by Mark A Pryor
Delia clung to Viktor’s arm, her dark, penetrating eyes shrouded with worry. “I don’t like this. Let’s get out of here.”
Viktor nodded. He searched for a break in the crowd, but the throng of protesters propelled them forward.
An hour ago, Viktor and Delia had been enjoying a music festival at Peace Square. Viktor’s father, a lieutenant in the federal police, had warned him not to go, claiming the festival was organized by anarchists. So, Viktor lied to him, saying he was taking Delia to see Titanic at the Old Town Theater. They were having fun, even when the bands stopped playing and the party moved to the streets.
Now, they were hemmed in by a gang of young men, raising their fists, shouting, “Reclaim the Streets,” and waving signs with slogans expressing the same sentiment. Some men marched with red and black flags, carrying a three-pronged symbol reminiscent of the Nazi swastika.
Most of the protesters were older than Viktor — bigger and taller. Despite the cool day, many were shirtless. Some tied handkerchiefs around their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed. They looked like bandits.
Viktor moved forward with the crowd, Delia in tow, when he spotted something. He turned to her and spoke loud enough to be heard. “The museum is up ahead.”
As they threaded their way through the mob, Delia cried out. “Leave me alone.” Her grip on Viktor’s arm tightened.
He stopped and looked back to see a tall man in a red ski mask holding Delia’s other arm, screaming at her. “Black swine! Gypsy whore!”
Viktor’s body stiffened, and his heart raced. He thinks she’s Roma — Gypsy. Actually, Delia was Greek, but her dark complexion must have drawn this man’s attention. They hate Roma. Two Czech men had killed a Roma woman a few months back. The story had been big news in all the papers — telling how those men assaulted her, then threw her into the river.
As the man in the ski mask continued his tirade, the crush of the crowd eased. People moved away from the confrontation, while continuing to march through the streets.
Viktor and Delia stood in the center of a small opening in the crowd, along with the man who towered over them, refusing to release her arm.
Delia struggled and screamed, while Viktor’s mind searched for a way out. Police sirens wailed in the distance. He doubted they’d arrive in time. He had learned a few Taekwondo moves, but he was only a novice.
Moving protectively close to Delia, Viktor faced her assailant. “Leave us alone. We don’t want trouble.”
Crooked, yellow teeth formed a smile that showed through a hole in the ski mask. The man reached into his pocket and fished out a knife — about twice the length of his hand. Click. The blade snapped open. He waved it in Delia’s face and pulled her closer with his other hand. “Get out of the way, boy. Your damn Gypsy whore isn’t worth it.”
Gotta do something. Viktor lifted his right knee and delivered a snap kick to the man’s groin, causing him to drop his knife and collapse, writhing in pain.
Someone grabbed Viktor from behind and held him in a bear hug.
Where’d he come from? Viktor shouted, “Run, Delia.” He struggled to free himself. Despite his attempts, the man at his back held him tighter.
As Delia ran off, the man with the yellow teeth grabbed his knife and stumbled uneasily to his feet. “Bastard!” He pointed the blade at Viktor’s face. “I see you met my brother. He seems to like you.”
Behind Viktor, a scornful laugh burst out. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
In front of Viktor, the yellow teeth smiled through the mask. “Gonna cut you, boy.”
Only one way to break this hold. Viktor twisted to the left. As the man at his back moved his right leg forward, Viktor twisted right again, and stomped his heel on the arch of the man’s foot.
With a howl and a curse, the man released his bear hug and shoved Viktor forward — directly toward the knife in the other man’s hand.
Viktor instinctively turned his face to the right. Shit! Too late.
Something slammed into his left temple. Everything went black.
****
Fifteen minutes earlier, Lieutenant Eduard Prazsky jumped into the passenger seat of the patrol car and buckled up. He knew the street party would turn violent. He was glad he had warned his son, Viktor, to stay away.
Josef Filipek, his new partner, started the engine and turned on the siren and flashing lights as he pulled into traffic. He glanced at Eduard “Wilsonova Street near the opera house. Ten minutes, maybe quicker.”
“There could be a lot of foot traffic in that area. You’d be better driving around—”
“I’ve been driving these streets for years, Lieutenant.” Josef kept his eyes on the road. “I can’t afford my own chauffeur, so I probably know my way around better than you do.”
Chauffeur. Eduard often heard comments like this, but it always made him uncomfortable. “If you want to request a different partner, that’s up to you. For now, let’s focus on the call.”
Josef glanced briefly at his partner and then back to the street, before turning the wheel sharply to the right. “Tell me. With all your money, why do you even bother to work? Can’t your friend, President Havel, find something more challenging for you to do?”
It was clear his partner wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, so Eduard decided to do the same. “I do this because I hate terrorists as much as you do. The Anarchists of the Black Trinity have been turning these street parties into violent riots all over Europe. They need to be stopped.”
Josef continued to speed through the streets and take sharp corners.
Eduard wanted to make this partnership work. They needed to communicate and trust each other. “Listen. I grew up with money and I know our president, but that doesn’t make me soft or ignorant. I also spent eight months in Kosovo clearing mines and hunting down war criminals … so, can you stop being an asshole, and start treating me as your partner?”
A smile appeared on Josef’s face. “I think you and I will get along just fine.”
The radio came to life with a woman’s voice. “Unit twenty-seven, this is base. Assist emergency medical responders heading to National Museum on Wilsonova Street.”
Josef made a hard-left turn and accelerated. He flipped a switch to trigger an urgent, wailing siren.
Eduard grabbed the microphone. “Base. Twenty-seven responding.”
“Affirmative, twenty-seven. Man down, possible stabbing. Assist with crowd control.”
An ambulance came into view from behind, pulling up close, tailgating their police vehicle. Up ahead, a crowd appeared as they approached Wilsonova.
Josef slowed down to avoid hitting any of the desperate crowd scurrying away in all directions, but he didn’t stop. He continued to move forward aggressively, forcing people out of the way.
Eduard took the microphone. “Base, this is twenty-seven. Arrived at Wilsonova. Will assist responders on foot.”
Josef stopped the car. The ambulance stopped directly behind.
Both officers donned their riot helmets and grabbed their radios and clubs. Eduard grabbed an air horn. They got out of the car and faced a moving sea of young people, marching down the street, most with faces covered and fists in the air.
Two emergency responders in solid blue jump suits rushed toward them from the ambulance, each carrying a red duffel bag. Two more followed, pushing a gurney on wheels.
The man in front shouted at Eduard. “You two lead the way. My partner and I will follow. Don’t worry about the gurney team. They’ll push their way through. We can’t let them slow us down.”
Eduard nodded to Josef and pressed noise-suppression plugs into his ears. He aimed the air horn forward and released a loud wailing blast. People moved away from the sound as quickly as the crowd allowed, while the four of them pushed into the empty space.
It took two more blasts before they reached a large opening near the museum. Ten meters away, a man lay on the street. A young couple stood in front of him, obscuring their view
. Eduard couldn’t tell if he was injured or dead.
The emergency responders rushed forward and knelt beside the victim.
The young couple ran over to Josef, both of them talking at once, saying something about two men wearing masks, an argument, a fight, and a knife.
Eduard glanced at the victim. He looked a bit like Viktor — even wore the same clothes — but the young man’s face was turned to the side. A pool of dark liquid stained the street. Then Eduard saw the knife, or rather the hilt. It stuck out of the man’s temple. It’s not Viktor. It can’t be. He went to the movies.
The team with the gurney arrived. All four of the emergency responders positioned themselves around the injured man, preparing to slide him on a backboard and lift him onto the gurney.
As they lifted the victim up, Eduard saw his face.
Oh, my God! Viktor!
Desperation
Chapter 2
1999 - Brno, Czech Republic
Nine months later, Eduard Prazsky sat beside his wife, Magda, in Doctor Logan’s office at the Moravia Fertility Clinic. The availability of discarded embryos made this the perfect location for Logan’s research.
Eduard brushed a stray lock of brown hair from his wife’s face and whispered, “I love you.” She looked so beautiful, so hopeful — so determined. A highly respected cardiologist, she had reached out to her American colleagues for advice on treating Viktor. One of them told her about the experimental use of stem cells. Before long, she came up with a plan.
Eduard had agreed with his wife, gambling their son’s future and his family fortune on the promises of Doctor Logan. All because of two violent degenerates, inspired by hate, who nearly killed his only child, Viktor. Those bastards should be dead—not just rotting in prison.
The doctor arrived and settled behind the desk facing them. “Good morning,” he said, speaking English with a strong Scottish accent. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
English. One more reason Eduard didn’t trust this man. Any doctor working in the Czech Republic should learn the language.
Despite his wife’s optimism, Eduard saw no progress. “What’s happening to Viktor? Why do the tumors keep coming back?”
Logan glanced briefly at Magda before focusing on Eduard. “I know this is frustrating, Mister Prazsky.” He leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the desk. “The stem cells we injected are creating new nerve cells in his brain, but sometimes they also create teratomas – tumors. This time there’s only one small tumor, and Doctor Kaplan will remove it with radiosurgery. No knife.”
“That’s what you told us last time,” Eduard said. “He’s not getting better. The stem cells are killing him.”
Doctor Logan ran his hand through his thinning hair. “We’re fortunate Viktor survived the attack. Even though the knife penetrated deeply into his brain, it didn’t affect any life-sustaining functions. Nevertheless, without these cell replacement treatments, he’ll be permanently disabled.”
It was true. Their son had been lucky — miraculously lucky. The doctors in Prague had brought him back from almost certain death. Eduard and his wife had called Viktor their phoenix — until the extent of his injuries became clear.
Magda held her husband’s hand on her lap and looked at him with her deep blue eyes. “Please, dear. It does no good to second-guess our decision.”
Eduard relaxed at her touch. He knew his wife understood this much better than him, even though it wasn’t her specialty. “I don’t know—”
Magda didn’t wait for him to finish. “We knew Viktor had no chance for a normal life unless we tried this. We took a gamble … a serious gamble. No one has ever done this before. Doctor Logan is taking a big risk with us. He could lose his license, even go to jail.”
“Your wife is right, Mister Prazsky. It’s still early in his treatment, and I believe this is working. But I can’t offer any guarantees.”
Eduard sat back in his chair and let out a breath. “I know you’re right, but this seems so ghoulish. Viktor just lies there, doesn’t open his eyes, and doesn’t respond when we talk to him. A few months ago, he was a normal teenager. He laughed. He played football.” Eduard choked back tears. “Our son doesn’t even smile.”
Magda squeezed her husband’s hand. “Doctor, we’re both worried about Viktor’s progress. How soon before we see some response? How many more treatments are required?”
“I plan to grow enough stem cells for two more treatments. I wish I could tell you how soon he’ll be responsive, but we are in uncharted territory here. There are no past cases to go on.”
The door opened, and the faint sound of yells and chants of an angry crowd interrupted their conversation. Most of the sounds were unintelligible, but two words stood out — ‘baby’ and ‘kill’.
A nurse stepped in. “Doctor Logan. There’s a rowdy group of people at the front desk demanding to talk to you. Shall I call the police?”
He looked at the nurse. “No, Dana. Tell them I’ll be right out.” Logan looked at the Prazskys. “Sorry for the interruption, but there are people who don’t approve of our work at the fertility clinic. This shouldn’t take long.” Logan left the Prazskys alone in his office.
Eduard turned to his wife. “Are we fooling ourselves? Does Viktor have a chance?”
Magda pulled a hanky from her purse and brushed it under her nose. “Our son doesn’t stand a chance without this treatment — none. Very few people understand stem cells, but Doctor Logan does. He’s the only one willing to treat Viktor.”
“It feels wrong. We’ve given him millions of crowns. Hundreds of millions. And we can’t tell anyone about the treatments, even though Viktor lies there lifeless. How do we know Logan’s not just swindling us?”
“I don’t think—”
A loud bang interrupted them.
“Gunfire!” Eduard said. “Quick. Behind the desk.”
Magda grabbed her husband’s arm and crouched beside him. “The door isn’t locked.” Her grip tightened. “They can get in here.”
Eduard nodded and started to rise.
Three more shots. Screams.
His wife pulled him down. “No! It’s not worth the risk. Stay here with me.”
Rapid footsteps approached. Maybe only one person, certainly not a crowd.
Dana flung open the door. “Doctor Prazsky!”
Magda poked her head above the desk. “What happened?”
Dana’s voice shook as she rocked from one foot to the other. “Doctor Logan’s been shot. I think he’s dead.”
“Where’s the shooter?” Eduard asked, moving from behind the desk.
Dana started to cry. “Everyone ran away … Please help him.”
Magda ran toward the door.
Eduard followed her.
****
The following afternoon in their hotel room, Magda dropped the phone and collapsed on the couch. She didn’t sleep last night. Doctor Logan was dead. The police had questioned everybody in the clinic, and they asked more questions this morning. Then she pleaded over the phone with Doctor Kaplan at the clinic.
She turned to her husband, tears in her eyes. “Viktor’s treatments are over.”
Eduard sat beside her and held her hand. “How can they do that? Didn’t Logan train anyone?”
“He didn’t share his research or methods with anyone. He was afraid he’d be arrested for treating Viktor.”
“What about Doctor Kaplan?”
To Magda, this was obvious, but her husband wasn’t a doctor. “Kaplan is a neurosurgeon. He doesn’t know anything about stem cells.”
“He knows what Logan was doing, doesn’t he?”
“He claims he has no idea.” Magda let out a sigh and shook her head. “He’s full of shit. He knows what was going on, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know.”
“Can’t we force him to help Viktor? Would money help?”
Magda stood up and hugged him. Her husband was used to solving problems with money, but she
knew it wouldn’t work this time. “He can’t help.” Then she broke down and wept.
Eduard held her until the tears stopped, then brushed the hair from her face and kissed her.
Grateful for the loving support of her husband, she looked into his dark eyes. “You don’t understand, do you?”
He shook his head.
Magda looked down at her feet. “Doctor Kaplan can’t give Viktor the treatments. No one can.” Slowly, she raised her head and stared at the ceiling, tilting her head slightly.
“What are you thinking?” Eduard asked. “I recognize that look.”
A weak smile formed on her face. She paced around the room slowly, rubbing her neck. Finally, she sat in a chair. “He’s already had five treatments. That might be enough.”
“You really think so? Why isn’t he better?”
“If Viktor’s body has accepted enough stem cells, they’re already creating new neurons.”
“What do we do now? Just sit around and wait for him to get better?”
“Let’s get Doctor Kaplan to remove this tumor, then we can take Viktor back to Prague. I work with several doctors who can deal with teratomas. Logan said he’s still at risk. If any tumors appear, the doctors in Prague can remove them.”
“Don’t they need to know about stem cells?”
“No, they don’t. Besides, this treatment isn’t approved for clinical trials. We could get in trouble.”
As a police officer, Eduard knew the risk. “You’re right. I think we should keep this a secret … forever.”
Madrid
Chapter 3
2004 - Alcalá, Spain
Even though the cell replacement treatments ended five years ago, Viktor’s health and quality of life steadily improved. It was truly a miracle, one worthy of celebration, but behind it all was a secret that could ruin his family. His parents paid for an illegal medical procedure. They broke the law.