The Shadow's Code

by Miles Goodson

  Lindon sailed past Gothenburg, managing to avoid being near any major shipping lane when the freight ships were around. He docked a few miles south in a small bay. Once he was able to get close enough to land he jumped onto a small jetty and tied the boat to a long stump. Lindon ate a ready meal and drank a bottle of water. After setting a proximity alarm near the boat he decided to sleep on the thin mattress in the hull. The slight swaying from side to side sent Lindon to sleep quickly.

  Lindon didn’t dream much but there was one particular dream that Lindon had over and over again. It was one of him as a little boy. When Lindon was twelve his father had become ill. At first it appeared to be nothing but after a few months it was apparent that he was suffering. Just after Lindon’s thirteenth birthday his father had suffered a heart attack. The doctors treated him the best they could but the damage would prove to be fatal. Patricia had stood with her two boys, watching her husband in his hospital bed; she had fought back tears and stayed strong for the boys. The doctors explained that her husband didn’t have long and that they should say their goodbyes. Patricia struggled to contain herself. Seeing her once strong and vibrant husband lying gaunt and weak in a hospital bed the shock, despair and sadness struck her. Her sister steadied her and she took her sons in to say goodbye.

  Lindon was confused. His dad had taught him everything he knew and had been the rock of the family. As the tears streamed from everyone’s eyes his father managed to compose himself. He told Patricia she had been the perfect wife. The woman of his dreams and so much more. He turned to his youngest son Tom and told him he was his little soldier and a bright star in his life. He then looked at Lindon, and moved his once muscular arm from his side to Lindon’s shoulder.

  He grabbed him by the hand and said “Ben, son, you’re the man of the house now. I’m sorry you gotta grow up so fast and I’m leaving you in this way but son you gotta be strong. You hear me. You take my place and watch out for these two. I’m proud of you, son.”

  Lindon hadn’t appreciated the magnitude of the moment until he was older. His father passed away five minutes later as doctors lost the battle to keep him alive. Lindon remembered turning back one last time. His dad had his eyes closed and his body was limp. Lindon knew his father was no longer there. It was a tough time. To see a man who had been in his prime wired up to machines, and then disappearing. One minute he was in the room. The next minute he was gone. Lindon dreamt about that moment all the time, he had shouted, “I will dad! I will! I promise!” as the machines around his dad flat lined and buzzed. He had run from his mother’s side to the window of his dad’s room. He had banged on the glass.

  “I will,” he shouted, his fist pumping against the glass. “Dad. I will. I promise, I WILL!” he screamed as the tears rushed down his face and his aunt dragged him away. Lindon had held that responsibility at the forefront of his mind in everything he did. In more recent years he knew he had broken his promise. That guilt always snapped Lindon out of his dream.

  Lindon sat up in a white vest and jeans. His mind immediately was on his brother and his mother. He sat for a moment thinking of them both. The old fish smell of the boat became overpowering and so Lindon got up and threw on some thermal clothing to climb up on deck. It was silent outside. The cold air hit Lindon’s bare skin with a sting. He brushed his teeth and splashed himself with seawater that was bitterly cold. After eating another of his prepared meals he put on fresh clothes and studied navigational maps. He had to pass Denmark to go around Sweden. He didn’t plan on stopping again until he was near the small islands surrounding Stockholm. Lindon filled the tank with the reserve fuel barrel he had on the small cargo deck area. At 7.45am he slowly pulled away from the jetty and continued his journey.

  By midday Lindon was negotiating his path through the waters between Denmark and Sweden. He kept a low profile and a brisk pace. He made his final turn toward the Baltic Sea. Germany was now to his right although he couldn’t see it. He began to head north following the coast of Sweden. So far he had been left to quietly go about his business. Coast guards hadn’t worried him and the Nordak had stayed strong and for an old boat had been frugal without any real loads to carry.

  Lindon’s fortunes changed as he navigated around Sweden just as the sun began to set. The boat’s engine began to splutter and Lindon’s speed dropped. To avoid damage Lindon immediately shut the engine down. The horizon was filled with a rainbow of color as the sun set with clear sky and clear visibility. The Nordak was now drifting and at the mercy of the sea currents. Lindon jammed the rudder starboard to try and make the boat go around in circles but the waves were dictating the direction he was going now. Lindon went below deck where there was an inspection window. He needed a quick fix. If he became stranded now he would have to abandon the boat and make an escape for land on his inflatable emergency raft.

  Lindon peeked through the inspection window. Everything looked OK. He began to prod and poke at different bits hoping that something minor had worked its way loose. If any major part of the engine was broken or the fuel was contaminated then the Nordak would be taking him no further. Nothing appeared wrong with the old engine. Lindon pushed and jiggled a few electronics and mechanical parts. He was now facing south and could see the silhouette of a few boats in the distance. He hoped they hadn’t noticed his boat’s sudden waywardness and reported it to the coast guard. As Lindon turned the key the engine grumbled and lurched. Then fired with a deep crack and then a solid rumble. He pushed the throttle half way up and retuned his heading back northwards. For now everything seemed fine. Lindon could do nothing but hope that it remained that way.

  Chapter 31

  Lindon passed Stockholm and was now on the final leg of his journey. He stopped a few miles up the coast from Stockholm’s archipelagos and small islands. A small marina gave Lindon the opportunity to inspect the engine, which was covered in dirt, grime and oil. Despite its decrepit appearance it was in good working order. The reason the engine had suddenly cut out would remain a mystery. Lindon moored his boat and called an old friend, Chris Smith, who lived close to Lindon’s forest lodge. He asked Chris to meet him early the next morning at the marina near his home. Chris was much older than Lindon; he was a retired British soldier and had served in the SAS with the scars to prove it.

  Lindon had met Chris many years earlier when he was constructing his lodge in Sweden. The closest town was small and had a population of around three hundred people, all of whom were very private. There was one bar for the whole town and it was next to the fuel station and a small shop. All three businesses were together on the main road on the edge of town. Chris was in his sixties and had white and grey bushy hair that had receded on the edges of his forehead.

  One night Chris was sitting up at the bar and Lindon was sitting a few stools down. Both were knocking back a beer and trying to remain anonymous nobodies whilst watching an ice hockey game on the small television behind the bar, Sweden v USA in a semi-final cup match. After making a few remarks about the weather their conversation expanded to sports and then Chris mentioned his military service. He was careful not to mention his Special Forces days and instead talked of being a young man in the army. Chris was big fan of American football and had been a fan of the Dallas Cowboys since he was twenty-eight years old when he had been stationed in Texas. The ice hockey ended with a win in overtime for the USA and Chris and Lindon agreed to meet a week later to watch the final.

  When Lindon went to the bar a week later he arrived an hour early. He walked in and saw Chris talking to the barmaid, Zara. She was in her forties, but looked in her early thirties with bright blonde hair. Zara always treated Chris much better than the rest of the customers. The pair would talk for hours about their lives when no one was around. Lindon took a seat in the corner and left the two chatting back and forth at the bar without disturbing them. The game hadn’t started yet and Lindon could see that Chris liked Zara. Fifteen minutes passed and Lindon wrote down some plans for his lodge on a napkin.r />
  Suddenly he heard shouting and looked up to see Chris having an argument with two Russian men. They had been rude to Zara and Chris took exception to them. After a push and shove things got heated and suddenly six other Russian men had joined in. They were all from the same crew of a freighter docked a few miles away. The bar got regular visits from Norwegian, Finnish and Russian men who worked on the freighters as it was the only bar around. Chris could have taken on two men and in his prime would have most likely been able to put all eight of them on the deck. However in his 60s with one bad knee and another that had just been replaced he was going to get an beating and he knew it. But he wasn’t about to step down from a fight. It just wasn’t in the blood of any man from the SAS.

  Lindon didn’t want to come swooping in to Chris’s defense. He was a tough bastard who would rather get beaten up than have his dignity trampled on by being saved by a young gun American. So instead of rescuing Chris Lindon walked past casually as if to go to the toilet and deliberately bumped into the youngest and most arrogant of the men, starting another altercation. The men turned some of their attention to Lindon. Two minutes later Lindon and Chris were outside the bar. Bruises and cuts were shared but the eight Russians were lying in the snow, grimacing and groaning. Lindon and Chris returned to the bar and Zara had two beers waiting for them.

  Their friendship was cemented from that day forward. Chris knew what Lindon had done. In the months and years to come, both men spoke openly of their military experience and their lives. The two men could call a favor from one another any time of the day, any day of the year. Good friends were hard to find and Chris only made friends he could keep.

  Chris agreed to bring Lindon’s car to the marina before Lindon arrived and would make sure it was fully fueled for him.

  At 6.30am the next morning Lindon turned into the marina. Chris was standing next to a Land Rover Discovery. Every surface of the car was black. Lindon had modified the car extensively for off road use.

  “Dare I ask?” Chris said with a smile as he threw Lindon the key. His breath was visible in the cold air.

  “I think this is one of those stories for a quiet evening at the bar,” Lindon said as he jumped off the Nordak with a rope in his hand ready to tie a cleat hitch to secure the boat to the dock.

  “Say no more, she’s fueled and charged but running a little rough. I’d say the oil needs changing.” Chris looked at the Land Rover, then at Lindon who had finished tying a knot and was now adjusting to walking on dry land.

  “Noted. Thanks Chris. I hope I didn’t put you out too much.”

  “My sister is over with my two nephews and niece, who have spent the last three days whining that I don’t have Wi-Fi, you did me a favour.” Chris laughed.

  “Do you need a ride home?” Lindon asked.

  “No, I have my car, my sister followed me here last night in my car so I could leave yours here.”

  Lindon nodded. “Well, I owe you a drink, at least,” he said.

  “You would do the same for me. Are you going to be at the bar this week?” Chris asked whilst rubbing his short beard.

  “Actually I’m gonna be keeping a very low profile for the next couple of months. I probably won’t be around there until the spring,” Lindon said.

  “No problem, we’ll talk about it another time, when you do get chance give me a shout. The Superbowl is only a few months away!” Chris said with a smile.

  “Chris, in case I need you for anything, I guess you’re going to be around?” Lindon asked. Chris’s smiling cheeks lowered and he leaned forward to within a few inches of Lindon.

  “You put a call in anytime. I’ll be around if you need me my friend.” Chris turned towards his rusty old red Saab and began walking. “Oh and am I to assume you don’t want anyone knowing you’re here?” Chris asked.

  “Am I to assume that you don’t want your sister’s kids knowing you’ve got Wi-Fi?” Lindon answered.

  Chris smiled from ear to ear. “Well, a little technological separation is good for the soul.”

  Both men smiled. Lindon stretched out his hand and walked a few steps to Chris and they shook hands firmly.

  “You tell me if you need me,” Chris said as he got into his car and started the motor with a cough and splutter.

  Lindon nodded and smiled. Chris pulled out of the small gravel parking lot. It was still dark and the moon was clearly visible in the sky. Lindon got into the Land Rover. He had nicknamed the car “Beasty” due to its menacing looks.

  “Beasty” was an intimidating vehicle. Lindon had modified it to take him anywhere and everywhere. It was a 2015 Land Rover Discovery and top spec from the factory. The matt black paint was the beginning of Lindon’s modifications. The same color as reconnaissance aircraft, to help avoid bouncing back a radar signal, and the roof had thick long antennae protruding from it. A light bar was perched at the top of the windscreen to help with driving in the pitch black off road. The modifications were not just on the surface either. A reserve fuel tank meant Lindon could cover over 1,000 miles without stopping. There was a six-gallon water tank in the boot that could purify snow for drinking if needed. There was also a compartment holding an assault rifle, two handguns, and several rounds of ammunition, plus a few smoke grenades. The rear of the vehicle had been fitted with several features worthy of any spy film, including a smoke machine and spikes that could drop out to puncture chasing vehicles’ tyres. The standard six-cylinder diesel engine had been replaced with the V8 diesel engine out of a Range Rover and tuned to give more power. The vehicle squatted over its wheel arches that had been extended to accommodate new reinforced black rims and enormous off road tyres. The finishing touches were black metal guards over all the lights and front bumper and a snorkel air filter jutted out of the side and up to the top of the windscreen along the A pillar.

  Lindon pushed the starter button and the car lit up everything around it. The screens mounted on top of the dashboard flickered into life. Lindon strapped the seatbelt around him and relaxed. The lines across his forehead eased and his adrenaline stopped surging. He stared out of the thick bulletproof windows at the sea. Ahead of him on dry land was a tall hill. On the other side was the road that would take him to his lodge.

  The motor warbled as Lindon pulled out of dusty car park and the antennae on the roof searched for a signal. Lindon modified the car knowing that one day his life may depend on it and he was taking no chances. ‘Beasty’ could be driven practically anywhere, snow, desert, forest, dirt. It didn’t matter what terrain Lindon needed to traverse; it could do it. The V8 turbo diesel began running rough on the drive home. Lindon had plenty of parts back at his retreat. The roads were quiet and dark, just as Lindon hoped. He arrived near his lodge in the dark and quickly walked to his home and left all the lights off around him. He walked softly in the snow and looked around. No one was there. He had got away. He had done it.

  There was an old phone at the lodge. Lindon’s desire to lie low was immediately tested as he thought of calling Stephanie. Everything in Lindon’s home was dusty, including the phone. “No,” he whispered to himself.

  Lindon stood at the threshold; he threw a bag on the floor and went back outside, grabbing a folding metal chair from his porch as he walked towards the tall trees. He sat facing the road that was a few hundred feet away. The trees above him were topped by thick snow. He looked for lights in the distance. His paranoia of being followed wouldn’t allow him to fully accept that he had got away. Lindon’s eyes burned and the stubble on his face itched. After an hour in the woods, he still hadn’t seen another vehicle. He breathed in cold air, exhaling puffs of mist. Lindon turned his attention to the east. After a long night of darkness the sun’s glow on the horizon was a welcome sight.

  Chapter 32

  Christmas was just days away and Virginia state was facing strong winds and a storm. Trees swayed and power lines barely managed to hold on to their pylons but the weather was the last thing on James’s mind.

 
; It had been two weeks since his return from London and he had been working around the clock. Every second of camera footage from that night had been sent over by MI5. There were thousands of videos and so James’s team had concentrated on traffic cameras, hoping to spot Lindon in a cab or a bus. James had begun to obsess over every detail as he wanted to be the one to find Lindon and the director of the CIA was pouring more pressure on him with every day that passed.

  Bill had taken a different stance. He wanted Kioshi. Bill believed that as long as Lindon was alive Kioshi wasn’t a threat to the country, but if he managed to kill Lindon there would be nothing stopping him from terrorizing the United States. The president had grilled Roger upon his return and Roger had struggled to blame everyone else after attempting to take such a leading role in the operation to catch Lindon. The president’s frustration had grown when James and Bill both confided to him that Roger had been more of a hindrance than help. However after a few days presidential duties caught up with the Commander in Chief so Roger was back to his old ways and strutting around the White House making demands of anyone junior to him. Roger was not interested in tracking down Kioshi. He had only spoken to Bill once since their return whereas he had called James every day, much to James’s dismay.

  Warren had been allowed to return home but remained under close supervision. After several groveling text messages to his on-off girlfriend Alicia, she was talking to him again. Four Federal agents stayed at his home and two local police cars remained parked at both ends of the street. Bill called at least twice a day and had visited several times.