It took them an hour to get on the road. Kozachenko drove while Barkov navigated. Much to his relief, Yolkin joined the others in the GAZ. In addition, they’d picked up four new men, two who were part of the train crew and two from Kaliningrad.
“We should charge the compulsator soon,” Barkov said.
The moon had set, leaving the night dark. Only the hum of the tires marred the stillness. They had encountered no traffic, but potholes scarred the surface of the road, making the driving slow.
Barkov lowered his phone with the GPS. “There’s a road coming up on the right. You need to turn there. There is a substation six hundred meters up on the left. We should let the men go in first and make sure it’s secure.”
Kozachenko geared down and braked, alarmed by the loud growl of the engine. Barkov stuck his hand out the window and signaled the tailing vehicle to pass. The GAZ shot past, then braked hard and turned sharply in front of them.
“Yebat’!” Kozachenko cursed, stepping on the floor pedals, the screech of tires rolling across the farm fields.
“They’re hot shots,” Barkov said, coming up off the seat, palms flat against the dashboard. “Not unlike you and I in our day, huh? In a few minutes, you will appreciate their youth.”
Kozachenko glanced sideways at the major and wondered how much this man actually knew about him. Kozachenko had at least ten years on him, and he’d worked hard to keep knowledge of his past private. When they were done here, he planned to ask. For now, he let the comment pass, pulled the truck to the side of the road, and doused the headlights.
“What’s the next move?” he asked.
Barkov keyed the radio. “Yolkin, have the men check for security and report back.”
As they waited, a car appeared in the distance. Kozachenko restarted the truck, but left the headlights off. Slipping the rig into gear, he pulled forward and turned off onto the gravel road taken by the men.
Startled, Barkov twisted toward him. “We haven’t gotten the all clear.”
“It’s more important that we not be noticed sitting by the side of the road.”
Parking the truck in the deep shadows, Kozachenko waited for the car to speed past. Weak headlights hugged the road, and metallic rock blared from open windows. As the car’s taillights disappeared into the distance, the truck radio crackled. It was Yolkin.
“There are no watchmen, just cameras.”
Finally, some good news, thought Kozachenko. “Can you disable them?”
“Can a cat eat fish?”
“Do it, then,” Barkov said.
“Wait!” Kozachenko ordered. “Is it possible to position the truck without it being seen by the cameras?”
“Da,” Yolkin said. “If you pull forward to the far side of the transformers, you can back it in next to the fence without being picked up by the lens.”
Kozachenko was pleased. Even though they’d have to cut the camera feeds when the men went over the fence, by positioning the truck beforehand, they bought more time to slip in and out undetected.
Barkov pointed at the substation. “Do you see the enclosed metal structure in the center between the incoming lines and coils?”
“That’s the target. Back the truck along the chain link fence and stop when the tailgate is even with the panel box.” Barkov opened the passenger-side door and swung down to the ground. “I’ll signal you from the back.”
Once Barkov was clear of the truck, Kozachenko pulled forward. Then, cranking the steering column hard to the left, he backed up on the narrow road. The front end of the rig swung wide as he maneuvered into position, the right front tire creasing the edge of the ditch. When he finally straightened out the wheels, he saw Barkov dead center in his passenger mirror waving him back.
Kozachenko popped the clutch and slowly reversed.
“Keep coming,” Barkov shouted. “Just a little more.” When he raised his fist, Kozachenko stopped, put the truck into park, and climbed out of the cab to watch the men work.
The men swarmed the truck, unfastening the tarp and exposing the gun. Spreading four long electrical lines on the ground, they bundled one end together and attached it to the compulsator.
Barkov turned to Kozachenko. “Are we ready? Once we cut the camera feeds, we are on the clock. This station supplies power to the north, so everything between here and Elblag will go dark.”
“How long will this take?”
Barkov grinned. “If we used standard precautions, forty minutes. Doing it our way, we should be in and out in fewer than twenty.”
Kozachenko hesitated. He wasn’t much concerned about triggering a power outage. A short disruption of power shouldn’t draw undue attention. Power outages were common in Poland, especially away from the cities. And even if someone were dispatched from the power company, their headquarters was fifty kilometers away. It would take an hour or more for anyone to get out here. No, his concern was that once the power company realized their cameras had been tampered with, they would dispatch the local police.
But they needed the weapon ready to fire, so what choice did they have? He nodded at Barkov. “Go.”
Barkov cut the wires to the camera feeds while the men scrambled over the chain link fence. Two men dragged the ends of the lines to the panel box, while a third jimmied open the panel doors with a knife.
“Ready to rock and roll?”
Kozachenko recognized the speaker as Yolkin. He stood on this side of the fence. “Do exactly what I tell you.”
Following Yolkin’s directions, one man threw the first breaker, killing all the lights in town, then he cranked out the lug to the stationary line, repeating the process three more times. As each lug was detached, another man came behind and secured the taps to the temporary lines. Once the lines were all attached, Yolkin instructed them to move back down the panel box, flipping on the breakers.
Barkov switched on the compulsator. In what seemed like no time, the charge light turned from red to green.
“Done,” he shouted.
At Barkov’s signal, Yolkin signaled the men to move back down the row and reverse the process. This time, when they flipped the breakers open, the lights in town flared back on. Before the last man was over the fence, the gear was stowed and the tarp refastened.
“Eighteen minutes,” Barkov said. “It must be a record.”
Kozachenko scrambled up into the truck. “Celebrate later. We have to go!”