Swedish Drop Read online

  Lindqvist is headed toward the Nobel Museum. Why didn't he have his driver pick him up?

  As John approached the square near the famed structure, he couldn't help but brace himself for what was to come. Visions of the scene from the day before did somersaults in his mind when he rounded the corner and gazed upon the very spot where SCRIBE had fallen dead. At least the snow was covering any trace of blood that had pooled around the agent's body.

  Now, where's the fur Cossack?

  Frantically, John searched the area in front of the park where he had last seen Lindqvist, but his view was blocked by a bus sliding to a stop. As he treaded closer, the transit paused long enough for passengers to get on and off before it motored away — and there he was sitting on a park bench opening his briefcase.

  Well, I'll be damned. There's his laptop. What's so important that he has to leave his office in the freezing cold and come to a public park to use it?

  Time Check: 1137

  John ducked into Cigarrummet's, a nearby tobacco shop and rushed to purchase a pack of cigarettes while keeping his eyes on Lindqvist through the storefront windows. Slipping his money clip inside his pocket, John crossed the street and stood on the steps of the museum just like SCRIBE had the day before. Instead of grabbing a museum pamphlet, he lit a smoke and casually watched his rabbit waiting to see if someone would come to join him on the bench.

  Trying not to cough, John leaned against a Corinthian column for at least thirty miserable minutes listening — waiting — while Lindqvist focused his gaze on the screen of his silver MacBook Air.

  I can’t just mug the guy and grab the computer… too many people… no planned escape route…

  When John was on his third smoke that he had only occasionally raised to his lips, he stood up straight when there was a buzzing in his ear. He could barely see Lindqvist’s mouth moving as he took a call from Eleanor asking him to return for an unexpected conference with the Prime Minister scheduled for three o’clock. She explained the meeting was urgent and he needed to be on time so they would be finished before it was four o’clock and time to go home.

  John noticed that Lindqvist sounded frustrated when he thanked Eleanor and ended the call. Then the rabbit stood and hopped back in the direction he had come. Confident that he could hear the minister’s phone conversations when within range, John mashed out his smoke in the nearby can and returned to the Lady Hamilton Hotel.

  Back in his room, John wasted no time pulling off his gloves. Holding his hands over the radiator he began planning his next move. It was apparent he needed to find a way to slip back into the Swedish Government Office Building to collect the laptop and — he cringed at his next thought.

  Kill Lindqvist and possibly Eleanor too... There has to be another way...

  Filled with hope John rang room service and ordered a bowl of Swedish meatballs over egg noodles. After fixing a cup of hot tea, he added the honey and sat at the desk peering out the window.

  I need to review the files one more time...

  John unzipped the inside flap of his backpack and removed the manila envelope. Inside he found the dossier, and MALLARD's file but nothing more. Sweat popped out on his upper lip as he dumped everything out on the bed and held his breath. His clothes tumbled to the floor along with the extra clip for his pistol, the charger, mag light, his shaving kit, and an extra pair of shoes.

  Like a snowball rolling downhill, it started small but gathered in size and speed as it barreled toward him. He sunk back into the chair and covered his face with his palms.

  MEDUSA'S instructions are missing. If that paper falls into the wrong hands, the entire PANDORA Program will be compromised... Why didn't I burn all the files in the fireplace before I left?

  Time Check: 1322

  Chapter Five

  STOCKHOLM SWEDEN

  JANUARY 17

  TIME CHECK: 1645hrs

  John’s knees pressed into the tufted rug on the second-floor hall in front of room 205. Grateful that Nilsson’s Hostel still used old fashioned locks instead of key cards, he held the mag light steadily between his teeth while inserting a tiny wrench and a pick into the lock working desperately to recover MEDUSA’s letter.

  For over an hour, he had waited outside in the alleyway hidden behind a stack of trash cans and surveilled the windows on the second floor for any signs of life. With his Sig snug against his side, John had rolled one plan after another over in his mind determining the best way to sneak inside the building.

  Then two beams of light from a delivery truck had appeared. To his delight, the lorry pulled up and parked at the back entrance to the hostel’s kitchen. John stood watching with numb feet as the guy rolled open the vehicle’s back door and stacked boxes on his hand truck before disappearing into the kitchen. As John snuck closer, he had calculated he could easily reach the landing window of the back staircase leading to the second floor.

  By pretending to be the driver’s partner, John had approached the truck and placed his boot on the step then hoisted himself to the roof. On top, he had yanked open the window and climbed inside.

  Now, even in the cold, sweat formed on his brow while he delicately tinkered with the lock. Then there was a faint ‘click,’ and John wiped his face on his sleeve. The room was lit by fingers of pale yellow light sneaking around the corners of the drapes as John directed his mag light in front of him and stepped inside.

  Rushing to the desk where he had last seen the letter together with the others in the file, he directed the beam of light underneath. Finding nothing, John checked the wastebasket but the trash had been emptied.

  Did you really think the letter would be just sitting here… after all this time?

  As the floor clock struck six, John lifted the edge of the comforter and peered under the bed and found only a few balls of lint. A feeling of hopelessness washed over him as he feverishly searched the dresser drawers one at a time. Pulling them all the way out, he directed his light toward the back of the enclosure — just in case. “Shit!” Then he jerked the cushions off the couch. Finding only a crumpled gum wrapper, a pasty taste formed in his mouth.

  Admit it Seal… MEDUSA’s instructions are gone…

  Suddenly, a gloved hand knocked John’s mag light from his grip sending it skittering across the floor and under a table. Then came a sharp pain to the side of his face. When he opened his eyes, John was blinded by the bright beam from his mag light laying level with his head and a heavy foot pressed against his back. Before he broke free, a paper was dangled in front of his face and a man with a British accent growled, “Looking for this?”

  Liam?

  “Who are you?”

  “NOBLE is my name…”

  “NOBLE, how creative… Tell me then, did you kill SCRIBE?”

  “I may have had a hand in that. But my mission is to stop anyone from getting that list.”

  “List? What list?”

  “You aren’t that stupid… I know you know what I’m talking about. You assumed MALLARD’s identity so you could get your hands on it.”

  Shit.. he knows MALLARD. Are they working together? So the package was a thumb drive containing a list… A list of what?

  “Tell me, there’s been a gray SAAB following me… Anyone you know?”

  “You could say that”

  Then there was the unmistakable sound — a series of clicks.

  He’s cocking a revolver…

  “So it’s like that?” John smirked.

  “Afraid so, old boy.” John felt the cold barrel pressing against his temple. “Who do you work for?” Without waiting for an answer, NOBLE pressed the barrel harder. “Who is MEDUSA?”

  He’s read the letter… of course he did. Who else did he tell?

  With one swift move, John rolled away and raised his leg delivering a sharp kick to Liam’s hand knocking the revolver to the floor. With a grunt, he rushed to find it. Instead, John held his weapon in both hands and leveled it between the Brit’s eyes stopping him in h
is tracks. “So let’s cut to the chase… Yes, I’m here to steal the list, but I’ve run into a bit of a jam… Who else have you shown the letter to?”

  “Looks like you have bungled the mission,” NOBLE cackled. “You won’t get the list… And I’m not about to tell you what I’ve done.”

  “So you got that ‘by any means necessary’ clause in your instructions too?” John said smirking.

  “And I intend to carry out my orders.” The Brit gave him a sideways smile, grabbed the coffee table and hurled it toward John’s head.

  While deflecting the piece of furniture, John lost his grip on his pistol. At the same time NOBLE turned and lifted a lamp from the desk. Jerking the plug out of the wall, he wrapped half of the cord around his palm and held the plug in the other hand.

  Fuck…

  As John turned to scan the floor for the gun, his foot caught on the wool rug. Stumbling to one side, he allowed the hefty Brit to slip into position wrapping the cord around his neck. Feeling NOBLE’s hot breath on his cheeks as he tightened his strangle hold, John used two fingers to gouge the guy’s eyes. NOBLE cursed and jumped back blinking.

  Suddenly, someone was lightly knocking on the door and a woman’s voice whispered, “Who’s in here?” John instantly recognized it was the young lady with dimples who had brought him his meal two days before.

  There’s no way I can let her see us…

  As she continued to knock, cracking open the door, John reached for the desk chair and hurled it in her direction. The woman screamed when the chair connected, smashing the door against her, before her quick footfalls diminished down the hall.

  She’ll call the police…

  Seizing the moment of surprise, John punched NOBLE in the gut. While his assailant was hunched over, he grabbed the back of the Brit’s head slamming a knee into his nose, splattering his face with blood. NOBLE gritted his teeth when he let out a guttural roar and lunged at John pinning him against the wall.

  When the Brit head-butted him twice, John’s ears rang as he took a deep breath and thrust his knee into NOBLE’s gut. The shadowy figure staggered backward and fell into the floor clock shattering the glass door. But before NOBLE could stand, John threw himself on top of the Brit and delivered a number of slugs to the guys head.

  Spitting blood, NOBLE squeezed his fingers around John’s throat and tried to head-butt him again. But John broke his grip and picked up a vase of artificial flowers that had rolled off the table and smashed it against him opening a large gash in his scalp. While wiping the blood from his eyes with the side of his palm, NOBLE staggered to his feet.

  This is going to be a fight to the death… and it’s not going to be me who dies…

  NOBLE slid back the couch to look for his revolver. ‘Crack’—John took out his knee. The Brit yelped in pain and automatically slumped trying to slide his kneecap back in place as John dashed to the hearth and picked up the poker.

  NOBLE looked up and grabbed a cushion, but it was too late. Raising the poker to one side, John pivoted his hips and swung the wrought iron as if he were hitting a line drive over the fence at Wrigley Field, striking NOBLE in the head — blood gushed sopping the Scandinavian rug. Hearing the thud and the drumming of NOBLE’S legs against the floor as his nervous system shut down, John turned away.

  God, I really didn’t want to have to kill him… Focus Seal… Find the letter or your career is over!

  His eyes searched until he spotted MEDUSA’s instructions smudged with blood under the desk. After sliding the note inside his pocket, John gazed down at NOBLE’s body unsure whether he felt relief or remorse…

  Both… It’s both…

  John gathered his mag light and Sig before searching NOBLE’s pockets for anything of interest. Finding none — no ID, no cash, no nothing — he compartmentalized the grizzly scene and stepped into the bathroom. Flipping on the light, he made quick work to wash the blood off. A moment later he was on the move. Latching the door behind him, John retraced his steps toward the landing window but stopped in his tracks when he heard the crackle of police radios and the thuds of boots treading up the stairs.

  There’s only one way out of here… Just like I came in…

  At the top of the stairs John pressed his back against the wall and waited for the first cop to turn the corner — and sucker punched him. When the officer fell, his partner drew his weapon but John was poised and ready— deftly taking him out too. One at a time, he dragged them by the boots inside room 205 then rushed down the stairs to the landing.

  Shit, the delivery truck is gone…

  The screams from multiple sirens only a few blocks away grew louder making it difficult for John to stay focused. But after taking a deep breath and surveying the alley one more time, he decided jumping for the dumpster was his only option.

  If I can swing my body gathering momentum, I can drop on top of the trash… It will break my fall.

  His fingers locked over the inside window ledge, and he lowered his body over the edge. After the third time he swung his legs from side to side, John let go and fell onto the trash. A cat looking for his next meal hissed and raised its back.

  Don’t worry my friend, I’m not moving in…

  When he hoisted himself over the side the icy ground crushed under his boots. And just as he was ready to head out the way he had come in, John caught sight of a squad car pulling up at the end of the alley. The woman with the dimples was sitting in the back seat.

  John glanced down at his hands and parka one more time to check for blood or anything that might suggest he had been in a fight. Reassured, he picked up a trashcan and took his time emptying it into the dumpster. Then he noticed a patrolman had exited the car and was calling out to the downed officers on his radio. When the officer got no response, he searched the alley spotting John busily dumping trash.

  As the patrolman approached, John was mindful not to face the car when he unzipped his parka exposing the maintenance uniform he still had on. Giving him the once-over the patrolman asked, “Have you seen anyone out here? There’s been a break-in at the hostel.”

  “Nope,” John mumbled. “I’ve been busy.” The patrolman nodded and strode back toward his vehicle, speaking into his shoulder radio asking for backup.

  The woman was still peering down the alleyway when John turned up his collar and lifted another galvanized can over the side of the dumpster. After giving it a double shake to ensure it was empty, he set it beside the others, raised his hood and walked away.

  When John rounded the corner at Svartmangatan he jammed his hand in his pocket, and a smile flickered across his face as he gripped MEDUSA’s letter between his thumb and fingers.

  Time check: 1830.

  Chapter Six

  STOCKHOLM SWEDEN

  JANUARY 18

  TIME CHECK: 1545hrs

  As the gray skies had turned indigo, John was huddled on a park bench with his earbuds in all afternoon in the cold sipping hot coffee listening to Ludvig Lindqvist go about the day, while waiting to execute his plan. To pass time, he was reading the Dagens Nyheter and noticed Arlanda International Airport was closing due to another impending winter storm.

  Jesus, now I’ll have to catch a train… I need to finish this mission and get the hell out of here!

  Pausing for a beat to process what he had just read, John glanced up to check his surroundings one more time. Norrbro, the street that crossed through the Swedish Government Complex where Lindqvist met his driver, was busier this afternoon. The city had recovered from the blizzard, and the park-like area in front of the building was bustling with employees leaving for the day. Knowing Lindqvist usually left work at four o'clock sharp, John bet today he would do the same.

  There was nothing that had alerted John as unusual about Lindqvist’s conversations up until a moment ago when he heard a chair grate across the floor. Someone had come into the minister’s office, and his gravelly voice had disappeared in mid-sentence.

  Why did his phone go de
ad? I'm within range...

  John clenched his jaw as the bare black branches of the trees beside him rattled in the wind. Pulling his earbuds out, he adjusted the tiny volume control before putting them back in and turning on a song to test the listening device. When the tunes tickled his ear, John was reassured his equipment was operational, and threw the phone and earbuds in his backpack, slung it over his shoulder and focused on the task at hand.

  Peering down the street, he noted a stoplight a block away had turned green and another line of traffic was motoring down Norrbro, and the black SUV was behind the lead car. Smiling to himself, John stood just as Lindqvist's ride slowed and pulled up to the curb.

  Earlier, he had stepped it off and determined the distance between the bench and the spot where he expected the SUV would park was approximately one hundred meters — a two-minute walk. And now that it was 1555hrs, it was time to execute his plan.

  John exhaled a frosty cloud and adjusted his pistol inside his parka. As he treaded past the seventy-five-meter marker — a waste can — the copper door swung open and a man stepped outside.

  He’s right on time…

  First John squinted, then blinked in disbelief. The guy descending the steps was not Lindqvist. And there was no doubt the man wearing the Clark Kent glasses was MALLARD!

  What the hell is he doing here? First NOBLE, now my old friend Matt Fowler... Too many surprises…

  Lifting his hood, John stepped behind a tree for a beat and pretended to scroll through his phone until MALLARD turned and wandered south along Norrbro in the opposite direction of the SUV. A half block away, the agent strode across the street and around the corner. Then John picked up his pace and checked his watch a second time. At 1559, the front door swung open again. This time John recognized the man with wavy hair when he descended the steps.

  Perfect, he has the briefcase…

  Pausing for a beat, he watched the Swede saunter on thick legs toward his ride. At eight meters from the black vehicle, he unzipped his parka, pulled his weapon and slipped his right hand in his pocket. As the Swede ducked to get in the back seat, John shoved him in the rest of the way and pressed the barrel of his weapon to the driver’s temple ordering him to, "Drive!"