"Darkness falls"

Foreshore Forest Park, Michigan

Staniek jammed the screwdriver into the junction box door and forced it open. He double-checked to make sure that no one was around. In the near stillness of the forest his only company was a woodpecker busy hammering away at a tree trunk. Reaching inside the box he searched for the mains cable. He found it towards the back of the box, a thick black insulated cable. Break, or cut that, and power would go out in the entire locality. Not that many people would notice, apart from Petrov. Without electricity, Petrov would be left in near-darkness. And afraid. It would take at least an hour after the services had been contacted, for anybody to come and repair it. Given that it was a public holiday, it would be more like two. Either way, it gave him plenty of time to escape.

On his knees, he reached for a blue carrier bag, and pulled out something wrapped in greaseproof paper. Carefully he removed the substance, C4 plastic explosive. Rolling it between his hands he formed it into an inch-long sausage shape, before wrapping it around the mains cable. He returned the paper to the bag, and removed a digital wristwatch, a length of wire, and a pair of wire cutters. Clipping the wire into two pieces he inserted one end of each into the plastic explosive. Checking his watch he set the alarm on the digital for thirty-one minutes later. Plenty of time to reach Petrov's cabin.

Alarm set he attached the free ends of the wire to the watch. Bomb and fuse ready to go. So simple, and so devastatingly effective. He shut the door and grabbed the plastic bag. Calmly he walked back into the woods. His shoulder bag still hung on the tree where he had left it. A quick check told him everything was still there. He had not been disturbed. He headed north towards Petrov's cabin.

Petrov trotted happily around the cabin, whistling softly along to The Grand March, from Aida, his favourite opera. Reaching over to the disc player he increased the volume. It was simply stirring stuff. He crossed the room again, over to the desk and sipped at his drink. Austrian schnapps and opera he thought, a wonderful way to relax the mind after a hard-mornings research.

The spacious three room cabin gave him the peace he needed, and reminded him of home. After the stark sterility of the research centre it was a welcome relief. The early spring sunshine did not fully penetrate the forest around his cabin, but the lights and lamps inside the main room more than compensated for the lack of natural light.

Settling back into his chair, he put on his glasses to look through the notes. Stretching his legs out under the desk he leaned back in the chair looking at the ornamental chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Beautiful as it was, it did not cast enough light for him to read by. He adjusted the banker's lamp on his desk to allow himself to read more clearly. There, the bright 100-watt bulb made every word stand out clearly on the page.

A knock on the door startled him. He was certainly not expecting any visitors. Fear quickly gave way to annoyance. Who would dare to disturb him at such a critical stage in his work? Slowly he rose, heading for the door on the far side of the cabin. Heart pounding he cracked the door carefully, a cautionary response to the unexpected visitor. He was rewarded with a familiar face.

"Molot! You came! Come in, come in. To what do I owe the honour?" Petrov opened the door widely after checking to make sure his visitor was alone.

Staniek cleared his throat. "My friend fell ill and could not go to the game. He said I was welcome to go and pick up the tickets, but I decided that there was no point. I jumped onto the Manitowoc ferry as you suggested."

Staniek turned to view the greenery around the cabin. No security devices, and certainly nobody following. Smoothly does it, he thought. Turning back to his host he said "A peaceful place here. It reminds me a lot of home. I grew up in Medumi, and then Vilnius before my father was transferred to 'Grad."

"Medumi? Ah Medumi! That's Latvia now if I recall correctly?"

"It is. I hear you too are from the same part of the world?"

"You hear correctly my friend. I am of Pskov, near what is now Estonia, hence the name Petrov. My ancestors were Estonians, which is how I prefer to style myself."

"A wonderful part of the world, and yet here we both are in the bosom of the old enemy. The world changes immeasurably."

"Very true Vanya. Please come in and make yourself comfortable." Petrov turned and wandered back into the cabin.

Staniek stepped inside slowly, watching the scientist carefully. "Do you mind if I take a look at your work so far?" asked Staniek.

"Of course. It's over on the desk. Shut the door behind you."

Staniek closed and locked the door. He scanned the room, keenly picking out the detail. A large 1930's desk, and a sideboard of similar age to the right of the room. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, faced by a large leather settee and rugs. Two doorways, presumably bedroom and bathroom in the opposite corner by the kitchenette. No second access or egress route. One door, one window, and lots of lights.

"You have a, ahem, a vast array of electrical fittings here Mikael."

Petrov nodded. "It's the light you see. Much as I appreciate being out here, I don't get anywhere near enough light, hence the fittings. A pity the window is not south facing so it is in sunlight for most of the day.

"Forgive me, but why purchase it then?"

"I negotiated a good price for it because of the direction it faces, and the works I needed to do. The window is large enough to let some light in and see anybody coming, and the same goes for the one in the bedroom. I like the isolation and the peace. It's like being back in the old country but without the baggage of the old days. And of course, I'm still connected to the grid, a reliable one at that!"

Staniek laughed at Petrov's joke. Adopting an accent he said "The power has been cut by the Western Imperialists. We will not let them win!"

It was Petrov's turn to laugh. "How did we ever get through those days? Incompetent state-run services that simply could not cope. It's so much better now I'm told."

"I believe so. But Mikael, what happens if you're cut off here?"

"I have candles. Not as powerful as electrical light, I admit, but it's something." He laughed nervously. "It keeps the darkness at bay as it were. I have them close to hand around the place along with matches."

Staniek nodded. To maximise his advantage over Petrov he would have to move quickly when the time came. He looked at the desk, noting the box of matches near the banker's lamp, and placed the shoulder bag on top of them.

"These the notes?"

"Yes feel free to peruse them." Petrov walked over to a drinks cabinet on the far side of the room. "Now what can I get you? Bourbon? Schnapps? Vodka?"

"A glass of Bourbon will do nicely. Large one if you can."

"Certainly. You can turn the music off if you like, I find it helps me to concentrate. Other people find it distracting."

"I must admit I fall into the latter. I prefer a softer piece for focussing the mind, particularly those meditation discs you can pick up cheaply."

Staniek switched the player off, and looked at his wristwatch. Less than thirty-seconds to go. Petrov was still preparing the drinks, his attention elsewhere. The tension in his body language earlier had gone. The edginess evaporated, his guard down, and vulnerable. Nonetheless he would have to strike quickly. He reached into the bag, searching for his gloves. Silently he donned them behind his back.

"Ice?" called Petrov.

"Please." Staniek flexed his fingers before pulling them back into fists. He reached for the bag again before closing his eyes, readying himself for darkness.

The lights flicked out. Staniek pulled the silenced Beretta from the bag. He could hear Petrov's breathing become ragged as panic set in. "Must be a power cut." He said, walking towards Petrov, the gun in his right hand.

"Oh my God, oh my God, I need light. I hate the dark. Matches, matches! I need light! Where are the damned matches? God help me please!" Petrov screamed.

"In God we trust. All others pay cash."

Petrov froze. "Who...who said that?" he croaked weakly.

Staniek snaked his left arm around Petrov's throat, and jammed the Beretta to his temple.

"You did." He whispered softly. "On your suicide note."

Authors note: I'm hugely indebted to Tony Booth for this chapter. His advice on certain technical aspects was invaluable.