The Prague Mission
A Black Swan Division Short Story – Declan & Meg Origin Story
©2024 Misty Evans
Prague, Czech Republic
The safe house smelled of mildew and old wood, and the air felt cold enough to bite.
Meg adjusted her earpiece as she glanced at the peeling wallpaper and the single, dim lightbulb swaying from the ceiling.
Conrad Flynn’s Black Swan Division was new, but Meg had worked too many off-the-books operations to expect luxury. She’d chosen this life and built this team, and she intended to prove its worth.
The door creaked behind her, and in walked Declan Reid. His broad frame filled the narrow doorway, his sharp eyes immediately scanning the room before landing on her. “Nice digs,” he said, his voice carrying a rasp that grated on her nerves. Or maybe it wasn’t the rasp—maybe it was just him.
She turned, crossing her arms. “You ready to get to work?”
He stepped further inside, letting the door shut behind him. “I’m always ready. Question is, do you want me to follow orders, or am I allowed to point out holes in your plan?”
Meg’s jaw tightened, and she forced herself to stay detached. That’s what good leaders did—they listened and adjusted on the fly. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”
Declan smirked. He pulled a chair from the rickety table and dropped into it, one leg stretched out lazily. “The market handoff,” he began. “We’re out in the open with no control over the environment. There’s no way to guarantee the scientist won’t bolt—or worse, that we won’t be ambushed.”
Seriously? “You think I haven’t accounted for that?”
“I think you’re smart,” he said, leaning back. “But I also think you’re banking too much on her being rational. People in her situation rarely are.”
“Dr. Borodin wants out,” Meg countered. “She contacted us. She knows the risks and the stakes.” Stealing this scientist out from under the Russians was no easy task, but the doctor had been briefed and grilled. She was solid. Meg had made sure of it.
“Doesn’t mean she won’t panic.” He leaned forward, his expression hardening. “When she does, what’s our backup?” The intensity of his gaze caught her off guard, but she refused to blink first. “We adapt,” she said coolly. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To see how I handle things?”
A brief silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken challenge. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m your second in command. It’s my job to drill holes in your plan and make sure you come up with better ones. Options. Backup plans.”
She smiled back. And then gave him details for her Plan B, Plan C, and Plan Holy Shit.
___
The bustling market was a sea of bodies and noise. Brightly colored stalls spilled into the cobblestone streets, vendors shouting over one another to hawk their wares. The smell of roasted chestnuts mingled with that of fresh bread and diesel fumes from nearby delivery trucks.
Meg kept her posture relaxed, blending seamlessly with the crowd as she moved toward the rendezvous point. Her earpiece buzzed faintly with Declan’s voice. “See her yet?” he asked. He wasn’t one for formalities. For some reason, that bugged her.
“No, Swan Two. Not yet,” she murmured, her eyes scanning for the scientist. Jessica Menoza and Spencer Sterling were the other operatives picked for her team. Seeing each of them in their assigned places gave her a sense of calm. “And stop checking in every five seconds. You’re going to blow our cover. Swan One, out.”
Spence snorted in her ear. “Gotcha there, Swan Two.”
Meg could imagine Dec’s eye roll. “I’m doing my job,” he replied. “You see the guy at the coffee stand? Tan jacket, gray scarf?”
She glanced in that direction. “What about him?”
“He’s clocked you twice. Might be nothing, but—”
“Then don’t make it something,” she interrupted. Before he could respond, she caught sight of Dr. Yelena Borodin.
The woman was petite, with a nervous energy that made her stand out even in the crowd. She clutched a worn leather bag to her chest, her eyes darting like a rabbit sensing a wolf. Dr. Yelena Borodin had valuable intelligence on a new cyberweapon her country was building under her guidance. After a failed attempt on her life by the very people in charge of the project, she decided to get out.
Defecting to the States was at the top of her bucket list, and the Pentagon was desperate to get hold of the weapon’s plans and keep them out of the hands of rival nations.
Defecting from Russia was liable to cause big problems for the U.S. War-starting problems.
Conrad Flynn, the director of Operations, had called up the swans for the extraction—their first official mission.
Meg tried not to focus on why he thought the Black Swan Division would be needed. Her team was named such because a black swan event was considered unpredictable beyond what was typically expected of a situation. It had potentially severe consequences. Black swan events were characterized by their extreme rarity, severe impact, and the widespread insistence they were obvious in hindsight.
Unfortunately, Borodin was being guarded by mercenaries hired by a private security firm. Meg suspected the same firm had been responsible for the failed hit. Now, the scientist was on the run, and the swans timeline for her extraction had been moved up. “I’ve got her,” Meg said into her mic.
“Copy that.” Dec was all business now. “I’ve got your six, Swan One.”
Why did it sound dirty coming from his lips?
Meg approached Borodin slowly, her hands visible, her movements deliberate. “What a lovely day,” she said. “Did you get your scarf at one of the stalls?”
The scientist’s eyes snapped to her, wide with fear. “Are you—”
“The brown dog bites hard.” It was a pre-established code, so each party knew the other was who they claimed to be.
“You should get another,” the scientist replied, spot on. Even though Meg had proven her credentials and the scientist had requested asylum, Borodin hugged herself. “I’m sorry. I think… I think I’ve made a mistake.”
Meg plastered on a reassuring smile and lowered her voice. “Not if you want to live. You’re out of time. If we don’t leave now, they’ll find you.”
Borodin hesitated, hugging herself tighter. “I don’t want to die.”
“Then come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
But before Meg could lead her away, a sharp crack echoed through the market. Screams followed as the crowd panicked, recognizing the sound of a rifle and surging in all directions.
“Meg, move!” Declan’s voice barked in her ear.
Spence and Jessie were already taking up positions to spot the shooter and return fire.
Meg grabbed Borodin’s arm and shoved her toward a nearby alley.
Another shot rang out. Meg felt the air shift as a bullet whizzed past her ear.
Declan appeared at the mouth of the alley, his gun drawn. “Go!” he shouted, covering their retreat.
Indeed—he did have her six.
The next thing she knew, he was in sync with her as she hustled the doctor into a connecting street. Not stopping her but matching her movements.
A bullet whizzed dangerously close—and suddenly, he was pressing her against a wall, his body shielding hers completely.
Their faces were inches apart. His heartbeat thundered against her chest. For a moment, the mission disappeared.
Then reality crashed back.
The doctor.
Cowering near a dumpster, she began to sob. “I’m going to die!”
As one, Meg and Declan reached for her, pulling her to her feet. “Not today,” Dec said.
___
Even as they reached the safe house, Meg’s adrenaline was still spiking. She slammed the door shut and turned on Declan, Spence, and Jessica. “What the hell happened back there?”
“Your friend in the tan jacket wasn’t just a looky-loo,” Declan said, checking the windows. He’d ordered Spence and Jessie to set up a perimeter around the place and stand watch, but Meg insisted on a quick debrief first.
“FSB, most likely,” Jessie said.
“They had the place staked out,” Spence added.
“Not just FSB,” Meg said, clamping down on her anger. “The security firm. They all had eyes on the doctor and we knew that. What happened to our decoy? They were supposed to follow her.”
“Told you, you should have let me do it,” Jessie said.
Meg firmed her lips so she wouldn’t yell at her. Jessie was more than an operative—she was a friend. A good one, too. They’d survived the CIA’s Farm together. Stronger bonds couldn’t be made.
“I did mention this could happen,” Declan said. “Right between Plan C and Plan Holy Shit. You insisted the decoy would work.”
Meg opened her mouth to retort, but Borodin’s quiet sobs cut through the tension. She turned to the scientist, who had collapsed onto the couch, her face buried in her hands. “It’s okay,” Meg said, softening her tone. “You’re safe now.”
“For how long?” Borodin whispered. Meg hesitated, and Declan stepped in.
“Long enough to get you out of here,” he said. “We’ve got a plan.”
Meg shot him a glance, but kept further comment to herself as Borodin seemed to draw strength from his confidence.
“Thank you,” the scientist whispered.
After the doctor was calm and had a glass of wine in her hand, Meg pulled Declan aside. It took every ounce of humility she had, but she admitted the truth. “You were right.”
He didn’t act superior but seemed pleased at her admission. “Jessie wasn’t the answer. We needed her eyes on the market and us. The decoy failed, but not because of your call to keep Jessie with us.”
She appreciated that. “I agree.” She glanced toward the doctor. “At least she’s safe.”
___
The plan unraveled again when their safe house was compromised. A late-night ambush forced them into the streets of Prague, racing through its twisting alleys and shadowed courtyards.
Not only had the decoy failed to lead their attackers away—she’d been a traitor who divulged their location.
Declan led the way. Meg followed, covering their rear while Borodin stumbled between them. Meg has sent Spence and Jessie to locate a car and meet them at a designated drop point. She, Borodin, and Dec reached Charles Bridge, and Meg scanned the area for any sign of them.
Cars, vans, and trucks crossed back and forth, but none stopped. Dec scouted ahead, and returned, his face set with grim determination. “Take her and go,” he said.
“What?” she hissed.
“Enemy approaching from the east. I’ll draw them off. You get her to the extraction point.”
“No,” she snapped. She grabbed his arm. To stop him? Yes. To simply hold on to him? Maybe.
“We’re not splitting up.”
“You said we adapt,” he reminded her. There was something else in his eyes. Something deeper. Trust.
Before she could argue, he sprinted toward the approaching operatives, firing as he went.
Meg cursed him mentally but didn’t waste time. She grabbed Borodin and hauled her toward the other end of the bridge.
___
Hours later, at the extraction point in a remote field, Declan stumbled out of the tree line, bloodied but alive.
“You look like hell,” Meg said, though her voice betrayed a note of relief.
“Thanks for noticing.” He collapsed into a seat in the helo. “I took care of the mercenaries. Their bodies won’t turn up any time soon. It will buy Flynn and the Pentagon some time.”
She wanted to say more—to thank him, to admit what his selflessness meant to her—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she handed him a bottle of water and sat beside him. A wound on his arm was bleeding profusely. She went to work, staunching the flow and bandaging it with a piece of material that she tore off the bottom of her shirt.
Even when he was patched up, her hands lingered on his arm longer than necessary.
Their first mission together. A successful one at that. This Black Swan thing might work out after all.
Especially with him by her side. He play-punched her arm. “You did good, boss.”
Across the aisle, Spence winked at her. Jessie nodded.
The helo lifted off and Dr. Borodin clasped her hands in front of her chest as a gesture of gratitude. The relief in her smile made everything worth it.
Meg smiled back. This was her team. They were going to do great things. Save people. Keep their country safe. Stop wars. She was responsible for them.
And the man sitting next to her? He was going to challenge her at every turn. S
he was pretty sure she would hate every minute of it. Or maybe love it. She slid on her headphones. “Thanks,” she said, the microphone allowing the others to hear her. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“To the Swans,” Jessie said, lifting a fake glass.
“To the Swans,” Spence and Dec echoed.
Dec elbowed her. She lifted her own fake glass. “To the Swans,” she repeated, and allowed a sense of pride swell in her chest.