‘Control, this is Bravo – we’ve had to evade the dogs.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the garages, sir.’
‘Get back out there,’ he barked into the radio. ‘Get out and patrol the grounds.’
There was no reply from either Charlie or Bravo call sign. Flicking his eyes between TV monitors, Major Ustinov saw that the doors to the indoor pool were firmly shut … as were those of the garages.
‘Hello Control.’
‘Control, send over.’
‘Delta here,’ came a breathless voice. ‘We’ve had to escape your dogs, too.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Out on the road. We’ve jumped the perimeter fence. We’re down by the main entrance.’
Major Ustinov suddenly realized the significance of this. The release of the dogs had driven all his patrols into cover. Grabbing the radio he transmitted: ‘All stations in the house. All stations. We are under attack. We are under attack! Be on your guard. Look out for intruders. Make sure all windows are battened down. Secure all doors!’
Before he could issue any further instructions, there was a loud popping sound – in the control room – and throughout the house.
In an instant they were plunged into total blackness.
‘What the fuck?’
The house remained completely dark.
It wasn’t a flash fault.
‘Where the fuck is the emergency generator?’ asked Ustinov into the darkness.
Ustinov suddenly realized that this was obviously their intention.
‘Shit!’ he screamed.
Everything remained completely black.
Pulling out his phone, Ustinov tried to use the light from it as a kind of torch. Holding it in front of him, he opened the door of the control room and bolted along the ground floor corridor. With the ghostly light from the phone's display as his only form of illumination, Ustinov sprinted towards the main hall.
Climbing the stairs, the police officer bounded up two, three steps at a time – to reach the first floor. Turning onto Mrs Baryshnikov's landing, he barged into her apartment.
‘Mrs Baryshnikov?’ he yelled into the dark of the sitting room.
There was no sound.
‘Shit!’
Striding over to the bedroom door, Major Ustinov grabbed the handle and strode in.
Before he had managed to raise his improvised torch to scan Mrs Baryshnikov's bedroom, he was regaled with a bellowed: ‘Get out! Get out of my room.’
Almost flinching at the woman's command, Ustinov lowered the torch.
He was at least relieved she was still there. Breathing deeply after his exertion up the stairs, he backed out of the bedroom.
It was then that he noticed something.
There was a break in the total blackness – over by the window.
Had the curtains been partially drawn?
Ambient light from outside was seeping in. It didn’t produce enough for him to see clearly, but it created the faintest hint of an outline of things on that side of the bedroom – a dressing table, a lampshade, a chair.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ barked Mrs Baryshnikov.
‘I wanted to make sure you were … okay,’ he said, as he resumed backing out towards the door.
‘Like you could give a damn for my well-being,’ she bellowed. ‘Now get the hell out of my room.’
Major Ustinov walked back towards the main entrance hall, his mind racing. Suddenly, he had to squint badly. Lights glared from every direction. The power seemed to have been instantly restored; lights were burning again all over the house.
Ustinov rang Police Colonel Pudovkin.
‘Sir, I think you should get down here. You won’t believe what's been going on.’
Police Colonel Pudovkin strode into the mansion thirty minutes later. Although he had been reassured that Mrs Baryshnikov was still secure, he was anything but calm. ‘What the hell happened?’ he asked.
