When John realized his Sig Sauer would be exposed with his coat off, and the Beretta was still inside the pocket, he released the clip from Fowler's firearm and slid it inside the vest. Then John removed his shoulder holster and pistol, laying them on the seat.
Behind him, he heard the swish of the door and caught a glimpse of the star on the conductor's cap as he stepped inside. Quickly, John folded the coat over the weapon, and nodded acknowledging the man who let him board the train. He relaxed his stance a bit when the conductor moved on to the next car. And he re-secured the Sig under the vest.
Finally settled in his seat, John fought off a shiver. The temperature inside the car was comfortable, but he still carried the chill in his bones caused by the bleak atmosphere surrounding him the last few days. Without thinking, John pulled the down vest closely around him while he sat peering outside sipping coffee and eating.
In the distance, the lights of Stockholm had become a weak glow muted by an ocean of snow whisking past the windows as the train tunneled through the night deeper into Scandinavia.
I've only been in Sweden a few days... Seems like much longer... an eternity.
It was time to let go of the negative energy that surrounded him like a cloud of yellow smog, and began to readjust to his normal routine — boring as it might be — until duty called again.
Over the last few days, he had visualized a few instances as black balls of twine ready to unravel at any moment and disrupt his focus. Instead of allowing them to take control, he had secured each one inside a mental lockbox until he entered the proper frame of mind to deal with them.
Sometimes, by the time he was ready to open the safe and examine one, the ball had vanished—the issue had come to a natural resolution. But from the moment he had stepped foot out of the hostel on the first day of the mission, John had collected several balls of twine, and now the moment had come to open that combination lock and deal with them, one at a time.
John sat back, took a deep breath and visualized the knob on the lock turning one way then the other—removing the ball that was morphing into what was left of Ludvig Lindqvist’s face. He jumped slightly, remembering the soft puff from MALLARD's Beretta, and the Swede's head lolling to one side as his gray matter ssplattered against the tan leather of the van's interior.
After many missions, whether in the Middle East or a city in Europe, John was always left with a few unanswered questions — loose ends — that were never explained to him by anyone. John understood he was not an analyst. The guys and gals at Langley were the specialists left to use their skills for the betterment of the United States. But he had often wondered what the end results of his efforts were — who really won in the end? And Lindqvist's death was one of those loose ends.
At times, he had ventured an educated guess by following the news or after a conversation with a colleague. But today, with Lindqvist's computer safe in the seat beside him, he couldn't help but wonder who was on that list...
Who are those cyber mercenaries that wielded unfathomable power?
Peering down at the bag, John was tempted to hack into the computer to satisfy his curiosity.
The password is 11.21.1979…
John reached to pick it up.
Nope... don't do it... You did your duty... You followed orders... You helped to keep your country safe... Knowing might make matters worse...
John glanced up at the clock over the forward door and noted it was 2336. During the six-hour trip to Norway's capital city, John wasn't sure how long he had been sitting holding the empty styrofoam cup, allowing the emotions that he had compartmentalized to escape one by one.
Wadding up the empty bagel sack, he stuffed it into the cup and set it in the holder beside him as the quiet train car rocked peacefully from side to side. Finally, he closed his eyes and reclined the seat, taking time for a few minutes of much-needed rest.
Just as he nodded off, the air around him stirred, and he caught the redolence of a familiar flowery perfume —
Senator Nancy Daniels... What the fuck! She shows up just as I finally get a chance to relax. Where the hell did she come from? Has she been on the train the whole time? We haven't stopped since we left Stockholm...
John felt a rush. A shot of adrenaline reverberated through him from head to toe.
"Hello, John." Senator Daniels passed him a half smile, and sat down across the table and clasped her hands together. A colorful silk scarf was wrapped over her hair and draped from shoulder to shoulder covering her sweater and jacket. Her eyes gazed into his. "Where's the laptop?"
"It's right here." He slid the leather bag from around the armrest. Working to control a flash of rogue anger — ignited by her smug attitude — he placed Lindqvist's computer across his lap instead of on the table.
Not so fast... Make her work for what she wants...
"You know Senator, I was just sitting here wondering... Why were Fowler and I on the same mission? Surely, you were aware we trained together and were friendly."
Senator Daniels blinked as she leaned back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest clearly taken by surprise by his question. "He was a double agent, John. He deserved what he got... And, of course, he's no longer a threat to the security of the United States."
"Then why was Fowler put on the mission to intercept SCRIBE's drop in Humlegården in the first place instead of me?"
"Those were my orders. I did not question them,” Senator Daniels replied.
"What about NOBLE? There was no mention of him in my orders. He could have blown my cover and probably did."
"Look... as far as NOBLE goes, you did a great job tying up a loose end... at least in my book. And Lindqvist... Well, let's look at it this way. That naive fool is no longer a threat! My sources say he was killed by accident when a snowplow hit his vehicle."
“I was in that vehicle… Let me fill you in, Senator…”
"Please do," she sighed unable to conceal her impatience.
"Lindqvist was killed by Matt Fowler, who shot him in the head!”
Nancy glared at him as if he dared lecture her. “See… this is proof he was a double agent, his orders were to get the file with the names from Lindqvist, not kill him,”
“How do you know that?’
“If he was working for me, those would have been his orders,” she said, staring him in the eyes.
"What about the Chinese agent... SCRIBE's connection?"
"He's been taken care of. You don't have to worry he'll show up unexpectedly and slit your throat... his trademark."
How did she know who he was or that slicing his victim from ear-to-ear was his cup of tea?
Senator Daniels glanced down at the leather bag then back at John passing him a hard look. "I must go," she said rising to her feet.
John nodded and handed her what she had come for, and asked, "Who's the monsignor? He is sure a colorful guy... great actor."
"Oh, no! He was not acting. Monsignor Stanislav...." She looked down at John and chuckled slinging the strap over her shoulder. "Well, let's just say, I know more than he would like me to about his past.”
"Oh." John stood to offer her his hand. "And the white Volvo that picked him up? Were you surveilling me?”
She shrugged. " Look, you dropped off our radar and didn't reappear until the mall security guard came in contact with you… You're the best John." Nancy reached inside her pocket and removed a pair of black leather gloves pulling them tightly over her hands before extending her right palm. "Consider PANDORA Swedish Drop a success." Taking his hand in hers — black leather between their skin — she gave him his final orders. "I have a private charter waiting to fly you back to the states... Terminal B.”
John’s breath caught in his throat.
At the moment, I'm the only one left that knows the exact location of the list.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll stay in Oslo a few days... visit the winter park... do some skiing..."
"Suit yourself." Senator D
aniels shrugged and patted the leather bag under her arm. "I got what I came for."
Then, just like that, she meandered down the central aisle and stepped through the door.
John sank back into the seat. With his elbows pressed against his thighs, he cradled his head in his hands. All the negativity he had just worked through for the past few hours returned like a pit of writhing vipers trapped inside his skull.
Feeling a bit nauseous, he sat for a while rethinking the issues the mission had laden upon him until the train rounded a bend and began to slow. When he sat up straight and peered out the window, the black night had yielded to an arc of golden light gleaming over the city. They had come through the storm. Shortly, John gathered his belongings still neatly stacked by his side as they pulled into Nationaltheatret Station.
It was time to let go of the fact that SCRIBE was killed — let go of the fact that Lindqvist was dead — let go of the fact that an MI6 agent would never return to his homeland alive. But letting go of the fact that one of his own, Matthew Fowler a fellow US agent and friend, had been struck dead by a dubious white Volvo, was going to be difficult to do.
When John stepped through the door and glanced up at the clock, it read:
WELCOME TO OSLO NORWAY
JANUARY 19
2400 - Midnight CTE
About the Author
Michael D. Wright is a mystery/thriller author of the John Seal Novels. The PANDORA Files are missions that occur between Caught Fire, the prequel to the John Seal Series, and Electric Eel. They depict John’s earlier days as a black ops agent. Learn more about the author. You can join my newsletter for my latest releases here.
See the preview of Caught Fire. It is FREE on Amazon.
If you enjoyed the Swedish Drop A PANDORA File please leave a review.
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Caught Fire Preview
Who is John Seal?
He’s a rookie CIA agent.
His job is to protect America against cyber attacks from enemy organizations and terrorists whose tactic is to disrupt lives as a means to leverage their agenda.
John finds himself in the middle of Barcelona during the Saint Joan Festival where he meets his handler for the first time. During his high stakes first mission, he is faced with hard decisions and is forced to go against his moral compass to complete his assignment leaving him to wonder if he is the right man for the job.
Does John have what it takes to be a covert operative, or will he fail and possibly lose his life?
***Caught Fire is a novella and the prequel for the John Seal Series, and by no means the end of the story.***
Chapter One
John Seal focused on a square of yellow light in the third-floor window of a compound a block away. A crescent moon cast jagged shadows of the blown-out buildings across the street. Even in the pale light, this section of Mosul was a hell-hole, unlike nothing John had ever seen. The few paved streets were littered with hills of trash. Walls of businesses and homes had been obliterated — reduced to pieces of stone, bricks, and mortar. Dust covered the area like sifted flour. The buildings left standing had become a labyrinth for terrorists infested with booby traps, and surveillance equipment. Armed gorillas were stationed at every turn.
Inside that upstairs room, Abu Mohammad Faheem, code name LEVIATHAN, was a local warlord meeting with his henchmen. The band of insurgents had stolen a missile armed with a nuclear warhead and were planning a horrific attack. It was SEAL Team 2's mission to eliminate LEVIATHAN, and recover the missile's warhead. John was tasked with hacking the guidance system and rendering it useless.
"Two minutes," Stone, the SEAL team's leader, alerted.
To John's left, two EOD specialists trained in explosive ordnance disposal operations crouched behind a pile of bricks fingering the trigger on their automatic weapons. Twenty feet in front of him, two SEALs tucked themselves inside the shadows and waited — night goggles in place. The remaining six members of the squad cleared the area ahead, one foot at a time. Under John's body armor sweat oozed from his back as he shifted his pack containing his laptop, and positioned the butt of his weapon under his arm.
"Advance!" Stone announced.
It was 01:30 hrs. According to their intel, the target building was L-shaped. A flat roof covered the three stories at the rear, and a courtyard with high stone walls surrounded the compound. The missile was located on the bottom floor in a room under the window where the meeting was in progress. Taking out a target like this was SEAL Team 2's specialty — speed and surprise were critical. John's respect for them grew when he stepped over a gorilla's body who had been noiselessly eliminated and lay bleeding in the dust.
To his left, Gazda and Norton, emerged into the moonlight and rushed toward the house, followed by the EOD guys, Voggle and McNeal. Running, John followed the team through a wooden courtyard gate, forced open just enough for them to squeeze inside. Stone's voice crackled in his earpiece, "First story clear... target in main room."
Ducking low, John hustled to the side door of the house followed by Voggle and McNeal. When the first grenade exploded, they stopped short and pressed their backs against the warm blocks waiting for Stone to announce it was clear. All of a sudden, more explosions jarred the earth, and flashes of light came from the third-floor windows.
John figured those upstairs still alive would try to escape by any means possible. Within a few seconds, he was proven correct when McNeal encountered a bearded man limping around the corner. His effort to escape unnoticed had failed. With one 'pop' from McNeal's automatic weapon, the guerrilla fell in a clump of cacti, dead. Seconds later, several rounds came in rapid succession inside the house before Stone announced, "All clear. LEVIATHAN, eliminated."
The rest is up to the EODs and me, John thought.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the door into an anteroom. Shouldering his weapon, he peered through the night goggles to scan the space. Seeing no one, John spoke into his mic, "Go! Go! Go!"
The two EOD men rushed past him deeper into the house. Then came the rustling of feet outside, and another burst of fire from one of the SEALs patrolling the perimeter. The guerrilla sneaking up on them groaned and slumped with a thud onto the steps.
Lifting his night goggles to his forehead, John pulled his mag light from his vest. Switching it on, he quickly found Voggle and McNeal had done the same and had located the twenty-foot missile on a rolling sled. The entire downstairs had been gutted, and a part of the second story floor removed to accommodate the weapon of mass destruction.
Getting this beauty in here was no easy task… And where did it come from?
Descending the make-shift metal staircase along the wall, Stone and his team paused to survey the missile before initiating phase two of their plan. "The fuckers stole this from a arms dealer," Stone reported and turned to John, "Good luck disarming it.” Then he and his men hustled outside to button-down the compound in preparation for their safe extraction.
John nodded and sat cross-legged on the floor while the two ordnance specialists set up temporary lighting and began dismantling the missile. Opening his laptop, John waited for Voggle to remove the housing. Then once he was under the hood, he started hacking into the guidance system.
Soon after the green light appeared on John's screen indicating he was in, the headset inside his helmet crackled and Norton announced, "Lights from a pickup truck approaching from the south... looks like a technical."
"Say again," Gazda answered
Before Norton could repeat himself rapid gunfire broke-out.
"Fanout..." Stone snapped. "Wait until the technical gets closer... then silence that fucking machine gun."
While licking the sweat off his upper lip, John's fingers navigated the keyboard as if he was playing a concert piano. Locating the root directory, he moved the arrow of the mouse over top of the blinking icon and clicked. Glancing up, he peered at McNeal and Voggle as they began detaching the warhead.
>
"This mother is standard. It won't take us long here. When we're done, it'll just be a lead weight," Voggle smirked.
"Copy that." John nodded and began altering the code sequences. Focused on his breathing as a means to relax, he opened a file on his laptop and began copying and pasting the dummy code he had already created. He planned to alter ten sequences. After finishing the third, pandemonium erupted again.
"Listen, Captain Seal... you have five minutes. We need to get our asses out of here," Stone announced over the radio. "I repeat five minutes! We're taking heavy fire. More headlights approaching."
"Copy,” John answered.
Hyper-focused on the next sequence, John searched for a familiar string of code until he located the two hashtags he’d been looking for and dropped another dummy sequence in-between. McNeal gave John a 'thumbs-up' as he and Voggle lifted the warhead into a canvas sling.
There was a 'boom,’ and the whole room lit with a bright yellow light.
Shit, that's a mortar. What the fuck... We aren't prepared for heavy artillery.
The dwelling shook. Dust and debris fell onto his keyboard. Using his body as a shield, John hovered over it as the EOD techs strapped the warhead securely inside the sling.
"Gazda's down… took a piece of shrapnel in his leg!” Norton yelled on the radio. "HE NEEDS TO BE EXTRACTED ASAP!"
"That's a negative. Can’t move until Captain Seal finishes,” Stone answered.
McNeil spit a chaw of tobacco onto the floor and strode toward John. Peering down at the white glow on his screen, he asked, "How much longer cowboy? Looks like we're running out of time."
John ignored him and dropped another sequence of dummy code into place. While he worked, he listened to the chatter between Stone, Norton and Commander Dewett back at JOC, their Joint Operations Center fifty miles away — a medic had joined their extraction team. The speaker in his helmet buzzed again. This time Commander Dewett addressed him, "Captain Seal, give me an update on your progress."
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