Total Blackout

by Alex Shaw

  ‘And go where?’

  Tate had been thinking about that. What was the Russians’ exfil plan? ‘I’ll ask him.’

  They passed a sign that read “Entrance to Camden Hills State Park 1,500 feet”, and half a minute later Donoghue instructed Tate to stop the car. ‘You stay here; I’m going in.’

  ‘No,’ Tate said. ‘You are the law – I get that – but if the Russians are there, you can’t just wander over, flash your badge, and ask them to come quietly.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I can do, Tate. You expect me to stay here? No way.’

  ‘This is what I’m trained for – covert ops. I’ll assess the situation. You need to stay with the car and keep the engine running. I don’t know if this little beauty will start again.’

  Donoghue sighed heavily; he could see the logic. ‘OK, agreed.’

  The two men got out of the car. Donoghue nodded at Tate as he headed off and then clambered into the driver’s seat. With Edger’s Glock held in a two-handed grip, Tate advanced towards the park’s entrance road. The empty highway added to the eeriness of his approach. The only sound was that of the Mini’s engine gently humming. He reached the entrance and stood stock-still behind a tree, the fat green leaves concealing him from anyone on the road. His black jeans and dark green shirt were not the same as tactical camouflage gear, but at least their colours were subdued.

  He listened. The Mini’s engine was now much quieter and probably would not carry past the tree line. There was no other sound. Although there was a slight breeze, it was not enough to swish the leaves.

  Tate crouched and edged forward, further into the park, expecting at any moment to come across the Russians; he’d made himself a smaller target and would appear around the trees at a lower level than any sentry expected. He darted his head forward and saw an empty tree-lined path. He advanced, weapon up; he felt exposed. There was a bend ahead and he threw caution to the wind and jogged to it. Five paces out, he stopped and listened, and then he heard someone sigh. Tate went back to a crouch and eased himself forward around the trees. He saw the unmistakable shape of the black SUV.

  *

  Oleg focused on the screen of the American-registered Iridium satellite phone. The network had only gone down five minutes before. Had the effect of the EMP on low-orbiting civilian communications satellites been negligible or delayed? He didn’t know, but surely the US military, as well as the Russians and Chinese, had others that would be immune. The probable cause of the network’s abrupt disappearance must be governmental. Yes, that was it; he was certain that the US military had taken over the civilian network as part of their emergency contingency plan.

  ‘Put your hands in the air!’ the voice from behind his head ordered in a perfect St Petersburg Russian accent.

  ‘What about the phone?’

  ‘Keep it in your hand.’

  The owner of the voice slowly came into view. Oleg was surprised to see the Englishman from the inn, aiming a Glock 17 at his head. ‘I don’t understand. Who are you?’

  ‘I have the gun; I ask the questions. Who are you working for?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I am SVR and I know you are Oleg Sokol former GRU; what I am asking is which unit are you with now?’

  Oleg’s eyes went from wide to narrow. How did the man know his name? ‘You are SVR? Prove it.’

  ‘No. I have the gun. If I wasn’t SVR how would I have known where to find you? This is your ERV for after the attack.’

  ‘Yes,’ Oleg admitted. ‘Our rendezvous point was at the inn and we can’t use that anymore.’

  ‘You may lower your hands, but place the phone on the ground.’

  ‘As you know, I am Oleg Sokol. What you may not know is that I am formerly of the Weapons Research Directorate.’ Even now he felt a surge of pride as he stated this.

  ‘Based at Arzamas-16?’

  ‘Correct.’ Anyone who was not from Russian intelligence would have used “Sarov”, the name of the closed post-Soviet town in the Nizhny Novgorod region. Old habits were hard to break for Russians; they didn’t like using new names. Sokol frowned. ‘If you do not know which group I am with, how do you know my plans?’

  The man gave him an expressive “you know how it is” shrug and sighed. ‘I was briefed by Moscow that your operation was taking place, but my superior did not read me in on which unit was carrying it out. He did not think I needed to know.’

  ‘That sounds about right.’

  ‘I was sent to monitor your group, assess how it carried out its duties, and, if necessary, act as over-watch in case you became compromised. That is why I was at the inn and why I had the same vehicle as yours.’

  ‘Ah.’ Oleg nodded; it seemed to make sense.

  The man lowered his Glock. ‘I’m sorry I had to point this at you.’

  ‘It is OK. But you tried to stop me – you and the policemen.’

  ‘I was trying to stop him. By the way, he’ll live; he shot himself in the leg.’

  ‘Not the foot?’ Oleg joked.

  ‘And so back to my question, which unit is undertaking this operation?’

  Oleg nodded. ‘I am not surprised that Moscow did not tell you – it is plausible deniability. I am a contractor working for the private military company Blackline.’

  *

  Tate nodded, as though he had heard of Blackline, but he had not. He knew the names of the top-ten Russian private military companies, these included Wagner, Cossacks, SlavCorps, Antiteror and MAR. All active in the conflicts of the past decade to a greater or lesser extent, but Blackline was not among these, and Sokol was not a soldier.

  ‘So why exactly are you here now, and pointing a gun at me?’

  ‘I was looking for answers,’ Tate said. ‘I can’t get hold of my superior. The embassy has gone dark – hell everyone has gone dark.’

  ‘Well, as you are here, we can both wait for Sergei and then head up to the regional operations centre.’

  Tate frowned. He couldn’t ask where this was, if he was meant to know about the operation. ‘How much fuel do you have? I’m down to a quarter of a tank.’

  ‘You will need more than that, and of course the gas pumps, being electronic will not pump. I have some spare fuel, but perhaps it is better just to take the one vehicle.’

  ‘Agreed.’ So the base was not in the local area?

  ‘Where have you parked?’

  ‘On the road; I’d better move it.’

  ‘That is wise. I’m sorry, you have not given me your name.’

  ‘Ivan Goncharov.’ It was a name Tate had used before on an operation. He was familiar with the legend and if needed could be questioned about it. He extended his hand and Oleg shook it.

  ‘Your watch – that is not standard issue.’

  ‘I got it from a jewellery shop in Washington.’ Not true, but near enough.

  ‘It is a classic. I have often admired the watchmaker’s skill. We were issued with these mission watches. The timers were synchronised, and there is a GPS tracker. I would have thought you would have been also issued with one in order to monitor our …’ The Russian’s words trailed off, and Tate saw that his deception was falling apart.

  Tate cursed, pulled the Russian forward, and twisted behind him. He hooked his arms around the man’s neck, put his left hand on the back of the head, and pushed the throat into his right forearm. Oleg started to struggle, but the simple Adaka chokehold had him lose consciousness in seconds. Tate laid Oleg on the ground as he searched for something to secure him with. In the trunk, next to a large black equipment bag, he found a plastic bucket of sundry items. He rummaged and discovered a roll of duct tape, which he quickly wrapped around Oleg’s wrists and ankles. He then made an air hole in another piece and secured his prisoner’s mouth. Once he was certain that Oleg was secure and breathing unimpeded, he hefted the Russian into the back of the SUV and laid him across the bench seats. As an afterthought, he secured him with the seatbelt before plugging it in.


  Tate searched the vehicle. In the glove box he found a map with a location circled; it was the town of Houlton. The name didn’t ring any bells to him. He took the map and went back to the trunk. He unzipped the black equipment bag. It held a full assault kit and extra ammo. He nodded approvingly and shouldered the Heckler & Koch 416. It was an A5-11 – the short barrel, Close Quarters Battle version. Although not the lightest weapon, it was a nice bit of kit. The Regiment didn’t use it, but he’d trained with it. It was a specialised weapon and now there was no doubt whatsoever in Tate’s mind that Oleg Sokol, former GRU, was involved in an active operation, even if he wasn’t a shooter.

  Tate continued to rummage through the bag; the hardware was new and US-made. Tate once more checked that the Russian was both breathing and secure before he took the key from the ignition, locked the Tahoe, and headed back towards Donoghue.

  *

  Donoghue heard the vehicle approaching before he saw it on the deserted highway. It only took a split second for him to make the decision to leave the car. He switched off the ignition and he was out of the Mini, Glock at the ready, and running for the trees. Reaching the tree line, he crouched and faced the road. As he did so, a black SUV crested the bend and bore down on his position. It came to a full stop next to the Mini. The window powered down and Donoghue saw the large Russian. He looked down at the car, saw that it was empty, then drove on into the park.

  Donoghue followed on foot, as quickly as he could.

  *

  Tate dived into the trees as he saw the nose of the second Tahoe suddenly appear. He swore. Oleg was visible on the back seat of the other one for the entire world to see. There was no way he could talk himself out of this. He ran through his options as the SUV stopped next to Oleg’s, and Sergei stepped out and cricked his massive back.

  From the trees Tate saw Sergei look around the clearing, searching for his partner. He then tried Oleg’s driver’s door before moving to the back of the vehicle. Oleg straightened up, and Tate heard him chuckle – a deep rumble that came from his belly. ‘Wake up, old man!’ Sergei knocked on the window, and then it was obvious he had seen that Oleg was gagged with duct tape.

  Tate pushed out of the trees. The HK was up and zeroed on the big man. ‘Ne dvigatsya!’ Don’t move, he yelled in Russian.

  Sergei examined Tate with dull eyes. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Raise your arms above your head,’ Tate commanded.

  Sergei did as requested.

  Donoghue now advanced from behind, panting, Glock trained on the Russian’s temple. If he was surprised to see Tate wielding an assault rifle, he didn’t show it. ‘Down! Down on the ground now!’

  ‘No.’ The word carried no emotion.

  ‘Down, now!’ Tate repeated Donoghue’s command.

  ‘No. I will not lie down to die. If you are to shoot me, do it looking into my eyes, but know that I will come back for you.’

  Donoghue stepped nearer and pressed the Glock into the back of the large Russian’s neck. ‘Get down. NOW!’

  ‘OK … OK.’ Sergei relaxed his shoulders and started to bend; as he did so, the Glock moved away ever so slightly, but it was enough. Sergei jerked his arm backwards and caught Donoghue in the chest with an elbow. Winded, Donoghue stumbled; Sergei grabbed the American’s wrist and wrestled the Glock free. Tate dropped the HK. There was no way he could fire and not hit Donoghue; instead, he charged forwards and shoulder barged the Russian into the ground.

  Sergei’s head hit the gravel and he let out a grunt. Tate pushed his left hand into Sergei’s throat and drew his right fist back to deliver a blow, but then the Russian’s hand, still holding the Glock, connected with his temple. Sparks of blinding light erupted behind Tate’s eyes and he fell sideways. Donoghue reached for the HK assault rifle but Sergei opened fire, a round missing the police chief’s hand by a fraction of an inch.

  ‘On the ground!’ Sergei goaded as he stood. ‘Let’s see how you like it.’

  Donoghue knew there was no point in attempting to reason with the Russian, so slowly and deliberately, he dropped to his knees and then stretched out with his nose in the gravel. He heard footsteps as the Russian drew nearer. And then there was a roar.

  Tate, on legs of rubber, crashed his shoulder into the back of Sergei’s right knee in a chop block movement, an old WWE move. The Russian yelled as the joint was dislocated and he fell on all fours, dropping the Glock. Tate staggered to his feet and glared at the Russian as blood streamed down the side of his face, like war paint. ‘C’mon, big man!’ he growled.

  Sergei snorted; there was a white-cold wave surging up his leg, masking the pain in his knee, as a red-hot rage attempted to escape from behind his eyes. He forced himself to his feet, his left knee making a grinding noise like a car with a faulty transmission. ‘You think you can beat me? One-on-one, man-to-man?’

  ‘You’ll never know,’ Donoghue said as he pulled the trigger of the Glock and sent a 9mm round into Sergei’s good knee. The Russian howled and collapsed, rolling twice before pulling himself into a foetal position.

  Tate bent forward and put his hands on his thighs to steady himself. ‘Thanks, but I had him.’

  ‘Sure you did, Nature Boy.’

  Tate tried to speak, but a wave of nausea caused him to vomit. He took several steps sideways before stumbling backwards into a sitting position.

  ‘Tate, don’t move. You’re injured.’

  Vision blurry, Tate batted away the words with his hand but said nothing.

  *

  Tate held the gauze against the side of his head. The cut was just in his hairline and, according to Donoghue, nothing more than a scratch. He’d stopped feeling dizzy but now a dull ache engulfed his head. It was a concussion, no doubt about it, but he’d had worse – much worse. Tate stood and took a deep breath. For a moment, the edge of his vision greyed out and then it was back. He’d be all right; he had to be. After treating Sergei’s wound as best he could with a field surgical pack he’d found in the trunk, Donoghue had taken a Tahoe and doubled back to collect Officer Kent. Kent now watched over the two prisoners, whose duct tape had been replaced by police cuffs taken from Kent’s Crown Victoria.

  On the SUV’s hood, Donoghue spread the map Tate had found. ‘Yep, there’s an airport at Houlton. It was bought by a Chinese investment company back in 2014. I can’t recall the name, but I remember the uproar it caused at the time. Anyway they reopened it and brought in quite a bit of income for the local economy.’

  ‘A commercial airport?’ Tate hadn’t heard of Houlton.

  ‘No international carriers. Mostly private jets, and I think the occasional charter jet, but I’ve never been there.’

  Tate looked at the circle someone had put around Houlton. ‘So to get there, I go to Bangor and then take Interstate 95 north?’

  ‘It’s about one hundred and seventy miles; three hours or so driving time.’ Donoghue frowned. ‘Why do you want to go there?’

  ‘The Russians wanted to.’

  ‘You think this is where they planned to exfil?’

  Tate nodded and wished he hadn’t, as a dagger of pain stabbed his temple. ‘They’ve got working vehicles so why not working airframes?’

  ‘Something here does not add up. They’re responsible for the attack, the lights out—’

  ‘The EMP.’

  ‘Right, and then they hang around afterwards to do what, exactly?’

  ‘I have no idea. Oleg is from the GRU’s scientific directorate. He’s not a fighter; my guess is he was carrying out some type of experiments here.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘You lot.’

  ‘Bring Oleg over here,’ Donoghue called out.

  Kent did as requested and placed Oleg in front of them. The Russian looked at them with a quizzical expression on his face.

  ‘Tell me exactly what you were doing here,’ Donoghue ordered.

  ‘In Camden?’

  ‘Start with Camden.’

  ‘And what if I don�
��t? I know how policing works in the United States. I should have legal representation.’

  Donoghue looked at Tate. ‘Is he for real?’

  Tate picked up his rifle. ‘I think he needs to be persuaded.’

  Fear now flashed across the Russian’s face. Tate could see the man thinking furiously. ‘Very well. You must understand, I am a scientist. Science is pure, not tainted with any bias or pernicious intent.’

  Donoghue didn’t look like he was following but said, ‘OK, go on.’

  ‘Science is science. My mission was to check our test equipment to see if it worked in the field after the EMP event and to assess the impact on unshielded local technology.’

  ‘You attacked the US to test your new equipment?’ Tate asked.

  ‘I did not attack, Blackline did …’ Oleg’s voice trailed off as he realised there was really no difference.

  Donoghue pointed a large index finger at the Russian. ‘Your employer attacked the US. You knew it was going to happen. That makes you complicit in a terrorist attack on the US!’

  Oleg’s eyes narrowed. ‘I am a scientist; I am not concerned with war. I am interested in the phenomenon. That is what I study. I did not and will not kill anyone.’

  ‘Your attack could cause the death of thousands,’ Donoghue said, his anger increasing.

  ‘I did nothing to cause any deaths!’

  ‘And what about the killings?’ Tate asked.

  ‘What killings?’

  ‘Darren Sant – a banker from Rockport, retired senator Clifford Piper, and General Colin Leavesley. They were assassinated by your team, were they not?’

  ‘Assassinated?’ The man’s face was genuinely blank. ‘I know nothing about any assassinations.’

  ‘What was their mission?’ Tate probed. ‘Political assassination straight out of the old KGB playbook?’

  ‘I know nothing about any murders, political or not. You must believe me, I am just a scientist. I observe, I record and I make a report.’

  Donoghue shook his head and pursed his lips. ‘We’ve got the two of you on conspiracy charges at the very least.’