Swedish Drop Read online

  Time Check: 0836

  Periodically, he monitored his six by ducking into the alcove of a storefront to identify anyone who was following him on the preplanned surveillance detection route. This time, he peered into the glass door of a bakery and noticed the reflection of a woman dressed in a long brown coat passed behind him — not carrying a purse. She was the woman he detected earlier when he walked past St. Gertrude's Church. When she stopped at the corner and looked up and down Västerlånggatan perplexed, it was clear she was a tail.

  Chuckling to himself, John ducked into the bakery, bought a pastry and asked to use the restroom. Inside a stall, he pulled out the Clark Kent glasses he had purchased the night before and paused for a beat to check his ridiculous reflection in the mirror before he scarfed down the croissant and escaped out the side entrance.

  One more down... I hope...

  Back out on Västerlånggatan, he walked one block then treaded west on Tyska brinken. Not far ahead, John saw the ochre-colored metro station framed against the white archipelago. Shortly, he mounted the steps to the Gamla stan platform and paused for a beat at the top to observe his surroundings. The lady in brown was headed down the sidewalk in the opposite direction a half a block away. It seemed he had lost her too.

  Pleased with his street craft, John purchased his fare and grabbed the Dagens Nyheter from the newsstand while he waited for T-13, the red metro line that would take him to Ostemalmstorg — a sleepy suburban village on the outskirts of Stockholm. While waiting, John unfolded the newspaper and checked the weather forecast.

  Time Check: 0901

  Within five minutes the metro hummed up next to him, and John took a seat near the entrance. When the hydraulic doors hissed shut, an elderly woman glanced down at him. Her hazel eyes were kind when she thanked John for offering her his seat. In his process to shake any unnoticed tails, he peered out the window as the car swayed with a light rhythm over the bridge.

  On this January day, the brightest the sky would get was twilight. There were no long shadows, no color, only grays and blues. The old brick buildings of Gamla stan, bright and cheerful in the summer's light, were glum and lifeless. Even by Chicago's severe standards for winter weather, Stockholm was more depressing.

  Finish the mission and get the hell out of here...

  When the train slowed to a stop at Ostemalmstorg Station, John exited the car and found the crosswalk to the opposite side of the platform. There, he waited for the next train back across the Baltic Sea the same way he had just come. But first, he peered out at the mall-like space below and noticed no familiar faces or quick glances his way.

  A few snowflakes drifted to the ground, signaling the oncoming blizzard — albeit several hours later than expected. As John completed the last leg of his journey back toward Gamla stan Station, he rehearsed the hand-off over and over in his mind.

  Would SCRIBE be on time? WE have no cover in front of the museum...

  There was an uptick in his heartbeats as the sleek metro rolled to a stop one block from the Nobel Museum. As he descended the platform steps, the frigid air set John's senses on fire, and gooseflesh rose on his arms. His feet and hands tingled. He was keyed and primed — focused and calm. After the last hours of counter-surveillance John was confident he was black.

  Time Check: 0953.

  Quicker now, he headed for the public restroom behind the museum where he would complete his transformation into MALLARD. Inside the facility, John was not prepared for what he saw. Several local men were carrying on a jovial conversation out of the cold, and all the stalls were full. A couple guys nodded to him as if to say, "Sorry, you have to wait your turn..." His heart began to race when he glanced at his watch and it was straight up ten o’clock.

  Shit...

  Left with no choice, John exited the building and dug the fake nose out of his pocket. Jogging toward the front of the museum, he pressed the disguise against his face — it fell to the ground. "This is some real shit," he mumbled. Fumbling with his gloved hand, he picked it up — no one seemed to notice. Trying again, this time the glue held and he placed the glasses with care over the flesh colored rubber lines.

  Reassured, he let down his hood so SCRIBE could see the green beanie. Then he removed the jacquard scarf and stuffed it deep inside his pocket. Rounding the corner John closed in on the museum. Each footfall brought him closer to the end of a successful mission. Then his phone vibrated inside his shirt indicating he had five minutes to catch the express bus to the airport at the stop down the street.

  Time Check: 1005.

  By now, long clouds of fog escaped with every rapid breath as his eyes searched the people on the sidewalk and in the park across the street in front of the museum. No one was wearing a yellow beanie with a Tiger Sweden logo anywhere around him. With his jaw clenched, John slowed his pace and scanned his surroundings one more time.

  I'll give him five minutes to find me...

  As he approached the front of the museum a covey of pigeons fluttered away and landed on the roof, then hurriedly flew in the opposite direction. Moving on, to his left, a crowd of tourists huddled around a tour guide but SCRIBE was not one of them.

  Shit, have I passed him?

  John stopped and turned around. Then, like a snapshot, the image of Agent Erik Söderström flashed in his mind's eye. SCRIBE was standing on the museum steps peering down surveying the open space between the entrance and the street.

  SCRIBE's hand moved to his forehead and brushed back the hood exposing the yellow beanie. Their gazes locked for an instant. John's breath came in ragged bursts as the two covert agents closed the distance between them. It appeared SCRIBE had a museum leaflet in his right hand.

  Check... just as we planned. The package was in his left palm...

  Lengthening his strides, still aware he needed to appear heavier as MALLARD, John's arms swung loosely at his sides as he plodded toward the museum entrance passing behind the tourists. Keeping a steady pace SCRIBE moved quickly. John matched the cadence of his every step.

  Fifteen paces... ten paces... five paces...

  John swung his right hand forward preparing to open his palm.

  'Pop’—

  TIME CHECK: 1007

  Chapter Four

  STOCKHOLM SWEDEN

  JANUARY 17

  TIME CHECK: 0800hrs

  The blizzard had continued into the early morning. Howling all night, the north wind had tunneled between the buildings leaving hip-deep snow drifts that blocked the sidewalks and streets in several places. As John treaded along Slottskajen from the Lady Hamilton Hotel toward a cafe, he passed the Swedish Federal Government Building. The snowplows were making progress and a few employees were arriving. For a moment, he paused to watch as one by one the lights inside the building were coming on.

  Getting inside there… and getting out undetected is going to be a bit of a challenge…

  Inside the cafe, John hunched over his keyboard, focused on his task. He had accessed the internet through the back door of the cafe's wifi and gazed at the covcom app flashing green.

  Sweet... Now I can surf the web anonymously...

  After opening the Swedish Government website, he hacked into the site's footer and switched to the HTML screen. From there, John located their security tag and replaced it with his own allowing him undetected access to all the files stored on the government system. MEDUSA’s instructions had been clear, and there were only a few hours left to design a plan to carry out his mission.

  Swipe Ludvig Lindqvist's laptop... Then kill him...

  The minister’s background information was a snap to access. In less than five minutes John hacked his personnel file and discovered the guy had worked for the Swedish government since the age of twenty-one. The man had accomplished little other than collect his annual pay raises and enjoy a promotion up a notch in rank every five years.

  Lindqvist is just marking time, riding the system until he can retire…

  Satisfied he had
a grasp on the guy’s profile, next John needed to locate the building's directory. Under normal circumstances, finding Lindqvist's office would be easy.

  I could just walk in and ask where it was... But these aren't normal circumstances. Even if I find his office, security will never let me in without an appointment... and I don't have time for that.

  John had to find a way to physically visit Lindqvist's private suite to get a closer look before executing phase two of his plan. Stealing a laptop posed no real challenge — but getting away with blatant murder was another matter entirely.

  What if I just take the laptop? The original plans didn't include an assassination. All I have with me are short range weapons... my Sig, a small pocket knife and my hands.

  Not long after the waitress had brought his second cup of coffee, John discovered the Ministry of Justice offices were on the third floor, and Lindqvist's was the largest one at the end of the hall with a sweeping view of the city. Switching to another screen, he hacked into the building's security cameras and studied their locations. When he found the schematic of the building used by maintenance, John scrolled from page to page and solidified his plan.

  The blizzard is turning out to be my saving grace...

  Before he logged out, John disrupted the internet signal to the building and paused the security cameras for the maximum time the system would allow — two hours. Then he slipped out the door as others were trudging in out of the cold, lifted his hood, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. At the corner, he made his way across Slottskajen and headed toward Stallbron — the only road over the bridge to the office building.

  Time Check: 0913

  When John crossed over onto the tiny island, a pillar of rock covered entirely by the government complex, he couldn’t help but notice how the government building reminded him of a medieval castle surrounded by a frozen moat. When he reached the walkway around the building, it was not hard to imagine he heard clanking chains and the groan of a drawbridge as it closed behind him. Those whimsical thoughts vanished when John reached the main entrance and pulled at the high copper doors.

  Shit... They're still locked...

  As he turned to reconsider his plan, out of the corner of his eye, John glimpsed a dark SUV following a snowplow pulling up to the curb. When a chubby man with wavy white hair wearing a black dress coat with a fur collar exited, he felt a rush and glanced at his watch: 0930.

  That hair... That guy is Lindqvist...

  Carrying a briefcase, Lindqvist began briskly striding across the paved space in front of the complex before entering through a side door. As he disappeared into the building, John counted to 100 before he followed suit and headed toward the men's locker room where security and maintenance staff changed into their uniforms. On the way, he reached inside his vest for the lock picking kit and quickly plucked out a pick and small wrench.

  Being careful not to show his face, John stepped inside the room with tiled walls and a marble floor heading for the nearest private stall. After latching the door he paused for a few beats to listen for anything that indicated someone was nearby. The storm was still working in his favor. There was no movement of any kind. And the only sound came from the water gushing down a drain pipe from the floor above.

  Assured he was alone, John went to work picking the lock on the closest locker. He grinned to himself when seconds later it swung open, but his grin soon vanished — it was empty.

  Thank God... These cheesy locks are a piece of cake to crack…

  After three tries, John located one with a uniform, but it was too large. The baggy pants would have given him away. Stuffing them back inside he moved to the next one in line. Four lockers later, he finally found a uniform that fit. But just as he grabbed it the door opened, and someone turned out the light.

  What the fuck... Must be security...

  In the pitch dark, John felt his way back to his hiding place and dug out his mag light. After hurriedly changing he repositioned his pistol under the blue uniform shirt he was now wearing, slid his phone inside his pocket, and removed a small screwdriver from the lock picking kit. Standing on the toilet, he reached above and removed the screws holding the heater grate in place. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself before stuffing the backpack in the ductwork and re-securing the grate.

  I hope like hell this stall is open when I get back...

  Instead of taking the elevator and risking being recognized as an imposter John ascended the stairs to the third floor. Making his way along the hall, he passed a row of framed photographic portraits of previous Swedish Prime Ministers sporting vapid smiles. He rapped his knuckles against the wide door at the end of the hall and a meek voice answered and permitted him to enter. John worked not to show his surprise that an elderly woman wearing pearls and a tweed blazer named Eleanor was sitting at the reception desk.

  "I'm here to check your internet connection," he announced.

  "Good," she replied. "It has been out since I got here... probably due to the storm."

  No, ma'am, you've been hacked...

  "I won't be long. I have to check the signal strength at the main connection... in the frame room.”

  Of course, John already knew he would pass directly in front of Lindqvist's private office when she pointed her frail finger down the hall. Nodding his thanks he strode past her desk. The office door was half open, and he heard a baritone voice say, "Eleanor, I'll be leaving around eleven o'clock. I must attend a meeting with a few members of the commission on cybersecurity. But I'll be back this afternoon."

  "It's not on your calendar sir," Eleanor replied.

  "No, it came up unexpectedly.”

  "Is this a luncheon meeting?"

  "Yes, you could call it that." John detected a slight tell in his voice. The minister was becoming annoyed.

  "Can I make your party a reservation in the dining room downstairs?”

  "No, we're meeting elsewhere," Lindqvist quipped.

  John pulled open the door to the closet-like room that was full of wires and connections to the phones, TV dishes, security cameras, and the internet. Touching none of them, John waited for a few beats before entering Lindqvist's office to meet him face to face and get a quick look around. Before he could knock, that same deep voice told him to come in. John's eyes avoided the man's as he glanced at his desk and around the room searching for 'the' laptop.

  “I heard you coming,” Lindqvist said with a thin smile.

  "I need to check your internet connection, sir. I'm trying to run down the problem.”

  Lindqvist stood from behind his desk as John approached his computer. Suddenly, he grabbed John's arm with chubby fingers and asked, "Where is your security badge? I don't believe we've met."

  John glanced down at the ivory letter opener on his desk.

  Don't make me use that...

  Then he gazed straight into Lindqvist's gray bulging eyes, and answered, "My two-year-old flushed it down the toilet."

  The man wearing a red bow-tie grinned. A feral yellow incisor protruded under his upper lip when he replied, “That’s why I don’t have kids.”

  John gestured toward the computer. "Log on, please. I need to run a quick scan."

  Lindqvist did as John requested, and said, "Sit... go ahead. Do what you need to do. I need to go speak with Eleanor. I'll be right back."

  John nodded and waited until the Minister of Justice had disappeared down the hall before glancing around the office and quietly pulled open the large drawer on one side of the desk. Finding nothing, he inched open the tall closet door across the room.

  There's no laptop in here either... But he left his phone…

  A slight grin dawned on John’s face when he pulled out his phone and set it a finger’s width from Lindqvist’s. A surveillance device inside would provide him access to the minister’s conversations as long as his phone was within fifty meters of the source.

  Scrolling to an app shaped like an ear, he tapped it and waited. When th
e red ball appeared and began pulsing, he had two minutes before the phone hack was complete. John covered them both with a magazine already open on the desk and accessed the settings app on the desktop computer just in case Lindqvist returned and questioned what he was doing.

  Shortly, there was a slight chime indicating he now had access to the minister’s conversations. John closed out the internet browser, slid his phone back inside his pocket and headed out the way he had come in. But Lindqvist was not at Eleanor's desk. So John patted her hand and told her she had lovely blue eyes. As he was about to step away, John heard a toilet flushing, and a man blowing his nose.

  Eleanor pursed her lips and shook her head working not to smile. But John grinned for another reason as he retraced his steps back to the locker room. This time, the light was on, and someone was inside washing their hands. The guy didn't even look up when John slipped into the same stall and closed the door.

  Time Check: 1045

  By the time John grabbed his backpack and waited until he could safely exit, he almost ran into Lindqvist out in the hall. He was wearing the same coat but had added a Cossack hat that matched the sable fur on his collar. And he was carrying the same briefcase as he pushed open the copper doors. Still dressed in the maintenance uniform under his parka, John slipped his earbuds in place, pulled up his hood and began following Lindqvist — his rabbit.

  John’s eyes darted, scanning the area for anyone who might be tailing either of them. Not wanting to get too close, he allowed the Minister of Justice at least a fifty-meter head start — careful to stay within the range of his phone. Braving the polar blasts that peppered his face with bits of ice and snow, John trudged on.