Lucas set five more devices on the other pylons. When that was done, he swam two hundred meters and surfaced in the shadow of a catamaran. Hearing returned. Hawser lines creaked and the moon reflected off the white fiberglass hull in dim flashes as it gently rode the waves. Lucas paddled over to the ladder and hauled himself up.
Eric was waiting for him on the stern with a towel in one hand and a phone in the other.
“Who is it?” Randall wanted to know. He seated himself on the gunwale, worked off his fins, pulled off the mask, and shrugged out of the harness. The tank settled on the deck with a gentle clank.
Eric covered the receiver with one hand. “It’s the old man.”
Lucas reached for the phone. “What is it?”
“I’ve been calling,” Keiser said.
“I’ve been busy,” Lucas fired back. “What so important?”
Keiser said, “I don’t pay you to be smart.”
“You pay me to do what you and all your money men can’t,” Lucas told him.
“Exactly,” said Keiser. “And so far, you’ve failed to do it.”
Lucas stood up and gazed out over the Adriatic to the dim shadow of the torpedo factory thrusting out over the black waters. The abandoned launch house was just visible in the light from the moon. The charges attached to the supports would bring the whole structure crashing down into the waves at the push of a button. Lucas’s face worked into a frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone in Czech military intelligence has been asking questions about you. A man by the name of Miklos Dvorak. My sources tell me he served with the Cermákova woman. I thought she had been dealt with?”
“She was.”
“Well, somebody’s asking questions. If they connect you to Cermákova, they might tie it back to me. That would destroy everything we’ve been working toward.”
“You’re on an open line,” Lucas warned.
Eric got Lucas’s attention and questioned him with a look.
Lucas held up a finger. He said, “If someone is looking in to me, they’ve already started making connections. This might be a problem.”
“I pay you to solve problems, Randall, not make them. This is your mess. Clean it up. And this time, I want proof the job is done.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better, or I’ll find your replacement.”
The line went dead.
Lucas turned back to Eric. “We’ve got a problem. Someone in Czech intel is asking questions.”
Eric cursed. “What are we going to do?”
“Find out everything you can about a guy named Miklos Dvorak. Then round up half a dozen men and book transportation to Prague.”
“I told you we never should have gone after Fellows,” Eric said. “I’m beginning to think this whole thing was a mistake.”
“Hey!” Lucas grabbed his lapel and gave him a hard shake. “It’s too late to back out.”
“This is getting out of hand,” Eric said. “Now we’re going to kill Czech intel officers? Did you ever stop to consider what happens after? What happens when it’s done and Keiser has no more use for us?”
“Just get it done,” Lucas told him.
Eric didn’t look happy about ordering another murder but took out his phone and dialed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the time Nelson woke up from his nap, Noble had him loaded into the front seat of the Crown Vic—no easy task—and a length of rubber hose fed in to the passenger window from to the tailpipe. He was using duct tape to seal the gaps when Nelson moaned and shifted in the seat. His face pinched. One hand went up to ward off an invisible blow. His lips moved, but an unintelligible jumble spilled out. The Crown Vic, meanwhile, was slowly filling with poisonous fumes.
Noble had disabled the starter and closed up the shop. The Czechoslovakian wolf dog sat on his haunches, rope leash still around his neck, panting. Nelson finally got his thoughts in order and his eyes sprang open. He looked around and spotted the hose wedged in the passenger side window. A choking cough wracked his chest. He went for the door, desperate to escape before inhaling any more deadly gas. The dog let out a deep growl and batted the driver’s side door with both paws, leaving marks in the paint.
Nelson let go and lunged across the seat, meaning to pile out the other side, but the wolf dog scrabbled around the shop floor to intercept him. Nelson tried again for the driver’s side. This time the dog bounded onto the hood of the Cadillac and growled at Nelson through the glass.
“Come on, man!” Nelson screamed. “Call off the dog! Let me out!”
“Not until you tell me what I want to know,” Noble said. “And you’d better talk fast. You won’t last long breathing in that exhaust.”
“I just fix cars.” Nelson turned on the air conditioning, switched it to outside air, and put his mouth to the vents. It would buy him more time. Not much, but he was grasping at straws.
Noble said, “You’re the middleman for an assassin who spent the last several years operating out of South Africa. I want to know where to find her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nelson shook his head and coughed. The air in the Cadillac was getting hazy. “I’m just a mechanic. I swear.”
“Sure you are,” Noble said. “And I’m Liberace. What’s her name? Where do I find her?”
“I don’t know anything about any assassins.”
Noble said, “Nelson, the fumes cause irreversible brain damage long before you pass out. A few more minutes and you’ll start losing cognitive function. Want to spend the rest of your life pissing yourself?”
“Please!” he begged. “Let me out!”
“Start talking, Nelson.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Where is she going?”
He shook his head. “She’ll kill me.”
“The fumes will get you first,” Noble said. “Or should I open the door and let Cujo here do his thing?”
The dog stood on the hood, his teeth bared and his ears flat against his skull. He gave a deep growl, daring Nelson to get out of the car.
Noble said, “You’re going to start getting sleepy, Nelson. That’s the beginning of the end.”
He was coughing so hard he could barely talk. “She’s Czech! She’s probably headed back there.”
Noble leaned on the hood and crossed his arms over his chest. “I already know she’s Czech. You’re going to have to do better than that. Give me something I can work with.”
Nelson hunched over and coughed up a line of yellow mucus. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coveralls. Noble could tell he was doing some fast thinking. Finally he choked out, “Her father lives in Prague. She sends him money every month. That’s all I know.”
Noble took a tight hold on the leash before opening the driver’s side door. Nelson spilled out onto the shop floor, vomited and rolled onto his back, gasping for air. The wolf dog strained against the rope, but Noble held fast.
“Got a name?” Noble asked.
“Just Lizabeth …” Nelson had to stop and cough up more bile. He wiped his mouth and said, “That’s all she ever went by. Call the dog off, please.”
“Alright, Nelson.” Noble patted the animal’s head and made shushing noises. “If it turns out you’re lying—or Lizabeth finds out I’m coming—me and my dog are gonna come back here. And next time, he’ll be hungry. Understood?”
Nelson nodded and palmed tears from his eyes.
Noble hauled the bay door up, yanked the dog outside and coaxed the beast back into the pickup. He had to pump the gas a few times but the engine finally turned over. Noble took out his phone and dialed as he backed out of the parking space. The wolf dog licked his chops a few times, then lay down on the seat with his head in Noble’s lap.
Gwen picked up after two rings.
Noble said, “Go secure.”
There was a series of clicks and Gwen came back on the line. “Is everything alright?”
“That’s likely to be a long list,” Gwen said.
“Eliminate anybody with known whereabouts,” Noble said. “It’s a start.”
“Okay,” Gwen said. “We’re on it.”
“Any luck on P. Arthur Fellows?”
“Nothing yet,” said Gwen. “But he was investigating everything from tax fraud to money laundering and we haven’t even been though all the files yet.”
Noble said, “I’m going to need a flight to Prague. Nothing commercial. I’m carrying hardware.”
“I’m on it.”
“One more thing,” Noble said.
“What’s that?”
“Pull up a list of reputable kennels in Joburg.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ezra and Gwen were running on Red Bull and ramen. Being the only two analysts on the operation meant working round the clock and sleeping in shifts. They had smuggled a sofa in from an empty office down the hall and wedged it into a corner of the situation room. Neither analyst knew it, but it was the same ratty sofa Matthew Burke had used to sneak naps on. All they knew was that it smelled like armpit and was comfortable despite the fact that it sagged in the middle.
Gwen was at her computer, scrolling through lists of Czech Army personnel who had first names that started with E or L. She narrowed the pool down to anyone born between ’80 and ’90 with fathers still living in the Czech Republic, which left over seventeen hundred names. After that, she worked on eliminating anyone with a known address. It was slow, tedious work. The Czech Republic is part of the European Union and EU citizens cross borders like Americans change socks. It makes keeping tabs on individuals difficult if not impossible. Many of the soldiers who serve in the Czech military leave when their tour of duty is up and move to other EU nations with better prospects and job opportunities. Others disappear into the vast criminal underworld that ranges across Europe, the Middle East, and Asia, all of which made looking for the assassin like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Gwen took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger.
Ezra was stretched out on the sofa, breathing deeply in his sleep. It wasn’t quite snoring, but it would be when he got a little older and a little heavier. A packet of papers was balanced on his chest. More were stacked on the floor. Notes were scribbled in the margins. Ezra had been going through P. Arthur Fellows’s case files, looking for anything that might be worth killing over. So far he had found a whole lot of nothing.
Gwen watched him sleep. She was conflicted. She owed him big time and she knew he wanted more—she had always known—but she hadn’t been able to admit it until Coughlin tried to run her off the highway and kill her. Ezra had saved her life that day and he was there for her while she recovered. He had barely left her bedside. He smuggled in burgers when she got sick of hospital food and even ripped a copy of the latest Marvel movie. One night shortly after the premier, Ezra had arrived with his laptop and a tub of popcorn. They had watched it together, crammed side by side on her little hospital bed. It was sweet and heroic and Gwen had started to see Ezra in a whole new light. She had been confined to a hospital bed and Ezra had been her whole world. For a little while, she thought she was falling for him.
Once she got back to work, those feelings quickly fizzled. Ezra was her best friend but, no matter how hard she tired, Gwen couldn’t summon up any romantic feelings for him. And she did try. The problem was, Gwen felt like she owed him. She felt Ezra expected some kind of return on his investment—which put a lot of pressure on the situation and made everything awkward.
The worse part was, Gwen knew she should be happy with Ezra. He was a good guy with a good job. And it’s not like she had many options. The guys she usually fell for didn’t spare a second glance at nerdy girls in Coke-bottle glasses. Guys like Jake Noble went for girls like Samantha Gunn. Sometimes Gwen told herself to just settle, but that wasn’t fair to either of them.
She sighed and went back to work. The list of potentials didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. She reached for a can of warm Red Bull and had it halfway to her mouth when a notation next to one of the names caught her attention. Gwen clicked the file and read.
“I found her!”
Ezra grunted in his sleep. “Five more minutes.”
“Ezra, wake up,” Gwen said. “I found her.”
He came awake with a snort. The sheaf of papers slid off his chest and onto the floor with a flop. “Whazzat?”
“I found the assassin,” Gwen told him.
He pushed himself off the couch and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “How’d you go through all those files so fast?”
“We aren’t the only ones looking for her,” Gwen said. “She’s wanted for murder in the Czech Republic.”
Ezra looked fully awake now. He said, “We should have singled out anyone with a criminal record. We’d have been done ages ago.”
Gwen agreed with a nod.
“Should we tell Wizard?”
Gwen didn’t know if it was day or night. Without windows, her circadian rhythm was thrown completely off. She had to check her computer for the time. It was 3:15 a.m. Wizard was home in bed. “No sense waking him up,” Gwen said. “We still don’t know why someone would want P. Arthur Fellows dead or who paid to have him killed.”
Some quick mental calculations told her it was just after nine in the morning Prague time. She said, “Noble’s plane should have landed.”
She reached for the phone. Noble picked up after two rings.
“Goodman speaking.”
“Good news, boss. You know that specialist you were looking for? Well, I found her.”
“Go secure,” Noble said.
Gwen mashed the button on the phone and had to wait while the Company computers encrypted the line and ran a feedback loop to detect anyone listening in. A moment later she said, “We found her. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s her. We haven’t finished going through the list of possibles. It will take another couple of hours to eliminate people with known addresses and we still haven’t—”
“What have you got?” Noble cut her off.
“Oh, right, uh …” Gwen pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Name: Eliška Cermákova. Born 1986. Only child. Mother deceased. Father disabled. Eliška joined the Czech military at the age of seventeen. She did four years as a weapons specialist before being recruited into the vojenské zpravodajství. That’s Czech for—”
“Military intelligence,” Noble finished for her. “What makes you think this is our girl?”
“She’s wanted in connection with the murder of a Russian diplomat,” Gwen said. “She had spent three years with the VZ, where she specialized in covert operations, then disappeared while on assignment. The vojenské zpravodajství thought she was dead. Six months later, her DNA turned up on the murdered Russian. Looks like she went into business for herself. That’s got to be our assassin. What do you think?”
“It walks like a duck and quacks like a duck.”
Gwen’s face pinched. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“It’s something my mother always says,” Noble explained. “If it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, it must be a duck.”
“Oh.” Gwen smiled. “I get it now.”
“You said the father is disabled?”
Gwen consulted the file. “That’s right.”
“Got an address?”
“Hold on.” She rapped keys and read off an address in the heart of Prague.
“Thanks,” Noble said and hung up.
Gwen put the receiver back on the cradle. “He’s not much for small talk.”
“Did I hear something about ducks?” Ezra asked. He had been leaning over her shoulder and caught most of the co
nversation.
Gwen said, “It’s something his mother says. Ducks waddle and quack, so if something waddles and quacks, it must be a duck.”
Ezra only looked confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Gwen waved it off. “Never mind. We ID’d the assassin. Now we just need to figure out why someone would pay to have Fellows killed.”
“Why bother?” Ezra said. “Noble will probably beat it out of her.”
Gwen gave him a flat look. “Wizard will be here in a couple of hours. Wouldn’t it be nice to have this all wrapped up in a neat little bow?”
“If it means I can go home and go to bed,” Ezra said.
She pointed to the thickest case file. It was two and a half inches of single-spaced type. “Pass me that one.”
“Feeling lucky?” Ezra asked.
“Finding the assassin got my adrenaline pumping,” she told him. It was true, uncovering the identity of the assassin had given her a shot of energy. She felt fully awake for the first time in forty-eight hours but she knew the excitement wouldn’t last. She flipped to the first page of the report and said, “Might as well put that extra energy to good use.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noble was behind the wheel of a dark blue Škoda, watching a crumbling six-floor walkup built in the bleak Soviet style. Piotr Cermákova lived in a rundown neighborhood south of Wenceslas Square. The residents were mostly retirees and blue-collar workers. If the assassin was in Prague, she’d show up at Daddy’s sooner or later. Noble had parked three doors down with his bumper facing away from the grim concrete pillbox and he used the rearview to keep an eye on the front of the building.
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