Olsen frowned. “Stockholm’s a big city. I assume you’ve narrowed it down a bit.”
Patience, Peter told himself. “We believe a computer belonging to a man named Mats Hagen was used.”
“Who’s he?”
“A freelance tech and hacker.”
On Peter’s computer, another message from Misty appeared.
Ok. Calling him now.
“You don’t seem convinced,” Olsen said.
“It strikes me as strange that someone with his skills would be sloppy enough to leave clues behind that allowed us to trace the intrusion back to him. I think the last thing we want to do is jump to conclusions.”
“But you said that’s where the breach came from. Did it or didn’t it?”
Peter fought to keep a frown from his face. “I believe it did.”
“Okay, then. I assume you have a plan.”
“Of course,” Peter said.
After the silence stretched out for several seconds, Olsen said, “The idea here is that you keep me in the loop. Remember?”
“I remember. I have a team on the way to Stockholm right now.” A bit of a lie, but they’d be on the way soon enough.
“When will they get there?”
“We should know something in a few hours.”
“You don’t have anyone closer?”
Peter took a breath and stood up. Heat began to radiate from his bald scalp, and he knew from past experience that he was probably turning red. “I’m sure there are people closer we could hire, but I only work with those I know I can count on. It was my understanding from the senator that he expected this situation to be handled with extreme sensitivity. So being able to trust whoever we put in the field would seem to be an important thing, don’t you think?”
Instead of waiting for an answer, he walked out of the room.
Michaels and his men took the first flight they could from Brussels to Stockholm, arriving just a little over an hour and a half after taking off. They picked up their rental car and headed straight for the Sodermalm neighborhood where Mats Hagen lived.
Upon arrival, Michaels and his second-in-command, Alder, took a walk around the block, and used a portable heat-sensing device to determine if anyone was in the target apartment. It turned out there were two people present. Though the device couldn’t determine identities, odds were one of those present would be the man they’d come to see.
Since it was still relatively early, Michaels placed Alder and the other two men on his team-Janick and Sterns-strategically along the street. He then climbed back into the rental to give Hagen and his neighbors time to settle in for the night.
Over the next two hours, the street went from mostly quiet to dead still.
Michaels touched the earpiece he was wearing, activating its microphone. “Janick, let’s see what our friends are doing.”
“Copy,” Janick said.
Janick had been given possession of the heat sensor, and charged with the task of periodically checking Hagen’s flat.
There was a delay of about twenty seconds before Janick said, “They’re in bed.”
Finally, Michaels thought. “Okay. Everyone hold tight. Won’t be long now.”
He turned off his mic and called Peter.
“They’re finally asleep,” he reported. “We’re going to wait forty-five minutes, then go in.”
“Excellent,” Peter said. “Let me know-” A voice in the background cut him off. “Hold on.”
It sounded like Peter put his hand over the phone. Michaels could hear voices but nothing distinctive.
When Peter came back on, he didn’t sound pleased. “Can you go in sooner?”
Michaels was surprised by the question. “Only if we don’t care if they’re in a deep sleep or not.”
Another muffled conversation, then, “Do you feel that’s important?”
“Peter, what’s going on?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“All right. Yes, it’s important. You want the guy alive. There’s a lot better chance of that happening if he’s struggling to wake up, as opposed to jumping right out of bed because he hasn’t fallen asleep yet. There, does that work for you?”
“Just a second.”
A third conversation ensued. It quickly became clear to Michaels that someone else was trying to call the shots.
“Okay, proceed with your plan,” Peter finally said. “Report in as soon as you have him.”
“Should we be worried about this job?”
Peter paused. “ You shouldn’t be.”
The line went dead.
Mats Hagen felt the bed move. Probably Eva getting some water. A herd of horses was quieter sometimes. He turned on his side and tried to recapture the dream he’d been having.
It was about the girl who worked at the coffee shop around the corner. In his dream, he’d found himself alone in the kitchen with her as she started to take off her clothes. It was a poor substitute for real sex, but Eva had made it clear he wasn’t getting any tonight.
“My stomach still bothers me,” she’d said. “I just want to sleep.”
He told her that was fine, mostly because he’d had a vision of being puked on mid-thrust. That was enough to turn anyone off.
A groan, soft and distant but urgent. Part of his dream? Coffee girl calling me back. At least she wasn’t going to say no. Baby, here I come. You’re going to love “Get up.”
The voice was most definitely not part of his dream. It wasn’t Eva’s, either. Hagen’s eyes failed to open the first time, but on the second try, they did.
A man stood near the bed, silhouetted by the light filtering in through the window.
A man?
Hagen sat up with a jolt, his hand automatically moving toward the hidden compartment in his headboard where he kept an unregistered Beretta pistol.
“I wouldn’t move another inch,” the silhouette said.
How in God’s name had they gotten in without him knowing? His alarm should have gone off. He should have had plenty of warning.
“So you are Mats Hagen.” A statement, not a question. The man grabbed Hagen’s arm and yanked him to his feet. “Come on.”
As Hagen stumbled around the end of the bed, he saw Eva near the wall. Another man was holding her from behind, one of his gloved hands over her mouth. Her terror-filled eyes implored her boyfriend to do something.
But what could he possibly do? These guys were bigger than he was, and obviously armed. His gun was still sitting in his hidey-hole. Which, on further consideration, was probably not a bad place for it to be. If he’d pulled it out, he probably would have been dead by now.
The man pushed him all the way into the living room, where two more men were waiting.
This was seriously not good. They were obviously pros, which meant there was a very good chance they were sent by someone he’d worked with before. He tried to think of anyone who might have been dissatisfied with his work. There were a couple minor things, but nothing worthy of this kind of reaction.
Or maybe it wasn’t a client, but someone affected by the work he’d done for someone else.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but whatever the reason, I’m sure we can work it out. Maybe there’s someone I can talk to?”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
