Nobeca

by Lloyd Nesling

  A corporate gasp emanated from the Americans when he disclosed the theft of top-secret research papers from Bateman’s facility in the Nevada Desert. He described how he had found him murdered in a hotel room in Paris and the plea for help on his laptop. Finally, he told them how they had traced a Russian ‘sleeper’ in GCHQ and set him up using Foley as bait.

  “Colin Lynes had been put in place by the Russian Security Services, but we believe he was also working for the Generalissimo. We had no idea at the time that this Black Militia existed. British Intelligence has been working non-stop to flush them out. Wallace is ex-British Military Intelligence. We planted him in the facility to discover what was going on.”

  “Major Conrad, are you telling us that this Militia is going to wage war on us?” the Attorney General asked.

  Grunts of amusement ran round the room. The German representative stood up, a scowl on his face.

  “The Black Militia, the Generalissimo. Do you think we are fools to swallow such nonsense? You say they will wage war against the most powerful countries on the globe?”

  “Not a conventional war. What has happened so far is a mere distraction while he puts his plan into motion. I believe the real threat will come through cyberspace.”

  “These threats have been in existence for years,” the Homeland Security Advisor interjected. “Every day hackers try to get into systems. The Pentagon has scores of e-mails containing computer threats. It’s a constant. Every major country is aware of this hacking and they deal with it.”

  “This is different. The Generalissimo has recruited computer experts from all over the world. He’s promised them riches beyond their dreams in exchange for their total loyalty and expertise. We believe that the Generalissimo is ex-KGB.”

  “I protest!” a surly voice shouted. “It is a trick to implicate us!”

  “No,” Pearce interjected. “We believe it is a man called Pavel Alexei Plushenko.”

  “Now I know it is a fairy tale. Plushenko died in a boating accident in 1989 in East Berlin. If what you say is true, our security services would have captured him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It is not possible.”

  Hear me out,” Conrad said. “Our intelligence has informed us that he foiled a plan to murder him, because he was a loose cannon. He’s been planning this ‘war’ for over twenty-five years. Plushenko is a psychopathic megalomaniac who thinks he can rule the world. There have been others in history,” he added, avoiding the gazes of the German and Russian representatives. “Their intention is to strike when morale is low. The Generalissimo’s experts have developed a computer virus known as ‘Black Crystal’. It’s deadly. Once one computer is infected it will shut down systems all over the world.”

  “Do you really expect us to believe that this ex-KGB guy is capable of infiltrating the Pentagon and the NSA?” General Logan interrupted.

  “Imagine what would happen if all power stations, oil rigs, banks, industries and military systems closed down,” Conrad continued. “They would have complete control over everybody, every organisation.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time someone hacked into the Pentagon,” Pearce interjected.

  The Americans shuffled uncomfortably. Behind them the door swung open. A young subaltern marched smartly towards the table and handed an envelope to Pearce. Quickly, he read the contents then stuffed it into his pocket.

  “We have the full support of the Prime Minister,” Pearce said.

  The tension in the air was palpable as the group rose to leave.

  “I’ll inform the President.” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said, rising from his chair. “Mr Conrad, how much time do we have?”

  “Operation Black Crystal is imminent.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  London, England

  Clive Pearce breathed a sigh of relief when the military jet kissed the runway and taxied to a stop in RAF Lakenheath. The whopping of helicopter blades nearby filled the air. He hastened down the steps and ran the hundred yards to the chopper. Within seconds they were airborne and on their way to the London Heliport in Battersea where a car was waiting to take him to IMIC headquarters.

  Frustrated by heavy traffic and Christmas shoppers, he cursed under his breath until they arrived at Trentor Enterprises. Isobel was still glued to her computer when he barged into the outer office.

  “Contact Lambert and Ryder,” he said.

  They operated with a small team of highly experienced agents when engaged in covert assignments. Besides Conrad, only two others knew Breakdancer’s real identity or the location of IMIC headquarters. Tim Lambert and Steve Ryder would have to be briefed. He wanted them out on the streets of London immediately.

  *

  A buzz of excitement and conversation circulated throughout the theatre. Ryder glanced sideways at his long-suffering girlfriend. Charlotte was a beautiful woman with shining chestnut hair that she wore just shoulder length. When he knew she was coming up from Oxford for the weekend to do some Christmas shopping, he had bought tickets for Jersey Boys. Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed in anticipation. Charlotte tapped her foot in time with the rhythm throughout the show.

  “They’re fabulous,” she enthused as the curtain fell. With a roar of approval the crowd was on its feet clapping and whistling with delight. Fortunately, they had end seats so they started for the exit before the crowd.

  “I wonder where Tim is? He promised to meet us for a drink before the show. It’s not like him to let us down.”

  “He’s probably tied up in a meeting. I’m sure he’ll be waiting for us in the hotel when we get back,” Ryder said.

  He sighed when his mobile vibrated in his pocket. Charlotte glared at him when he flipped it open. “Business, I won’t be long. Wait in the bar.” It was always the same whenever they went out for the evening.

  “I want you in immediately,” Pearce said. “I’ve just arrived back from Washington DC. All I can tell you over the blower is that the ‘deal’ I’m working on is highly confidential and very precarious. The ‘business’ may be going global.”

  There was an urgency in Pearce’s voice, a hint of fear that he had never heard before.

  “Understood,” he replied, instantly recognising the coded language they used.

  “You must be on the alert at all times. Things could happen in the ‘business’ that are out of our control. It’s not just our British-based ‘companies’. Our global enterprises are being seriously threatened. Please be extra careful in your ‘negotiations’. There’s a possibility that the ‘market’ will drop very soon.”

  Ryder heard the receiver click at the other end followed by the call-disconnected sound. What the hell was going on and what had Peace been doing in Washington DC? His expression was grim when he entered the bar. Charlotte frowned. She had seen that look before and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “Weren’t they wonderful!” Charlotte exclaimed.

  Before he could respond, all the lights went out. People muttered nervously in the darkness.

  “Come on somebody. Put the lights back on.”

  Suddenly, a metallic voice echoed throughout the theatre.

  “The lights will be back on as soon as possible. Please remain where you are. I repeat, in the interests of safety, please remain in your seats.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here!” Ryder urged.

  “No, I can’t see. It’s safer to wait until the lights go on again.”

  Ryder grabbed Charlotte’s arm and pushed her towards the door. His training always kicked in whenever he was inside a building. He knew exactly how to get to the nearest exit. Feeling his way along the wall and down the stairs they reached the foyer. Everything was in darkness. With Charlotte in tow, he pushed through the doors onto the pavement.

  There wasn’t a glimmer of light anywhere; not from the restaurants, shops or other theatres. The only light was from the headlights of passing vehicles. Was this to do with Pearce’s warning? No, it was pro
bably sheer coincidence. He hailed a passing taxi and bundled Charlotte inside.

  “Royal Horse Guards Hotel. Any idea what’s happened?” he asked the cabby.

  “Not a clue, guv. Drivers have been reporting in from all over. There seems to be a power cut all over the city.”

  He was interrupted by the wail of police sirens behind him. He pulled over to the side to let them pass. Four cars passed, one behind the other.

  “Bloody terrorists, that’s what it is, bloody terrorists! Well, mate, I aint gonna let ’em affect me business again, that’s for sure! I’m staying wiv me cab!”

  Hotel reception was in complete darkness, except for a few flickering candles and a couple of storm lanterns. Ryder escorted Charlotte to the bar.

  “It’s safer to sit in the public areas until the situation has been remedied.”

  “Actually, it looks quite cosy in here,” she remarked, noting candlelight reflecting on mirrors and glasses.

  People sat huddled together, giggling and talking in low voices, enjoying the comforts of a four-star hotel even in a crisis. Ryder settled Charlotte with a group of people who had obviously been to see the same show earlier in the day.

  “I won’t be long,” he said. “I’m going to see if I can find out what’s happened.”

  He made his way out onto the street and walked towards the embankment. Not a single street lamp glowed in the darkness. The vague shape of the London Eye towered over the Thames. Faint lights flickered and died in some of the cabins. Stranded passengers were using cigarette lighters to attract attention. Suddenly, an icy wind whipped up, sweeping the clouds away like a harried housewife. Briefly, a pale moon peeped through, illuminating the streets, before disappearing behind a fresh band of cloud.

  Turning on his heel, he retraced his steps past the hotel. He made his way into Northumberland Avenue and swiftly walked to Trafalgar Square. Crowds of tourists and Christmas revellers thronged the square, their faces temporarily caught in the glow of a match or cigarette lighter. They had been admiring the enormous Christmas tree when the lights went out. With a screech of tyres a police car pulled up. An officer got out and stood on the pavement at the edge of the crowd, a bullhorn at the ready.

  “Please remain where you are until further instructions. Hold on to your valuables and handbags and watch out for pickpockets. Everything possible is being done to remedy the situation.”

  “Why can’t we go back to our hotels?” a voice shouted from the crowd, “We’d be safer there.” A chorus of voices agreed, but the officer was adamant.

  “I repeat, stay where you are!”

  “It’s terrorists. They must have planted a bomb!” a woman shrieked.

  Suddenly, the mass of bodies started shoving and pushing to get to the edge of the square, knocking people over in the process. Unable to control the crowd, the police officer ran to his patrol car and radioed for backup, but it was too late. Panic rippled through the crowd. An elderly man sank to the ground as a hefty teenager pushed him violently aside. His wife screamed hysterically in the darkness. “Danny! Danny! Where are you?” The milling bodies pushed her forwards to the edge of the square. Nobody paid any attention to Danny, lying bleeding and unconscious under their feet.

  A little girl screamed in fear. Her father hoisted her onto his shoulders and tried to barge through the crowd, his wife clinging to his arm. Suddenly, the man stumbled and lost his footing. The child fell backwards from his shoulders landing heavily on the ground. Lost under a hundred pounding feet; kicked like a football under a mass of fleeing bodies.

  Ryder lunged across the road battling the surging crowd rushing towards him. He hailed a passing taxi, which was miraculously still running.

  “North Pembury Avenue and step on it!” he instructed the driver.

  He had to get to IMIC headquarters to find out what was going on. Ryder had the cab door open as it screeched to a halt. He shoved a note into the driver’s hand and raced up the steps. Trentor Enterprises was closed for business at this time of night. He pressed the buzzer for Isobel’s office and waited for her to answer.

  “Sky diver,” he said using his code name. “I’m on my way up.”

  The whole building was shrouded in darkness. The lifts would be out of action. He would have to access the emergency stairs. Fishing out his penlight, he shone it along the counter to the right of the reception area until it hit the fire exit door. He felt his way up the stairs to the second floor and exited into the corridor.

  It was pitch-black, devoid of any windows to let in even a glimmer of external light. Cautiously, he moved along the corridor until he came to two doors next to each other marked

  ‘Private – Staff Only’. One was a small store cupboard full of cleaning equipment. The other was lined with heavy filing cabinets from floor to ceiling. Pulling off the front of a dummy electrical point, he pressed a button. A set of cabinets swung out revealing a metal staircase leading up to IMIC’s headquarters on the fourth floor.

  A faint gleam of light showed under a door in the darkened corridor. He pushed it open. Isobel waved him in. Her office and Pearce’s were lit with wind-up storm lanterns. She held up a hand while continuing to listen on her satellite phone. Finally, she turned to him.

  “There are electricity cuts in cities all over the country, from London to Edinburgh and Cardiff. A lot of big towns are also without power. It’s not just domestic usage; it’s shops, factories, hospitals. Fortunately, hospitals have been able to switch to emergency generators.”

  “I’ve just come from Trafalgar Square. It’s absolute chaos. The police can’t keep the crowds under control. Pearce rang me on satellite phone. All the landlines are down, even the high security lines. What the hell’s going on, Isobel?”

  “I don’t know, Steve,” she shrugged. “Jack Conrad and Tim Lambert are already here.”

  Ryder was a big man, six feet three inches tall with shoulders like a rugby fullback. Brown eyes and dark hair cropped close to his head, giving him a bullish appearance. In his tweed suit he looked more like a well-off farmer than the product of one of the top public schools in the country.

  “Oxford Street is like a bloody war zone!” he exclaimed, slumping into a chair opposite Clive Pearce. “I’ve seen films about the blackouts during the war. It’s eerie. Not a light anywhere in the city, but it’s not like the Blitz. There’s no community spirit out there. Thugs are breaking windows and looting stores, grabbing as much as they can. They’re making the most of it.”

  “That’s not all,” Tim interrupted. “I contacted a doctor pal of mine working in A&E at Charing Cross Hospital. They’re snowed under with muggings and accidents caused by the blackout. That’s not the worst of it either. They received five people with serious knife wounds and a young girl brutally raped and beaten. She’s on a life support machine.”

  Lambert was the exact opposite of Ryder. Softly spoken, sandy hair flopping over his ice-blue eyes and a pale complexion. There was nothing robust-looking about him, but his body was hard and toned from physical activity. An Oxford Blue, an Olympic-standard swimmer and a computer expert. On top of that, his IQ was off the chart.

  “It’s chaos across the States,” Conrad interjected. “Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Fransisco, New York, Philadelphia, Chicago and Boston; all blacked out. Apparently, Toronto and Montreal have also been hit by power cuts. The lights went out at night and came back on the following morning. The Generalissimo is playing mind games, but this is just the beginning.” He stretched his long legs and eased his shoulders. The flight had been fast, but uncomfortable. He looked as grim and haggard as Pearce. Steve Ryder and Tim Lambert looked incredulously at him.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “An organisation run by a man known as the Generalissimo intends to launch a global attack through cyberspace.”

  “There have been threats from hackers like that for years,” Lambert retorted dismissively. “He’s probably another nutcase. Remember the fiasco with thos
e Chinese hackers a few years ago?”

  “This is different,” Pearce interjected. “They’ve developed a computer virus known as ‘Black Crystal’. He’s recruited computer experts from all over the world.”

  “Do you remember Ben Wallace?” Conrad asked. “We worked on assignments together when we were both in military intelligence.”

  “Yes, a good man.”

  “He’s in the Police Service now, a Detective Chief Inspector in Shropshire, but he’s working covertly for us. I discovered the Generalissimo’s facility in the Swiss Alps. Wallace managed to infiltrate it. What he discovered is terrifying.”

  “Whoa! Whoa! Start at the beginning. What were you doing in Switzerland in the first place?”

  Pearce rested his long legs on the desktop and settled back in his chair. Lambert’s expression turned to disbelief as the story unfolded.

  “These power cuts are only the start; just a warning,” Conrad said. “He’ll target industry, banks, the military. Once the virus infects systems it will be deadly. Everything will shut down. Nothing will stop it. Can you imagine the chaos?”

  Their main problem was that they were fighting an unseen assailant. They didn’t know in what form the virus would be sent through cyberspace. It was unlikely to be like an ordinary e-mail virus. This had been planned for ultimate destruction of even the most advanced, sophisticated systems. They didn’t even know the timescale, only that it would happen very soon.

  “This recent spate of power cuts is the most major so far,” Pearce said. “The Generalissimo wants to create uncertainty; to play on people’s fears. By tomorrow morning the lights will probably be back on again. People will get on with their daily business. That’s when he’ll strike; when the country is least expecting it.”

  “Do you know the identity of this so-called Generalissimo?” Ryder asked.

  “We believe it’s Pavel Plushenko.”

  “Plushenko! Impossible, he’s been dead for years! I was in West Berlin when it happened. British Intelligence was all over the place.”

  “It was a set-up. Unbelievably, he foiled the KGB. As you know the ‘accident’ was conveniently on the Havel where dozens of people in East and West Berlin could witness it. Military Intelligence started investigating, but Major Bryant was warned off.”