, ‘Like I have been run over by a train. Who are you?’
‘A friend. I need to get you to safety.’
Was he an actual police detective? Tam felt dizzy. He was finding it hard to think. ‘Why am I cuffed?’
‘Appearances. I had to get you out of there without the local cops suspecting anything. Understand? Now where do you want me to take you?’
Tam didn’t want to go home; he didn’t want to draw attention to his family. He needed help and the Russians were best placed to provide that. ‘The airport.’
‘Which one?’ Chang asked.
‘College Park.’
Chang threaded the taxi through a tight gap between a delivery van and USPS truck. ‘It’s a great day – look at all this. The attack worked.’
‘Yes.’ The fog in Tam’s head was starting to lift, an increase of pain delivering an increase in clarity. He made eye contact with Chang via the rear-view mirror. Was the detective really another paid agent? Tam had lost a lot of time; he’d been compromised. He had to get back to where he’d started the day, College Park Airport. Tam switched to English. ‘Where is my cell phone?’
Chang said, ‘I have your sat phone.’
The taxi slowed as Chang started to make a turn towards a bay outside Washington Hospital. The parking lot was half-full with cars. Several of them had their hoods up as owners struggled to get them started. A sole ambulance stood by the entrance doors.
There was a shooting pain in Tam’s right ankle as it took his weight. ‘I need to get to the airport. I do not need medical attention.’
‘OK.’ Chang turned back onto the road.
*
Chang’s eyes flicked between the road and Tam in the rear-view mirror as he drove away from the hospital. The roads were still empty but now there were more pedestrians on the streets, and few attempted to flag him down. He was trying to think what his next move should be. Take the taxi driver in to his station or go to the airport and see what else he could uncover, but either way he had to grill him whilst they were alone.
‘I need my phone. I have to report in.’
Chang held it up but did not give it to Tam. ‘I’ve been ordered to take over from you.’
‘What?’
‘I’m to replace you. Will that be an issue?’
‘Under whose authority?’
‘Your boss.’
‘No. No, no. The Russians are running this; we are not meant to be in any contact with—’
‘The Russians?’ Chang blurted before he could control his surprise. He realised he’d made a mistake; he’d pushed it too far. But his suspicions had been proved right, in his mind at least. A foreign nation had attacked, and it was Russia. Tam looked angry; he’d been duped. Chang pulled the taxi into a side street, turned in his seat and withdrew his police-issue Glock. The last thing he wanted
now was for the guy to attack him. There was an uneasy silence as, masks off, they eyed each other. ‘Tell me about yourself, Li Tam. Have you been spying on us for a long time?’
Tam tried to change tactics. ‘Please, I need my phone to call my wife and daughter to say I’m not dead.’
‘And then call up for new orders?’
‘I need to get home; they will be worried.’
‘That’s nice. I had a wife and a daughter once.’
Tam’s face softened momentarily. ‘Did you lose them in an accident?’
‘No, I lost them to drink. Tell me about your mission, Tam. Tell me and perhaps we can cut a deal.’
Tam didn’t reply.
‘C’mon, Tam, I know you are connected to the power outage, and I know it’s much more than just a power outage. We both know it’s an EMP.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘You understand perfectly well; you can’t backtrack now. You’ve slipped up. I know who you are.’ Chang pointed the Glock. ‘Thank you for the EMP-proofed taxi. It’s exactly what I needed.’
Li Tam’s eyes flickered before he spoke. ‘I do not know anything about cars; it belongs to my boss.’
‘I’ll check that out.’
‘You are making a mistake. I am just a taxi driver.’
Chang now held up Tam’s sat phone, with his other hand. ‘This works. How is it that you have both a working car and a working sat phone? I mean, how many everyday people even have a sat phone? The last time I used one was on a training course with the feds on disaster management.’
Tam’s eyes flickered again. ‘You are with the FBI?’
‘Not yet,’ Chang conceded, ‘but that is who I am going to give you to. It would be better for you to come clean with me, here and now.’
‘Otherwise what will you do?’
Chang could feel his anger rise; the little turd knew that he had the upper hand. He tried to keep his voice level. ‘As I said, tell me what you know then maybe we can cut a deal; after all, you are just a small fish in this giant pond and we need to get the whales.’
‘I’m allergic to seafood.’
Chang counted to ten as Tam looked on impassively before he spoke again. ‘What were you doing in Washington?’
‘Picking up fares, driving them around.’
‘Working as a taxi driver?’
‘Working as a taxi driver,’ Tam repeated.
‘Tell me about Russia.’
‘It is a big country.’
‘Now you listen to me!’ Chang raised his voice. ‘You are going to tell me what you know.’
Chang had a short fuse. It was his weakness and something that had stalled his promotion. He had been trained in advance questioning techniques, but he guessed if Li Tam was a foreign agent he had been trained to resist interrogation far more brutal than anything he, as a police detective, could hurl at him.
‘I am a taxi driver. I am a US citizen. I know my rights.’
Chang’s patience failed. He leant back, grabbed the smaller man by his shirt collar and pulled him forward. Tam fell into the footwell, his knees landing heavily on the hard rubber matting and jarring his neck. Tam grunted.
Again, Chang stared at Tam. Tam returned his gaze. The car, and indeed the side street outside, were eerily devoid of any manmade noise.
‘Now, listen to me …’ Tam’s sat phone vibrated. Chang studied the screen. Curiously, a number was displayed. He put his left hand partway over the mic and spoke a single word of a single syllable. ‘Yes?’
‘Go back to the embassy. Keep watching for Tudor.’
‘Yes.’ The call ended and Chang stared first at the phone and then at Tam as realisation passed through the fog of fatigue inside his head. How could he have been so slow?
Chapter 14
Washington Street, Camden, Maine
On any normal August morning, it would be too early for people to be worrying about their cars in Camden, but not today. Unaware of what was going on or why, residents and visitors alike descended upon the two open-air municipal car parks placed on either side of Washington Street. Many of the cars were less than ten years old and relied heavily on microprocessors, complicated circuitry, and miles of wires.
Sergei sat behind darkened windows in the corner of the car park and monitored the situation. The two car parks had one hundred and seventy-four spaces in all, and most of these were full. He hadn’t bothered to count the exact number. He would, if pushed, make up a number. He had a smile on his square face; the Camden Police Headquarters was next to the car park and showed no signs of life. No patrol vehicles parked outside and no noises within. From time to time people banged on the door, but to no avail. It was as if the police had deserted them, but Sergei knew the truth. The police, like everyone else, would be getting to work on foot.
A car grumbled to life and Sergei moved his eyes, nothing else. It was a yellow Honda Civic that had been hidden underneath some sort of protective cover. Was it to protect the paintwork stone chips or because the owner liked the look and didn’t want to splash out for carbon fibre? Sergei didn’t have a clue, but what he did know was that the vehicle started! A small cheer went up from the other vehicle owners. Slowly, Sergei raised his digital SLR and focused the long lens on the vehicle as it drove away. The car park became silent again. His technology had worked, but then he had never doubted it.
He started to feel warm as the morning sun hit his passenger window; his car would soon be a hothouse without an open window or air conditioning. He looked at his digital watch; 07:00, four hours until they pulled out. Sergei rolled his eyes. This was going to be boring. He had never enjoyed the surveillance aspect of the job; he was much happier with a weapon or fighting with his fists, but his experience and command of English had put him on this mission.
Another car moved. This time it was German – a BMW X5. Sergei photographed it and frowned. Why had that car started when it was full of modern electronics? Was the EMP not as powerful as they had been led to believe? This was why they’d been placed in Camden, to assess the effectiveness of the EMP’s outer splash, at this distance from its detonation. Sergei stifled a yawn. Getting up at the arse-crack of dawn, so that he could be in position unnoticed by those checking their cars had been necessary, if unpleasant.
Several other motorists now started to speak to the driver, and then one banged on the door. Sergei nodded; this is how it would start. Fights would break out over working cars and only the strong or the armed would survive. An angry shout, and the driver pulled away with a screech of tyres. Yes, it was about to get interesting. Sergei opened his glove compartment; the light went on and illuminated a Glock, two spare magazines, and two grenades. No one was going to take his car.
He checked his watch. It was time to move to his next location to observe. Sergei started up the Tahoe, gaining many excited looks, and then squealed out of the parking lot. Five minutes later he slowly pulled into the supermarket, turned left, driving to the furthest space away from the entrance. In his experience all those making a beeline for the store would turn in the opposite direction and stop directly outside the store’s wide, double doors. He turned off the engine and waited.
Within fifteen minutes he had been rewarded by the arrival of six vehicles. One was an ancient Chevy pick-up, two were motorbikes driven by men with beards and leather, and the last three were Nineties-era sedans. None of them were as reliant on technology as more modern vehicles. As he had predicted each vehicle had driven close to the front door whereupon the driver peered inside the store.
As he observed, the elderly driver of the ancient Chevy started to chat with the two bikers. He was too far away to either hear or read their lips, but he had a fair idea of what was about to happen. The Chevy backed up to the metal security doors, the two bikers then hooked up a pair of chains from the back, and the pick-up tried to move away. Without electricity, no alarm bells rang, no lights flashed, and no calls to either a security company or the police were made. The doo
rs started to give; they bent at the bottom until a gap formed wide enough for a man to enter. And then all six drivers proceeded to loot the store.
Camden Hills State Park, Maine
The emergency rendezvous was just off the coast road in Camden Hills State Park. Oleg had driven quickly through Camden, stopping for nothing and almost running over a second police officer. This one had been standing on the highway next to his useless Crown Victoria and attempting to wave him down. Oleg made a mental note of the model as he accelerated past.
Five minutes later, he pulled into the park, becoming invisible from the road. He got out and stretched his legs before opening the trunk and checking his equipment. He had two satellite phones; one was Russian military and the other an Iridium. Layers of protective material inserted into every panel of the SUV shielded the phones from the EMP. The material was similar to that used in space suits to protect astronauts from solar radiation. This was technology Oleg knew and understood; a layer of metal was sandwiched inside strong layers of boPET polyester film, which protected the metal from damage. In theory, any energy released by an EMP would hit it and not the electronics underneath.
So far, everything he had tested had worked. It would make for an interesting report when he presented this to his employer; he had submitted his primary findings via his military sat phone.
Oleg heard footfall. He quickly shut the trunk of the car as a pair of hikers stepped out.
‘Good morning,’ the first said with a smile on his face.
‘Good morning,’ Oleg replied warily.
‘It’s a beautiful day for a hike,’ the second said.
‘Yes it is,’ he agreed. From the matching hiking boots and shirts, Oleg concluded that the middle-aged couple were husband and wife.
‘Well, we mustn’t keep you,’ the husband said. ‘Enjoy your hike.’
The wife smiled at him and the pair strode towards the main road. Oleg watched them go with a quizzical frown; did they not know what had happened? There was nothing he could say to help them. He shrugged. He was reminded of the Amish. They would not be affected one iota by the EMP, unless, of course, they sold their crops to buyers outside the community. Perhaps they would even agree with the EMP’s deployment as it would herald a return to a simpler more God-fearing existence.
