Black Flagged Redux

Chapter 50





6:48 AM

Sodermalm District

Stockholm, Sweden





Farrington guided their Volvo V60 sedan out of the South Way Tunnel onto Folkungagatan, accelerating the car through traffic toward the yellow traffic signal ahead. The intersection was crowded with people headed for the Metro station entrance at the far left side, and Daniel cringed as their car narrowly missed a cluster of pedestrians leaning into the street. The signal turned red a few moments before they entered the intersection, clearly visible midway down the front windshield. Daniel looked around for any police cars and marveled at their luck.

"Take it easy, Rich," he said and glanced behind them.

"F*ck, they stopped at the light."

"We don't slow down. They'll be there for us," Farrington said.

Daniel didn't respond. He picked up the radio and spoke to Schafer in the van.

"We're proceeding to the target. Take the first right after the light. Bondegatan is the third street on your left. Stop the van just out of sight before the street. Schafer, I want you on foot covering us from the street corner, just like we discussed. Hubner, be ready to move that van in front of the apartment. It's on the right side of the street."

"Roger," Schafer replied.

"Berg, what are we looking at?" Petrovich said.

The car turned right and was now less than two hundred meters from the turn onto Bondegatan.

"Stand by," Berg said.

"F*ck, we're almost at the turn. Slow down," Petrovich said.

He felt the sedan decelerate as the cell phone in the center console burst to life with Berg's strained voice.

"The van is parked on the right side of the street, thirty meters back from the target entrance. It's a white Mercedes Sprinter Van. The other vehicle is parked a few spaces ahead of the entrance on the right. Silver four-door Passat. Daniel, they're already on the street. Three men between the target and the van and two beyond the target down the street. All male, wearing dark, mid-thigh-level jackets. One of them is leaning against the van on the sidewalk. She says they're easy to pick out from the others."

"Others?" Daniel said.

"Five more are at the door. Where the f*ck are you?" he yelled.

"I'll call you when this is over."

He stuffed the cell phone in one of the pockets on his jacket and cradled the MP-7 in his lap, disengaging the safety. This was moving way faster than he had expected. He needed to bring it all under control and issue final orders. For Daniel, time slowed down significantly as he formulated a last second plan. They would hit the men at the door hard and let Schafer provide enough cover fire for them to get into the apartment. His plan relied upon taking down at least half of the Spetznaz in the first few seconds of firing. Beyond that, the random nature of combat would decide who lived and who died within the next few minutes. If he made it into the apartment alive, he would readjust their plan accordingly.

"Safeties off! Leo and Sergei. Get down as low as possible!" he said. "Lower! Lower!"

Daniel felt the engine surge as the car started to turn onto Bondagaten.

"Keep the car moving at a normal speed. Stop when you come parallel with the target door. As soon as the car stops, Leo, Sergei and I will engage targets in front of the apartment. Rich, you'll immediately engage targets forward of the car, up the street. Everyone storms the apartment once the Russians are down!"

As the car completed the turn, the situation described by Berg's street contact materialized in deadly detail. They were about to purposefully stop their car in the middle of a three-way crossfire.

He spotted the white Mercedes van immediately and picked out one of the Spetznaz on the opposite side of the road. He leaned against a yellow wall next to a large café window, pretending to read a newspaper. He couldn't see the second or third operative on this end of the street, but knew from Berg's report that one of them was hidden from view by the van. That one probably had access to an assault rifle. He kept the handheld radio out of sight below the window and pressed the radio transmit button. He could see the team of Spetznaz assembled in front of the apartment building entrance.

"Schafer, one target in the open on the left side of the street. Dark brown hair, black jacket, gray pants. Second target obscured by white van. Careful with that one."

"Roger. We're through the light and moving fast to your position," the radio crackled.

The car pulled even with the white van and Daniel spotted the second operative with his peripheral vision. He fought the urge to look.

"Stay low, guys. Almost there."

He counted six men near the entrance to 22 Bondegatan. The entrance consisted of a dark brown, windowless double door, surrounded by a salmon-colored facade. The building towered five stories above the cramped street and connected seamlessly with the other apartment structures lining the one-way concrete boulevard. One of the Spetznaz operatives stood to the right of the target door, in front of several weather-beaten bicycles, apparently keeping watch over the two operatives furtively working to breach the apartment. A second lookout stood on the other side of the door, glancing casually at their car as it approached.

Directly across the street, a red and white checkered awning covered two small tables occupied by locals. A woman dressed in a gray business suit emerged from the café and adjusted an oversized dark red bag hanging from her right shoulder. She glanced across the street and momentarily locked eyes with Daniel before turning left to walk up the street.

Time slowed to a crawl as the car pulled up to the space in front of the door. Another operative stood less than ten feet away on the curb, his head turned toward the apartment building. He had his left hand stuffed into the right side of his jacket and started to bring his head around to face the sound of the sedan. The Volvo stopped suddenly, jolting everyone forward.



**



Major Eristov sensed that something was off. He heard a car motor, which wasn't the first to pass since they emptied from the Passat sedan. It was something about Sergeant Greshnev. With the lock pick tool still in both hands, he turned his head to glance at Greshnev, who appeared unusually tense and focused. The sergeant's left hand drifted toward the PP2000 hidden under his jacket, and Greshnev considered turning to look at the car. His thought was stopped by an intense, sharp pain in his upper right back. Greshnev's sinister-looking submachine gun emerged from beneath the sergeant's jacket in a blur of hands and black steel. Shit!

Eristov pivoted his body and reached inside his jacket to grab his PP2000. Before the lock pick tool clattered to the ground behind him, his left hand had already reached the front grip of the submachine gun and started to pull it forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two bursts of machine-gun fire flash from the car. One of the bursts tore through him, arresting his turn and slamming him into the thick wooden door. He heard Greshnev's PP2000 shatter the morning silence, followed quickly by another loud staccato burst from somewhere down the street. With his head still cocked toward the street, he saw the inside of the car turned bright red as Russian bullets found targets. Oddly, he felt no pain.



**



Most of the Volvo's windows shattered simultaneously as Daniel's team fired extended bursts from their suppressed weapons, catching most of the Russian operatives by surprise. Daniel's first burst cut straight through the stomach of the operative standing on the curb, passing straight through to strike one of the men working on the door. Several bullets stitched across both of the men huddled in front of the entryway, as Daniel instinctively shifted the MP-7's reflex sight to the man standing to the left of the door and fired another burst, striking the man in the upper chest. The armor-piercing rounds punched through him a mere fraction of a second after the Russian put his own PP2000 into action against Daniel's team.

The Russian's hastily fired burst struck the car's rear door, easily penetrating the sedan's thin metal. Two rounds impacted with the ballistic plates inserted into Sergei's vest and one passed through his right leg, spraying the compartment with arterial blood. Simultaneously, a concentrated burst of fire from the Spetznaz operative standing in front of the bicycles struck the upper rear corner of the Volvo. The bullets effortlessly entered the car's passenger cabin and passed through Sergei's skull, turning most of its contents into a red aerosolized mist that instantly obscured the remaining intact windows. One round continued unhindered and shattered Farrington's driver side window.

Hot arterial blood pumped through the space between the headrest and seat, splashing Daniel's neck before he opened the door and charged through the space between two cars.



**



Leo's head slammed into the top of the driver's seat when Farrington hit the brakes, but he still managed to rise quickly and find his first target through the rear window of the Volvo. He fired a suppressed burst at a man leaning against the apartment wall about ten meters down the street, crumbling the car's safety glass into a thousand pieces and striking the Russian operative in the neck and head with several armor-piercing bullets. Through the Reflex sight, he saw the body instantly drop to the pavement, leaving the sight's bright green dot centered on a red-stained wall.

He swung the MP-7 inward along the apartment wall and started to acquire a second target, but was hit by a hot spray that covered his face and obscured his Reflex sight. Undeterred by the fact that his best friend's brains had just coated his face, he fired two extended bursts without the Reflex sight, relying on his practiced ability to aim instinctively down the barrel. He saw the shooter stumble backward, toppling over several bicycles.

He looked past Sergei's useless body and assessed that all of the targets in front of the apartment building were down. Farrington's MP-7 clattered and the front windshield turned opaque. Blood still pumped furiously from Sergei's leg wound, splashing the car's gray interior. A loud staccato burst echoed from the street, followed instantly by the hollow impact of bullets against the Volvo's metal shell. Time to move.

He opened the door halfway and slid out of the sedan, staying low. Farrington had made the same decision, and they both stepped onto the street at the same time. Leo charged along the rear side of the Volvo, but was stopped in his tracks by a well-aimed burst of 5.45mm projectiles from a shooter near the Russians’ white Mercedes van. Three of the four bullets struck the Enhanced Small Arms Protective Insert of Leo's tactical vest, protecting the vital organs of his chest from instant jellification. The fourth bullet hit a few millimeters above the hardened boron carbide plate and passed easily through the softer level IIIA material. The hardened steel core projectile shattered his right clavicle and exited through the top of his right arm. The near simultaneous impact of all four bullets dropped Leo to the pavement, which saved his life. Another burst of assault rifle fire peppered the door he had just opened.



**



Farrington slammed on the brakes and raised his MP-7, searching for one of the targets he had identified as the car approached the front of the apartment. He braced the MP-7 against the steering wheel and centered the Reflex sight’s green dot on a man running across the street about 50 meters up the road. He fired a short burst and the entire front windshield shattered without falling, effectively obscuring his view of the street. Through the small hole punctured by the tight burst of 4.6mm projectiles, he could see that his target had stopped in the middle of the street. Aiming through the tiny opening in the opaque, bluish white windshield, he fired a long burst at the stationary man, but couldn't see the results. Without warning, the inside of the car erupted in a warm spray that painted the windshield red and coated the dashboard with a thin pinkish-red film. He didn't need to turn his head around to figure out what had happened. He heard muffled bursts of fire from the remaining MP-7's and decided it was time to hit the street. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Daniel open the front passenger door.

As he stepped out of the car, he immediately saw that his target had collapsed into a motionless heap in the middle of the road. A fraction of a second later, the sound of heavy caliber gunfire reached his ears, followed by shattered glass and a sharp pain in his upper left arm. He reacted swiftly and dove to the concrete roadway, as several bullets penetrated the open back door and slammed into the space he’d recently occupied. He squeezed off a hasty burst at a shooter located across the street from the van, causing the man to duck inside a doorway. He noticed that Leo lay bleeding on the pavement next to the Volvo's right rear tire. He wanted to help him, but made the decision to get off the street as quickly as possible.

He jumped to his feet and sprinted around the front of the Volvo, staying low as bullets followed his path, knocking out the rest of the Volvo's front windshield and peppering the silver Renault parked along the curb. He slid over the Renault's hood and landed on the sidewalk, searching for targets ahead of them. Thirty meters up the street, he spotted a man crouched low on the sidewalk next to a white sedan. The man fit the general description of the Spetznaz operatives, but Farrington didn't fire. The man looked panicked and appeared more interested in keeping his head low.



**



Hans Schafer hit the pavement running when the van stopped. He held the compact G-36C assault rifle under his coat, well aware that the barrel extended a few inches below the bottom. He was several meters from turning the corner onto Bondegatan when the shooting erupted. Instinctively, he knew that the sound of unsuppressed automatic weapons fire meant one thing. The team was in deep shit. He pulled out the assault rifle and sprinted to the corner, praying that he wasn't too late to help. The red light had f*cked them over. Hubner wanted to run it, but by the time the van would have entered the intersection, there would be little doubt in any police officer's mind that they had just run a red light. The last thing they needed was a police escort to Reznikov's apartment, and he didn't have time to scan the full three hundred and sixty degrees around them to make a decision. Schafer had put his hand on Hubner's shoulder and told him to wait. He assured him that they'd arrive in time. As he turned the corner, his initial impression was that he had been badly mistaken.

He walked casually between two cars parked near the corner, careful not to draw any attention from the Spetznaz operative shooting from a concealed doorway along the sidewalk. Once past the cars, he ducked low and moved swiftly down the street. He saw Leo lying face down on the pavement, trying desperately to claw his way under the Volvo. Automatic fire erupted from behind the Mercedes van where he had been told to expect another Russian, followed by a deafening extended burst of fire from the shooter in the recessed doorway. The bullets hit the cars parked in front of the doorway, ricocheted off the concrete facade of the building and splintered the dark brown doorway to Reznikov's apartment. He saw Daniel and Farrington pop up from a position between the two parked cars and fire suppressed bursts at the Russians, who responded immediately with a fusillade of their own gunfire.

Schafer knew what needed to be done. He stayed low, sprinting along the cars, until he drew even with the Mercedes van. The recessed doorway was located ten additional meters down on his side of the street. He rose to a full stand and aimed through the window of the van, finding the Spetznaz operative's head through his 3X Zeiss RSA-S Reflex sight. He fired a quick burst through the van's window and turned to acquire the doorway shooter. As he placed the green dot on the next Spetznaz operative's forehead, he had time for a quick thought before he pulled the trigger. F*ck that guy was fast.

Schafer's 5.56mm bullets struck the Russian between the eyes, but not before the operative returned the favor with a well-aimed burst to Schafer's upper chest. Two of the bullets struck Schafer's assault rifle, shattering it. The third bullet passed through his neck, causing irreparable damage and severing his carotid artery. Schafer staggered forward, aware that he was fatally hit. He let the assault rifle fall to the concrete and raised his hands to his neck. He stared at his blood-soaked hands for a few seconds and moved his gaze to Reznikov's apartment. He watched Farrington and Petrovich fire point blank into one of the doors and kick it in. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious to the street was their van speed around the corner.



**



More than a dozen bullets snapped overhead, striking the concrete behind Daniel. Leaned against the front bumper of a compact white Fiat, he felt several bullets impact against the car's metal frame. One projectile popped through the hood and barely missed his right arm. He scooted backward, bumping up against Farrington, who had also decided that the tight space between the Fiat and bullet-riddled silver Renault was the only safe place on the street. A burst of gunfire shattered the momentary calm, and another fusillade of bullets skipped off the pavement near Farrington's feet. Daniel risked a peek through the Fiat's partially shattered windshield and saw Schafer running down the street, hidden from the gunmen by the line of vehicles on each side of the road.

"Our backup just arrived," Daniel said.

"About f*cking time," Farrington muttered.

Daniel heard a burst of fire from Schafer’s G-36C, followed immediately by a tight burst from one of the Russian submachine guns. He popped back up to fire at the shooter in the recessed doorway, but the Russian had already fallen from view. A dark red stain covered the yellow wall next to the alcove, evidence of the Russian’s death. His eyes shifted to Schafer, who stood motionless for a moment in the middle of the street. Blood pumped furiously out of Schafer’s neck.

"Schafer's hit," he said to Farrington. He pulled out his handheld radio and turned to the door, pushing Farrington onto the sidewalk. "Get those bodies out of the way," he said, before speaking into the radio. "Move the van to the target doorway. You'll need to figure out a way to move the Volvo."

"Tell Schafer to move it. I'll be there in a few seconds."

"Schafer's dead. Farrington's the only other survivor," he said and stuffed the radio back into his jacket.

"Leo's still alive," Farrington said.

"He'll figure that out on his own," Petrovich said, kicking the remaining Russian away from the blood-showered door.

"Try the lock pick set?" Farrington said.

"Are you f*cking kidding me?" Petrovich said, aiming his MP-7 at the doorknob.

Farrington backed up and leveled his weapon at a similar point. Both weapons kicked furiously as the operatives poured several dozen armor-piercing projectiles into the area surrounding the doorknob. The bullets tore through the handle and obliterated the solid wood next to the door frame. Petrovich kicked the door with the bottom of his foot, and it gave no resistance.

"You want to knock on Reznikov's door?" Daniel said.

"No, I'm gonna use you as a battering ram."

Daniel smirked and darted inside the splinter-filled foyer, searching for the staircase. He found it just past a small set of stairs leading into a lobby.

"Up there," he said.



**



Reznikov's eyes flashed open. He thought he'd heard gunshots. He tried to figure out where he was, but nothing made sense to him. His head started pounding immediately, and he tried lazily to lift his head from the table. His face felt numb and moving his head required too much effort. He started to pass out when two staccato bursts of gunfire jarred him back into the moment. His head shot up and he slid one of his heavy arms out along the table, knocking an empty bottle of vodka to the hardwood floor. The bottle shattered, and he tried to focus his vision with little success. The light pouring into the kitchen was overwhelming, and he squinted, which brought a temporary clarity to his sight.

He heard yelling and screaming from the street below and had the strange thought that he might not be in Stockholm anymore. He recognized the kitchen, so he must still be in his apartment. What the f*ck was going on? He saw another empty bottle of cheap vodka teetering on the edge of the table next to a small leather-bound notebook. Dozens of crumpled pages lay scattered on the table, partially concealing a small black revolver.

He suddenly remembered why was sitting at the table, where he had apparently passed out from drinking. He had planned to kill himself, but admittedly the details were still hazy to him. He knew he should grab the pistol and put it to his head, but two bottles of vodka had erased much of the argument leading to this decision. He smiled. As a scientist, he would have to work through the process again and empirically prove that he must kill himself. He wondered if there was a shortcut, since he wasn't sure he'd be close to sober by nightfall. Several more bursts of gunfire echoed from the street, followed by screaming, which spurred him to grab the revolver. Someone was coming for him. If it was those dirty Jihadists, he might be back in business. Unfortunately, he didn't think he could effectively stand up from the table. A small detail to work out.



**



Daniel took two stairs at a time until they reached the third floor. He yanked open the stairwell door and quickly poked his head in and out of the opening, checking both directions. The hallway was empty. A polished brass placard on the wall in front of him indicated the direction they would take to apartment 3B. Daniel and Farrington turned right and slithered along the wall, aiming their weapons forward. They paused at the door to 3A and examined it. Daniel pushed on the thin door, testing it before he whispered to Farrington.

"Staggered hits until we're in. I'll go first," he said, and Farrington nodded.

They arrived at 3B, noting that it faced the street. Reznikov would undoubtedly be ready for something. They listened for a second and heard nothing. Daniel nodded, and they both backed up to the other side of the hallway. Petrovich barreled forward, tucking the MP-7 low and slamming into the door with his right shoulder. He felt the door buckle significantly and shifted left to clear out of Farrington's way. Farrington struck the door with his left shoulder and continued through the splintered door frame, rolling out of Petrovich's way.

Daniel braced his weapon against the doorframe and aimed at the figure sitting at the table. Reznikov fired his revolver three times at the open doorway, before placing the gun to the side of his own head. A single shot from Daniel's MP-7 struck the revolver and knocked it out of Reznikov's hand onto the kitchen floor, along with a few of his fingers. They both charged the Russian scientist, who knocked the table over trying to stand up. Farrington arrived first, grabbing Reznikov by the collar of his shirt and yanking him facedown into the table. Petrovich took a pair of zip ties from his jacket and secured his hands. They had Reznikov up on his feet in a matter of seconds. Farrington spoke to him in Russian.

"Do you have any of the virus here in the apartment?"

"It's all gone, you see. That's why I'm still here. They didn't do it…and now I have nothing…I can't even know this…"

"He's f*cking drunk," Petrovich said.

"The notebook didn't lie…they just changed the game," Reznikov said, as his head wobbled and his eyes lost focus.

Petrovich punched Reznikov in the face twice before Farrington could react.

"What the f*ck are you doing? We need to get out of here and I don't need him unconscious. Bag up that notebook and the crumpled papers. Ten seconds and out. I'll get him to the van," Farrington said, dragging the moaning scientist to the door.

Daniel turned around and got down on his knees to collect the scraps of paper knocked onto the floor. He dropped the MP-7 and started stuffing the papers into his pockets. The notebook was small enough to fit into one of the inner coat pockets. He glanced around for anything else that he could grab in the few seconds he had remaining. Under a metal frame desk parked against the hallway wall, he saw an open topped cardboard carton overstuffed with folders and loose papers. He grabbed his submachine gun and pulled the carton out, partially ripping the cardboard due to the weight of the papers inside. He didn't have time to dig through it. He jammed the MP-7 into the carton, and lifted it by the two handles.

He caught up with Farrington and Reznikov at the bottom of the stairwell and saw that Farrington had resorted to punching Reznikov to keep him moving. The scientist was bleeding from the nose and mouth now, and Farrington looked like he was a second away from slamming the scientist's head against the wall. Maybe he already had. Petrovich kicked the stairwell door open and ran through the lobby onto the sidewalk. The Volvo was gone, jammed against a sedan a few spaces down on the other side of the street. His view of the café across the street was blocked by their white VW Transporter van. Hubner stood in front of the van with his assault rifle ready. Police sirens grew louder, echoing through the tight streets. He could see light blue flashes from a police car two blocks from the entrance to their stretch of Bondegatan.

"Throw a smoke down the street," Daniel said and nodded toward the turn they had taken onto Bondegatan.

Hubner reacted immediately and reached into his jacket pocket to withdraw a soda can sized gray cylinder. He ran to the back of the van and rested his G-36C against the bumper. In one motion, he pulled the pin from the smoke grenade and hurled it as far as he could down Bondegatan. It landed a few meters past Schafer's body and exploded in a thick, billowing white cloud. The effect was immediate and completely obscured the entrance to this stretch of Bondegatan.

While Hubner took care of the smoke screen, Daniel heaved the carton of papers into the van and took off back into the building to help Farrington. He had seen Leo propped up in the back row, barely conscious. His entire right shoulder had been covered with a pasty red mixture of Celox and blood. From the brief glance he managed to steal, it looked like the hemostatic powder had stopped the bleeding.

He caught up with Farrington at the lobby stairs, and together they manhandled Reznikov into the van. Daniel heard tires screeching beyond the persistent, thick smoke, coupled with piercing sirens. He figured these were first responders and wanted to discourage any heroics.

"Drop a smoke next to the van, and get us out of here," he said, furiously unscrewing the suppressor on the MP-7.

While Hubner pulled the pin on another smoke grenade, Daniel removed the suppressor and changed magazines. He pointed the unsuppressed weapon out of the van's open side door and fired most of the forty rounds into the silver Renault. Screaming ensued from several locations on the street, and he heard tires screech beyond the smoke as the lightly armed police officers presumably thought better of keeping their cars exposed to automatic gunfire.

He slammed the door shut and turned to get into the front passenger seat. Reznikov's body stiffened and arched like he was trying to get up. Farrington tried to shove him back into the bench seat, but Reznikov's body didn't budge. Petrovich punched him in the groin and his eyes rolled back into his head. He went into convulsions as the van lurched forward out of the smoke.

"F*ck, I think we're losing him," Farrington said.

"Just keep him in his seat until we're clear of this mess. Hubner, take your first left and head north back into the city."

Daniel pushed his way past Farrington and dropped into the passenger seat. He grabbed one of three remaining smoke grenades and lowered his window. Glancing out of the open window, he saw something he would never have expected.



**



Senior Sergeant Daniil Karev furtively watched the operatives shove Reznikov into the van. He was the lone surviving member of his team, mainly because he had decided at the outset of the ambush to serve as Moscow's insurance policy. The street battle had lasted less than thirty seconds. As the gunfire died, he was confident that he had made the right decision. Their mission had been clear. Capture or kill Reznikov. If he'd opted to fight, there was little doubt in his mind that his blood would have filled the Stockholm sewers. Restraint kept him alive, and he'd have one more shot at completing their mission.

A long burst of automatic gunfire filled the street with more sounds of civilian panic. Close to him, he heard a stifled scream from the woman that had hidden herself in a recessed doorway. He stood up and turned his back on the van, which had started to move up the street. He passed the sobbing woman, who was huddled against the dark green door in the shelter of the concrete alcove. She clutched a red handbag and appeared startled by his sudden appearance. Karev took a few steps past the doorway and gripped the PP2000 in both hands. He was fully prepared to spin around and fire several well aimed bursts of armor-piercing bullets into the van. He kept walking as the van's engine grew louder. One more second and…

His chin was yanked backward, followed by an incredibly intense burning across his neck. His knees buckled and the PP2000 was yanked from his hands. A strong forearm kept his head back, and he felt three painful sharp jabs to his lower back, followed by a complete release of the pressure locking his head back. Unable to control his legs, he fell to his knees and toppled onto his left side as the van sped by. Through his fading vision, he saw a blonde woman wearing gray walk quickly up the street. She tossed his PP2000 under a car and readjusted her oversized, red leather handbag.



**



Daniel locked eyes with the woman in the gray suit again. Considering what he'd just seen her do to the Russian operative, he wanted to stop the van. They could use someone like that to help them get out of the city. Just as the thought emerged, she broke eye contact and leaned over to dispose of the submachine gun she had cut loose from the Russian's body sling. He dropped the grenade as they approached the turn. If they could get off Bondegatan unobserved, the smoke screen would confuse police units long enough for them to escape.

Currently, no police units would have a detailed description of their vehicle. Civilian emergency calls might identify a white van, but they had just passed four white vans parked on this street alone, not to mention the Russians' van. As traffic picked up in Stockholm, there wouldn't be enough police in all of Scandinavia to stop and search every white van on the streets. Hubner took the left turn at Bondegatan and Farrington slammed against the van door.

"Take it easy! Daniel, he's not breathing."

Daniel turned around in his seat and saw that Reznikov indeed looked like he had gone into cardiac arrest. Leo had spilled out of the rear bench onto the floor. His eyes fluttered open and he grimaced, which was a good sign. He turned his attention back to the road and grabbed one of their maps, unfolding it.

"I need to concentrate on getting us out of here, or we’re all f*cked," he said.

"His heart is racing like crazy! If Reznikov dies, we're most certainly f*cked," Farrington yelled.

"I'm working on it!" Petrovich said.

"Working on what?"

Petrovich ignored him and concentrated on the map. He located what he was looking for. "Take a right onto Folkungagatan, then your first left on Renstiernesgata," he said.

"Got it," Hubner replied.

As they stopped at their first cross street, he saw a police car approach the intersection from the right and reached back with his left hand to grab his MP-7 from the cardboard carton behind his seat. Hubner expeditiously accelerated the van through the intersection and Daniel dropped the map to adjust the side mirror so he could see behind the van. He watched the police car turn left at the intersection and speed the wrong way down the one-way road. Another police car followed a few seconds later. They were clear for now. He wondered how long it would take them to figure out that they weren't still sitting in front of 22 Bondegatan. The smoke screens would start to clear in a few minutes.

They passed one more road and approached Folkungagatan. Several police cars and a formidable-looking van sped through the light, followed by two additional police cars that turned on their street, forcing them to squeeze the van as far over as possible to let them pass. Once the police cars sped through the bottleneck, Daniel smiled at Hubner, who raised his eyebrows.

"Take a right here," Daniel said.

"Maybe we should take him to a hospital. We can take hostages and hold off the police until we can get some information out of him. I don't give a f*ck if we're captured. Once we get the information, the Swedes won't care about any of this," Farrington said.

"He has a point," Hubner added.

"Left here," Daniel said, "and keep your eyes peeled for a Metro station up on our left. Slussen Station."

"The Metro?" Farrington said.

"I have a plan," Daniel said.

"You have less than a minute to put your plan into action, or we're storming the nearest hospital."

The van turned left after burning up nearly twenty seconds of Daniel's allotted time. He could sense that Farrington was close to snapping on him.

"Give me that minute when we hit the Metro station," he said.

"I'll give you thirty seconds. If you're not back in the van, we're leaving you," Farrington said.

They cruised through another green light before the road eased left onto a wide road that overlooked Stockholm's old city waterfront. The distance ahead of them on the road looked vast.

"Where the f*ck is this Metro station? His heart is going haywire!" Farrington said.

"Just ahead. Trust me on this," Daniel said.

As the van pulled past several modern buildings on the right side, the Metro station entrance suddenly appeared.

"There it is! Slussen Station! Double park and keep an eye out for police."

The van pulled even with the covered Metro entrance, and Daniel burst out of the door, sprinting through traffic for the escalator. He pushed past several civilians and reached the Metro floor, glancing around. He found what he was looking for near the turnstile, along the wall next to a bank of telephones. He just hoped Farrington didn't hold him to thirty seconds. He was already well past that deadline. Less than twenty seconds later, Daniel emerged from the ground and ran to the van. He tossed the bright yellow plastic Automated External Defibrillator over the front passenger seat at Farrington and hopped in the van as it took off toward downtown Stockholm.

"Bring him back to life while Hubner gets us through Stockholm. I need to make a call."