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 fuck 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 fucking 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 fuck 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.