Black Flagged Redux (43 page)

He suggested that the virus may have been engineered to maximize the impact of the symptoms described by the psychiatrist. Untreated, Herpes Simplex Encephalitis (HSE) resulted in rapid death in roughly 70% of cases. Lab analysis suggested that this strain had been modified to reduce lethality. They wouldn't know for sure until they could get a sample to Edgewood, but the implications of this modification were frightening.

Even among patients immediately treated with high-dose intravenous Aciclovir, fatality rates hovered at thirty percent and less than three percent ever regained normal brain function. An effective, widespread attack with this virus would be devastating. Unlike nerve agents or traditional biological weapons, the effects of this bioweapon would expand far beyond the original target. It would create a pocket of sick, uncontrollable patients that would require massive resources to manage effectively.

With the frightening potential to transform entire cities into violent playgrounds filled with irreversibly brain-damaged citizens, the world would never recover from the psychological damage caused by the release of Reznikov's virus. The resources required to house and treat the mentally disabled survivors would serve as a constant reminder to the public. In his opinion, the Russians had taken the easy way out in Monchegorsk.

The most frightening aspect of the entire situation stemmed from a casual comment made by one of the Edgewood scientists. In passing, Berg heard him tell one of his colleagues that he highly doubted the virus had been genetically modified in some "half-ass laboratory trailer in the middle of Kazakhstan." Berg didn't pursue the comment, but kept it in the back of his mind. It might explain why the Russians wanted to find Reznikov so badly. Maybe their biological warfare program hadn't died on the front lawn of the Novosibirsk facility in 1978, along with Anatoly Reznikov's father.

He started to walk over to Audra when his cell phone rang. Berg took one look at his BlackBerry's screen and nodded at Thomas Manning. The bustling conversations within the operations center ceased instantly, and every face stared at Karl Berg as he raised the phone to his ear.

"Berg here," he said.

"Reznikov's address in Stockholm is 22 Bondegatan, apartment 3B," a deep Russian voice said.

"22 Bondegatan. 3B," he said to the operations analysts.

Berg didn't pause before speed dialing Petrovich. "22 Bondegatan. Apartment 3B," he spoke into the phone and paused to scan the screens.

"South of the city. Stay on the line and we'll get you there as fast as possible. I have a CIA employee on the ground within ten city blocks of that location. She'll provide us with live intel," he said.

"Patch her voice into the center! I want to hear everything she says!" Berg said.

He glanced up at the main screen in the Operations Center, which displayed a city map of Stockholm, resized to encompass two locations. The team's starting point on Odengatan and the ending point on Bondegatan. The street was one of Stockholm's notoriously tight one-ways.

"Tell them to get over to the Klarastrand. They'll have to backtrack a bit off of Odengatan, but it's the fastest route. Traffic should still be light at this time of the morning. Tell the team to watch the pedestrian traffic on Bondegatan. Lots of cafés doing brisk coffee business. Still too early in the year for permanent outdoor seating, so it should be relatively clear of any crowds," said an analyst from their Scandinavian Section.

Berg nodded and relayed all of the information to Petrovich, who acknowledged it and informed Berg that he would be in receive only mode until they were on the road.

"How long to get there?" Berg said.

"Fifteen minutes with no delays," the analyst said.

This promised to be a long fifteen minutes.

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.

"Fuck, 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.

"Fuck, 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 fuck 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.