The Emperor's Revenge

TWENTY-SEVEN

Sirkal lay on a hill on the outskirts of the city, a .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle firm against his shoulder. O’Connor was prone next to him, observing Frankfurt’s biggest electrical substation through binoculars. Between them was a map of the substation, with twenty-five high-voltage transformers highlighted.

The brightly lit facility was situated in the middle of a farming region split by an autobahn, where headlights sped by in the distance. No one was within a mile of their hiding spot on the edge of a forested park.

The substation was monitored remotely, so nobody currently occupied the twelve-acre property surrounded by chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. Security cameras had a good view of the facility itself, but none of them were pointed outside the fence.

O’Connor snapped gum as he surveyed the target, a habit that had helped him quit smoking. The sound irked Sirkal, but it didn’t pose a threat in their isolated position. The Irishman was a good operative and a trusted partner in a fight, but he could be a pain in the butt.

“What idiots,” O’Connor said with another snap. “Not a soul around and lit up like a roman candle. They might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on it.”

“Their vulnerability is our advantage. ‘He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious.’”

“Do you always have to sound like a Buddhist monk with those sayings?”

“That’s Sun Tzu, from The Art of War. You should read it sometime. And I’m a Hindu.” While that was technically true, he didn’t follow the teachings of the Hindu scriptures any more than O’Connor adhered to the tenets of Catholicism.

They’d already received confirmation from Ivana that her portion of the operation was complete. The banking system was in a panic because of the new breach. Steps were being taken to secure data that had previously seemed protected. Now it was time to set in motion the other part of the plan.

The idea for this mission actually came from a little-known attack on an electrical substation outside of San Jose, California, in 2013. Unknown assailants pumped more than two hundred rounds into a key Silicon Valley power hub. Because the substation was unmanned, it seemed at first to be nothing more than an equipment malfunction on the remote maintenance screens, and it took authorities nineteen minutes to respond. By the time the police arrived, the attackers had disappeared without a trace, leaving no clues as to their identities or motivation. The bill for the damage totaled over fifteen million dollars.

Seeing how easy it had been to take out an entire unguarded substation in the United States, Sirkal thought the same kind of attack would work in Europe. He had been an electrical engineer in college before gaining his mercenary experience in the Indian Army, so his expertise was critical for planning Operation Dynamo. After a careful study of the European Continental Synchronous Power Grid, he had pinpointed this one in Frankfurt as the prime target. He and O’Connor had scouted out the location over a month ago, picking this very spot for its unobstructed view of the facility.

As part of the reconnaissance for the mission, they had set off some fireworks in the area and timed how long it took the Polizei to respond. The Germans had done much better than the Americans, arriving at the remote spot in only eight minutes.

“Ready on the timer?” Sirkal said.

“Ready. Do you have the first transformer lined up?”

Sirkal looked through the scope and placed the crosshairs on the word Siemens stenciled on the side of the transformer. That would put the shot right through the tank of the transformer’s oil-filled cooling system.

“Got it.” He had the progression of targets memorized.

O’Connor checked his wind gauge and the binoculars’ laser range finder. “Wind is three knots due east. Distance to target is 1,085 meters.”

Sirkal adjusted the scope to compensate for the conditions and distance. “Ready.”

“Starting the timer.” O’Connor’s phone beeped.

Sirkal let out his breath, waited for the lull between his heartbeats, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle butt slammed against his shoulder, and the gun fired with an ear-shattering roar. His earplugs were the only thing preventing permanent hearing impairment.

“Dead on target,” O’Connor said. “Oil is spewing from the transformer.”

Sirkal adjusted the Barrett to the next transformer and fired again. He got into a rhythm, stopping only to slap in another magazine. By the time he was done, all twenty-five transformers were leaking critical coolant. Eventually, they’d overheat and have to be shut down.

He wasn’t going to wait for that to happen.

“Time?” Sirkal asked.

“Five minutes left.”

“Then let’s give the oil time to pool,” Sirkal said, his voice betraying some of the enjoyment he felt at a job well done.

“That’s some good shooting,” O’Connor said. “The farthest shot I’ve ever made is a thousand yards. It was a moving target, but still… Looks like you’ve got some experience with this.”

“Fifteen kills on special operations in Kashmir.”

“Nice.” O’Connor raised the binoculars again. “We’ve got a long pool from one end of the substation to the other, and oil is still flowing.”

“Now you will see a real roman candle,” Sirkal said.

This time, he targeted the junction box on the centermost transformer.

He fired. Instead of simply putting another hole in the equipment, the .50 caliber round tore through the transformer’s main hub and shorted it out instantaneously. The sudden overload caused a detonation, sending sparks shooting across the facility.

The pooled oil went up in flames. As soon as the fire hit the tanks in the other transformers, they blew apart in a chain reaction like exploding dominos.

In seconds, the entire substation was a fireball visible for miles.

O’Connor checked the timer. “We need to go.”

Sirkal stood and picked up the rifle. He and O’Connor collected the shell casings and covered up their impressions in the ground to clear the scene of any evidence.

O’Connor made a move to go back to the car, but Sirkal held up his hand to wait. It took only a few more seconds to see what he was waiting for.

The high-powered lights surrounding the substation winked out, followed in close succession by the streetlights, and then the lights of the houses and towns in the distance. In a matter of moments, the glow in the sky above Frankfurt was virtually extinguished. Except for the fire and the headlights on the autobahn, the night was pitch-black, likely for the first time since World War II.

One additional light source intruded on the perfect darkness. Blue and red lights flashed as police cars and fire engines raced to the substation.

“Now it’s time to go,” Sirkal said, and they disappeared into the forest.