Inside-Outside-Upside Down, Glen Marcus [fiction books to read txt] 📗

      Ethan lit his first unfiltered Camel of the day and took a long drag. Walking through the Haga District of Gothenburg, the average age of pedestrians he encountered was early to mid-twenties. Clearly this was a university city. Circling the block twice and doubling back, he saw no familiar faces. Feeling he was not being followed; Ethan turned the handle and entered the Riverside Kaffe. There were only a handful of people in the small internet coffee shop. Walking to the counter and ordering a large Loftbergs dark roast, he dropped a hundred Kronor bill on the bar.
      With his best Swedish accent, he asked the young woman behind the counter about using the computer nearest the back of the room."Sixty kronor för tjugo minuter,” she replied.
      Nodding his head, she gave him change from the hundred and handed him the coffee.
      Removing his jacket and placing it over the back of his chair, Ethan sat down with his back against the wall in front of the screen. Looking again to the door and the large plate glass window in the front of the establishment, he logged on to the machine.
      Bringing up Gmail and tapping in the password, the screen showed the details of an email account only he and his handler had access to. Scrolling down to the "drafts” icon and clicking on it brought up the one and only note in the folder.

Schedule still good for meeting in Krakòw on Tuesday 10 a.m. with Pussywillow. All exterior requests are in place. Six of one, half-dozen of the other. Inside-outside-upside down. Smoke’em if you got’em.

Ethan deleted the draft and the folder read zero. Keeping contact to a minimum was of the utmost concern and by only using this feature, there were no residual email tracks. The "burn” phone in his pocket was only to be used in case of emergencies and in his line of work, emergencies could get you killed.
      Checking his watch, he logged off the computer and took a sip of the black liquid from the cup. The potent brew bit at his tongue, but it was just as he liked it. Unfolding the latest edition of the Gothenburg Post, he slowly thumbed through each page of the newspaper.  Stealing a glance around the room with each sheet he turned, nothing appeared out of place. ’Just because they really are out to get you, doesn’t mean you’re not paranoid,’ thought Ethan, remembering a quote from his Navy SEAL tactical instructor of many years ago.
      Waiting patiently in public places was not one of Ethan Bryce’s stronger points. With his previous training as a sniper, waiting hours, even days in remote locals for an opportunity to exercise his finely honed skills was a different story. Folding the newspaper and laying it on the table in front of him, he lit the second cigarette and took another draw on his coffee.
      Scanning his surroundings once again, the Riverside was a quaint little meeting place. With dark-stained judge’s paneling and its high, white plaster ceiling, the ambience was quiet and discreet. Not unlike most small cafes of the genre, java and pastries were the norm. There was a small reading room in the rear, adjacent to the serving bar, where Ethan spied a large, ornate set of book shelves through the doorway. No doubt there were many volumes of Swedish literature to be viewed, from Argus to The Red Room. Jan Guillou’s spy novels depicting the exploits of Carl Hamilton had always been Ethan’s favorite. The atmosphere was rustic but inviting and for now it served its purpose.
      At nine-oh-five, Ethan saw a man in grey slacks and a tan overcoat enter the establishment. The stranger went directly to the counter, seemingly to place an order and then exited to the restroom on his right. The server placed a cup and a brioche on the counter just as the man was returning. He paid for the items and then turned and walked in Ethan’s direction.
      ”Are you finished with the Post?” the man said as he stopped at Bryce’s table.
      ”Not as of yet but you’re welcome to take it with you when you leave. Please sit down.”
      The man sat his breakfast down on the table, along with a set of car keys and took a seat on the cushioned chair across from Ethan.
      ”Is the weather to your liking?” the man inquired.
      ”I can take it or leave it. Six of one, a half-dozen of the other.”
      A relaxed look came across the other man’s face as all the correct words had been spoken. Though this was Ethan’s first time purchasing munitions from this source, he came highly recommended. Trust did not come easy to Bryce and by the expression on the other chap’s face, the feeling was mutual.
      In a low voice, Ethan inquired, ”Is it closeby?”
      ”Yes. Two avenues over you will find the railway station. In lot 2-A there is a beige Volvo 740 Wagon near the corner of the lot.”
      ”Good. And the modifications to the vehicle?”
      ”Just as you requested. The back jump seats fold over to access the storage compartment.”
      ”And everything I requested is inside?”
      ”Mr. Lightfoot, I assure you the exact quantities and specifications were adhered to exactly.”
      ”Then you may have my copy of the Post,” Ethan said as he stood and pushed the slightly bulging newspaper towards the man. ”It has some interesting stories in today’s edition.”
      Smiling, the man took a bite of his bread and a sip from his steaming cup. Bryce extinguished his butt in the ashtray, picked up the keys and walked out of the Riverside with the knowledge that step one of his plan was almost accomplished.
      It had been a long trek making his way from New York to Sweden. Ethan had traveled to London on a passport with one name and then made passage to Denmark across the North Sea on another. Now in Sweden as Kraig Lightfoot, that identity too would have to be stowed away until it was needed again. Driving almost a thousand kilometers to Krakow, he would have to pass through several border crossings. Though never easy, his counterfeit ink man had never let him down as of yet. While Ethan’s Polish was not as sharp as his Swedish, it was passable. All in all, he felt the odds were in his favor.
      The former Mr. Lightfoot lit his third Camel of the day and walked quickly to the east away from the quaint coffee shop.

Text: All Rights Reserved © 2011 Glen Marcus
Publication Date: 11-02-2011

All Rights Reserved