The Doctor Dines in Prague

by Robin Hathaway

  In the basement of the house, once again they heard the bell ringing faintly overhead. Ilsa cast a frightened look at Redik. “Police?”

  Redik paused, his teacup halfway to his mouth.

  They remained immobile.

  “I’ll go,” Jennifer said, brightly.

  Her words galvanized them. Ilsa started for the stairs. Carefully setting down his cup, Redik went after her.

  Feeling like the perennial sheep, Jennifer followed them.

  Upstairs, the previous ritual was repeated. Only, this time, it was Redik who opened the blinds a sliver and peered out. “It’s him.”

  Although he spoke in Czech, the meaning of his words was clear to Jennifer. The gloom was too thick for her to see if he turned pale. Who was the “him”? Did she dare hope … ?

  Ilsa came over and looked out. Turning quickly from the window, she said, “What now?”

  “Don’t answer,” said Redik.

  “What about him?” She nodded at the floor, referring to the other “him”—the one in the basement. “What if he dies?” She was becoming agitated. “We are responsible.” Her voice rose. “I never agreed to this!” she cried.

  “Quiet,” he snapped, glancing at Jennifer.

  “Don’t worry about her. She doesn’t understand anything. Americans are dunces. They speak only one language—English.”

  Redik was thinking hard. Finally he said, “Maybe we can work something out. I have something on him; he has something on me. Tit for tat.”

  Ilsa looked skeptical.

  The bell rang again.

  “Let him in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Ano,” he spoke sharply.

  In the end, Redik ran the show, Jennifer noted.

  Ilsa opened the door and went out to the gate.

  CHAPTER 45

  Mrs. Doyle disembarked from the plane, stood passively by while her belongings were ransacked, and presented her passport to the Czech official. (She looked a fright in that picture. She had hardly had time to comb her hair!) Clutching the address of the doctor’s cousins tightly in one gloved hand, she went to hunt up a cab.

  She realized that she was probably on a fool’s errand. If no one was at the apartment, how would she get in? She should have brought Horatio, she thought wryly. That unsuspecting youth had no idea how often his services were desired, and by how many.

  Mrs. Doyle was so preoccupied, she hardly noticed the scenery as she passed. She would look at it later, she told herself, when she didn’t have so much on her mind.

  The cab pulled up in front of a nice apartment building—all gray stone and green awnings. She carefully counted out the correct number of korunas. (Rafferty had exchanged enough cash into korunas to carry her for a few days.) “Wait for me, please,” she told the cab driver, never doubting that he understood English—which he did. He nodded and stayed put.

  Mrs. Doyle went into the foyer, found the apartment number, and pressed the buzzer. No answer. She pressed again. While she waited, the inner door opened and a man stepped out.

  “Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Doyle smiled pleasantly and stepped inside. The man looked surprised but let the door fall shut behind him. The hall was empty and silent. She sniffed, inhaling a mixture of scents; the residue of thousands of meals cooked by past and present residents. She padded down the hall until she came to number 1E. She tapped on the door. Nothing. She knocked louder. Still nothing. Although she hadn’t expected anyone to be there, she was deeply disappointed. She retraced her steps and got into the cab. She asked the driver to take her to a moderately priced hotel. The source of her daily travel funds was the office cashbox, and she had to be careful. She sat back, closed her eyes, and tried to think what to do next.

  CHAPTER 46

  Fenimore watched the front door of the Renaissance house intently. When it opened and Ilsa stepped out, he closed his eyes briefly. Why did it still surprise him when evil came in nice packages? Would he never learn? Remembering Pinocchio, he was amazed that her nose was still the same size.

  She came briskly up the path, but had the decency to avoid his eyes as she unlocked the gate. Neither spoke. What was there to say? He followed her back to the house.

  By the time they entered, Redik had relieved Jennifer of her paring knife. She had underestimated him. Because he was small, she had assumed he was also weak. He had taken the knife from her as if it were greased with butter. Now it was in his pocket and he held her arms behind her back in a strong grip.

  Taking in the situation, Fenimore grinned. “Hi, Jen.”

  “Hi!” She grinned back. Despite her awkward position she felt a warm flow of relief.

  Rattled by this nonchalant exchange, Ilsa’s eyes narrowed, her gaze sliding from one to the other.

  Redik, retaining his grasp on Jennifer, said to Fenimore, “As you Americans say, ‘Let’s make a deal.’”

  Fenimore stared, expressionless.

  “I will let your cousin go to the hospital, if …”

  Fenimore glanced at Jennifer.

  “He’s very ill,” she said.

  “ … if you promise to leave us alone. No police. No investigation. No retribution,” he finished.

  “Let her go,” Fenimore demanded.

  “Not until you agree to my proposition.” He gave her arms an extra twist.

  Jennifer winced.

  “So help me—” Fenimore started toward him.

  “Stop.” Ilsa stepped between them. “Let’s sit down and talk this over like civilized human beings. Come … .” As she turned, she tossed Fenimore a coquettish glance.

  Fenimore felt a surge of nausea.

  Redik shoved Jennifer toward the stairs, then nodded at Fenimore. “You two go first,” he said. Ilsa followed. And Redik brought up the rear. In the kitchen, there were only two chairs. Redik pushed Jennifer into one and stood behind her. He told Ilsa, “Take him to see his cousins.”

  She looked alarmed.

  “Do it.”

  She gestured for Fenimore to follow her.

  They weren’t gone long. When Fenimore came back, his face had lost its natural color and his expression was grim. “Where is the telephone?”

  “Have you decided?” Redik asked.

  Fenimore gave a curt nod.

  Jennifer looked away.

  Ilsa drew the cell phone from the drawer in the table and handed it to Fenimore. They all watched him dial the Czech equivalent of 911.

  While they waited for the ambulance to come, everyone was silent except Redik. He hummed an aria from The Magic Flute and stroked his cat. Everything was going his way.

  “Tomas Tuk,” Fenimore said, abruptly.

  Redik glanced up.

  Fenimore met his stare.

  Redik dropped the cat and gave it a mean shove with his foot.

  Fenimore relaxed. He had tipped the scale.

  While they waited in the kitchen for the ambulance, Fenimore decided it was time to get a few things straight. “Why did you kidnap my cousins?”

  Redik and Ilsa remained mute.

  “Was it for their knowledge of the cathedral and the secret passage to the crown jewels?”

  The pair appeared startled.

  “Speaking of that—where is the manuscript you stole?” For the first time, Fenimore looked directly at Ilsa. “You can have no use for it now.”

  With a jerk of his head, Redik indicated that Ilsa should bring the manuscript.

  She disappeared. Returning shortly, she handed it to Fenimore. A cursory look reassured him that it was unharmed. He tucked it under one arm.

  “Now I have a question,” Redik said.

  Fenimore waited.

  “Where was the child hiding?”

  Fenimore suppressed a smile. Remembering the Czech word for porcelain stove, he spoke it softly, “Kamna.”

  Their looks of dismay were worth all the hours he had spent with the Richard Scarry picture book.

  “We almost had her at the zoo!” Ilsa blurted. />
  Fenimore peered at her.

  “Hush!” Redik hissed.

  Earlier, when Ilsa had ushered Fenimore into the room where his cousins were confined, the first thing Anna had said to him was not “Thank God!” or “Help us!” but “Is Marie all right?” And he had been able to reassure her. Now he began to have doubts.

  The sound of an ambulance siren filled the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 47

  The house seemed strangely quiet after they had gone. Ilsa moved restlessly around the big living room. Finally settling at the piano, she picked out the same tune over and over with two fingers. She was still smarting from Fenimore’s look of disgust when she had smiled at him.

  Redik went to the closet and took out his favorite marionette—Charles IV—a shabbier version than the one he used at the theater. Also, an older version. It had been his puppet as a child, and his father’s and grandfather’s before him. In fact, it had been created by his great-grandfather, who had been a stonemason.

  He manipulated the strings deftly, making the emperor perform a little two-step on top of the piano.

  Without looking up, Ilsa said quietly, “Who is Tomas Tuk?”

  As if deaf, Redik continued to play with his puppet.

  Ilsa pressed her palm down sharply on the lower keys. The heavy, discordant notes vibrated through the house.

  When the sound petered out, Redik laid the puppet gently on the piano and took a seat beside Ilsa. He began to play a Mozart concerto. He played very well. When he finished, Ilsa laid a hand over his.

  He turned toward her. “Tomas Tuk is nothing to you.” He reached up and twisted a strand of her hair around his finger. “And Fenimore and his Mädchen will never leave Prague.”

  Ilsa’s eyebrows rose.

  “You need not be involved.” He let her hair uncurl and drew his finger down her cheek. “I know your sensibilities are too delicate … .”

  She pushed his hand away, and looked at him—as if for the first time.

  “Just leave it to me,” he said. “Prague will be ours!” He turned back to the keyboard. This time he played a vigorous German march.

  CHAPTER 48

  Horatio, Marie, and Mr. Nicholson were watching cartoons on the bookseller’s television set in his apartment over the store. Such colorful images had never graced his screen before. Black-and-white Hitchcock films and the lovely faces of Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman were what usually flickered there.

  As he watched, Mr. Nicholson couldn’t prevent an occasional ejaculation, such as, “Goodness!” “Mercy” or “My word!” But his companions seemed unmoved—or mesmerized.

  During a commercial break, Horatio said, “I wonder what they’re up to now.” He didn’t have to explain to whom he was referring. The Doctor, Jennifer, and Mrs. Doyle were foremost in all their minds.

  Mr. Nicholson glanced at his watch and did a swift calculation. “It’s seven P.M. here, so it must be one A.M. there. I imagine they’re sleeping peacefully.”

  “Mama and Papa, too?” asked Marie, out of the blue. She hadn’t mentioned her parents since she had arrived.

  Mr. Nicholson nodded gravely. “Mama and Papa, too.”

  Horatio cast him a quick glance. But the commercial break was over and the bookseller’s gaze was back on the screen.

  In a few hours they, too, would be sleeping peacefully. Mr. Nicholson in his own bed; Marie in Jennifer’s bed; and Horatio on the couch. His mother had given the boy permission to stay over, so he could baby-sit with Marie the next day while Mr. Nicholson ran the store. Mrs. Lopez knew her son would never get up early enough to be at the store when it opened.

  CHAPTER 49

  The hotel that the cab driver had picked out for Mrs. Doyle was modest, but neat and clean. The building had once been a convent, the brochure claimed. Here and there, reminders of its past peeked through the modern veneer. A marble statue, a wrought-iron railing, a Gothic window.

  After she had settled in—washed up, and put her few things away—she decided to call some of the other hotels and see if Jennifer was registered. Not for the first time, she wished Jennifer had left her address with someone at home. If not with Mrs. Doyle, at least with her father. Then again, she was probably in such a hurry, she forgot. But when Mrs. Doyle opened the phone book to “Hotels” she was daunted. There were so many, it would take her days to cover them all. And it would be just her luck to have Jennifer staying in one that began with Y or Z. She decided to start with the hospitals. There were only three of them. Maybe the doctor or Jennifer had met with an accident—God forbid. A good Catholic, she crossed herself.

  As she dialed, it occurred to her for the first time that language might be a problem. But it wasn’t. After she introduced herself, everyone seemed more than happy to speak English. For small blessings she was truly thankful.

  None of the three hospitals had a patient listed under the names of Nicholson or Fenimore. Doyle was torn between relief and disappointment. She had another idea. What was the doctor’s cousins’ name? She had heard it often enough. She racked her brain. It was like a sieve lately. She wished she had Horatio’s memory.

  She went to the window and looked down. People were strolling by with coats open and heads bare. The day must have grown balmy. What was the doctor’s cousin’s maiden name? She used it professionally. Mrs. Doyle had heard it often enough. She turned back to the room. B … She was sure it began with a B. She sat on the edge of the bed and leafed through the B’s in the phone book. Balik, Bosnik, Borovy … That’s it! And she knew his cousin’s first name was Anna. Mrs. Doyle began calling the hospitals once more.

  CHAPTER 50

  For the next twenty-four hours, Fenimore kept a close eye on Vlasta. He suffered severe chest pain after the slightest exertion, such as washing his face or brushing his teeth; it was only a small step from such symptoms to a major heart attack. Put very simply, Vlasta’s heart was not receiving enough blood. At least one of his arteries was blocked. Fenimore could not make a more specific diagnosis until he had an evaluation. This was what he had been arranging for Vlasta to have done in the States, before he and Anna had disappeared. At that time, Vlasta still had been able to go up a flight of stairs without discomfort. But his condition had worsened during the past few weeks. Thanks to Redik and Ilsa.

  The hospital reminded Fenimore of one in which he had interned in the 1970s. Their cardiology was of about the same vintage. He had to tell the doctors, the nurses, even the technicians what to do. Diplomatically, of course. It was a full-time job, with no time off for eating or sleeping.

  Jennifer hung around the hospital, supplying Fenimore with coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, and visiting with Anna when she was awake. Unlike her husband, Anna was not desperately ill. Suffering only from exhaustion and mental stress, she would probably be ready to leave the hospital after a few days’ rest. As soon as they were settled in the ambulance, Anna demanded to hear about Marie. Fenimore told her she was safe in America.

  “America?” She was flabbergasted. She had been told Marie was kidnapped—nothing more. Of course, as soon as they had thought Marie’s life was in danger, Anna and Vlasta had revealed their discovery of the hidden staircase and the secret door to the crown jewels. Soon afterwards, Ilsa learned that the crown jewels would be on display at the Coronation Ceremony, making them easily accessible. There was no longer any need for the manuscript that Ilsa had stolen.

  Fenimore explained to Anna the necessity of sending Marie out of the country and assured her that she was in good hands. He didn’t mention that he had been calling Mrs. Doyle in the States periodically to confirm this, but so far he had been unable to reach her. Shortly afterwards, Anna slipped into a deep sleep, the sleep of utter exhaustion. She slept for twelve hours. By the time she woke, Fenimore was able to give her more positive news about her husband. The medicines were working and he was resting comfortably. There was a possibility that he could fly to the States in a week or two. But Fenimore was still uneasy about
Marie. And where could Doyle be?

  Once, while paying for coffee in the hospital cafeteria, Jennifer found in the bottom of her purse the sheet of paper that she had confiscated from Redik’s basement.

  Sharing a rare coffee break with Fenimore, she spread the sheet out on the table and translated, in halting German:

  Manifesto

  I, Jan Redik,

  do swear to rule the Czech Republic and Prague

  —the Jewel in her Crown—

  with the same Wise and Beneficent hand as our Great and Good Ruler

  Emperor, Charles IV.

  Following in his footsteps, I will see that my people never want for

  Culture and Education

  or

  Shoes and Bread.

  Jan Redik

  When she finished, Fenimore made no comment. Either he was too exhausted to comprehend, or he thought it wasn’t worthy of his notice.

  Jennifer decided it was time to try out her conspiracy theory on him, complete with cell groups and subliminal puppet shows.

  “Hmm,” Fenimore mused. “Redik might be just crazy enough …” And that would explain why there was no reference to freedom or independence in that puppet show.

  “Don’t you see,” Jennifer pointed at the manifesto, “this proves Redik had a plan to take over the Czech Republic. He wanted to turn it into a benevolent dictatorship with himself at the helm, a modern-day Emperor Charles IV!”

  “And Ilsa?”

  “The Empress! Remember, I read you about Charles IV’s wife, who could bend a sword with her bare hands? With a little fitness instruction, Ilsa could probably fill that niche very nicely.”

  Jennifer thought Fenimore was warming to the idea, but his eyelids were drooping. She doubted if he could stay awake much longer. Taking matters into her own hands, she insisted that he go to her hotel room, which was nearby, and get some sleep. “You can be back in the hospital at a moment’s notice,” she told him. He finally agreed. Once in her room, he fell onto the bed and slept the sleep of the dead. A few hours later, Jennifer arrived and fell beside him.