by David Khara
“And why did she faint? I mean, you’re a charming guy and all, but this isn’t the kind of gal who swoons so easily.” Eytan gave the doctor a wink.
“Don’t underestimate my powers of seduction, Eytan,” the doctor countered. “I actually don’t know why she passed out. I’m waiting to get the test results back. I’ll give you an update as soon as I find out.”
“Thanks, Avi.”
“Yeah, well, anyway, I was glad to learn you’ll be transferring her out of here.”
Eytan rubbed his forehead. He was embarrassed to tell Avi his real reason for being there. “I’m here to free her, actually,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Avi asked, confused.
“I didn’t come here to transfer her, but to free her.”
The doctor took a deep breath before throwing his arms in the air.
“This story’s getting better and better! I love the intelligence service. If only you knew how its incomprehensible manipulations keep me going each and every day. Oh, and I guess there’s no point in giving you any shit about your new cripple walk… I noticed your leg.”
“You’re such a pain.” Eytan sneered.
“You know that’s why you love me.”
They arrived at a large door guarded by two heavily armed men. Avi stayed back.
“Alone,” Eytan ordered the guards, who were about to follow him into the room.
The small space looked like a prison cell, with cement-block walls and a lone barred window. Elena, wearing blue pajamas, was seated in a chair at a small rectangular table. She was handcuffed.
“Hello, Elena.”
“Morg, if you’ve come here for information, spare yourself the effort. I’ll die before I say anything.” Giving him a hateful look, she brought her hands to her mouth and fingered her injured lip. “Enjoy your little victory parade while it lasts.”
“Do you rehearse these quips in front of a mirror at night, or does this crap come naturally?”
She scowled, and Eytan knew he had struck a chord. He sat down in front of her. “Why did you have to torture those four men before killing them?”
“We were just play fighting. Then the security guard came at me with his gun. It wasn’t difficult to get his weapon. I thought I’d add to the fun by shooting out the lights. Long story short, I lost the gun, but not before he lost the use of a leg. In the end, they all lost their lives. All’s fair in love and war. Isn’t that what they say?”
“Wow, and I thought I was a hard-ass.”
“You would have done the same.”
“I don’t kill in cold blood.”
“Such compassion.”
“Or fair play. It depends on your point of view.”
“Did you come here to teach me semantics or give me a lesson on morality? In either case, you’re wasting your breath. You won. I didn’t. Nothing else matters. So get on with it if you—”
Eytan interrupted the would-be long-winded speech. “I have good news and bad news. For me, it’s all bad news. That alone should make you happy.”
“Make me happy? We’ll see about that. But I’m curious to know where this is going.”
“The good news: I’m freeing you. The bad: it’s so we can work together.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll leave the explanation to one of your pals,” Eytan said as he pulled out his cell phone. He punched the speaker option and placed it on the table. It rang a few times before a voice responded.
“Mr. Morg, what news do you have for me?”
“I’m with Elena. She can hear you.”
“Hello, my dear. How are you doing?”
Elena sat up straight in her chair.
“Cypher?”
“I understand your surprise, dear, but there’s no time for gushing. You’ll have to settle for listening to and following my instructions.”
“Yes, sir.”
She leaned forward, her cuffed hands stretched out on the table. Eytan was soaking up her body language. She was a star student glued to her favorite teacher’s every word. So this woman, who was harder than stone, was actually capable of acting obediently. How intriguing.
“We’re dealing with an emergency. I’ve called on Mr. Morg for help, and you’re to work together. He’ll explain the rest.”
“All right,” Elena said. Eytan could see the confusion on her face.
“Now this applies to both of you: set aside your differences for the time being. Mr. Morg is aware of the consequences, but Elena, I’m expecting an equal amount of cooperation from you.”
“You can depend on me, sir,” she said.
“I would expect nothing less. Good luck to both of you.”
Eytan ended the call and twirled the phone in his fingers before putting it back in his pocket. A long silence set in. He fixed his sharp gaze on Elena’s dark eyes.
“Well, there you have it,” he said. “As you can see, we’re both screwed.”
“Agreed.”
“Your clothes are in the next room. Our plane to Prague leaves in an hour. I’ll fill you in on the details during the flight.”
“Why are you following Cypher’s orders?” the woman asked.
“I could ask you the same question.”
She slid her palms over the table.
“I see. Neither one of us is going to cave.”
“Nope. This is shitty for the both of us, but we have to deal with it. Just to get things straight, I’m your superior in this operation. You do as I say and when I say. As for your equipment, I’ll give it to you once we’ve arrived. You’ll have no weapons or means of communication unless I decide otherwise. If you’d still like to eliminate me, you’ll have the pleasure of trying to do so once we’ve completed this mission.”
“Sounds good to me. I don’t have to kill you today. Tomorrow will work just as well.”
“Great,” he said.
He motioned to Elena to hold up her shackled wrists, and he unlocked the handcuffs with the key Avi had given him. But just as the cuffs were springing apart, Elena stood and knocked Eytan against the wall. With her right forearm, she pinned his neck against the cement blocks. She used her left hand to dig into his wounded thigh. For the second time, Eytan felt the killer’s breath against his face. The first time was during their encounter at the BCI facility. Only now, Jeremy wasn’t there to save him.
Her jaw tight, she upped the pressure on his neck. “I’m very tempted…”
She released him.
“But I’m a good girl. If Cypher wants us to work together, so be it.”
Eytan wouldn’t be caught like that again. Through the whole confrontation, his look had remained impassive. He knew his refusal to react had disappointed her. He walked to the other side of the cell and opened the door as if nothing had happened.
She passed by him, and they headed toward the next room.
“You’re welcome to take a shower if you want. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Be on time.”
The woman went into the room where her clothes awaited her. Eytan checked his watch. The prospect of having to fly yet again was ticking him off.
He spotted Avi Lafner coming down the hallway.
“Ready for your flight?” the doctor asked.
Eytan gave him a frustrated look.
“You don’t look too excited about going back to Prague,” his friend said.
“It’s been a tough week.”
CHAPTER 12
Prague, that same night
Branislav was hyped. Holding a cup of scalding tea, he paced the living room of the apartment outside the capital that he shared with his wife, Lucie. Shaken by the day’s events, he knew falling asleep would be impossible. Never in a million years could he have imagined himself at the wrong end of military machine guns (or on the right side, for that matter). Nor could he wrap his head around all those bodies or the mysterious knight in shining armor. Nope, there’s no way I’ll be finding my Zen tonight, Branislav thought. Worse yet, he stil
l hadn’t talked with his parents. He tried calling them one more time but once again got the automated message. “Your call cannot be completed yada yada.”
He threw the phone on the couch before collapsing into it himself. Even though things had been chilly between Lucie and him, and he had been sleeping on the futon in the spare room, he liked having her around. Now, however, he was glad she was working on location for two days, on a made-for-television movie. “At least she won’t be involved in this god-awful mess,” he said and sighed.
Branislav placed his cup on the coffee table and rubbed his skull. In the past, he had been irritated by all the time she spent on film sets, but everything was different now. If she’d give him the chance and if there was even the smallest glimmer of hope for their marriage, he’d stop wasting energy on inconsequential things. It’s the fool’s curse, he thought bitterly. Why is it that you can’t appreciate what you have until everything goes to hell?
Two in the morning. Another pot of tea. He decided to put his faith in chamomile. He needed to calm down and think. Maybe with a cup or two, he could even get some sleep.
He had become completely paranoid on his drive back to Prague. He could hardly take his eyes off the rearview mirror. Were people pursuing him? He even considered hiding out in a hotel room for a few days before returning to his apartment. But who would be trying to find him? Three guys had seen his name and address, but they weren’t a problem now. Only God and that strange bald motorcyclist knew where their bodies were stashed. As for the police blocking the road, he hadn’t given them any reason to take down his license-plate number. After reviewing everything, he decided to dismiss his concerns.
It’s good to be careful, but let’s not go overboard, he told himself. He’d give it until the morning—just to make sure he was safe—then hit the newsroom with this.
Shadows animated by the headlights of passing cars danced on the living room walls. Branislav lit a cigarette and went into the spare room. At this hour, even the floral-patterned futon looked inviting. He lay down and fell under the trance of his smoke rings as they pirouetted in the air and vanished before reaching the ceiling. After a few more puffs he crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray. And as his questions grew murkier, his ideas less precise, and the room less present, Branislav drifted into a heavy sleep.
A shrill buzz pierced his dream. “I just got to sleep,” he muttered as he opened an eye. But it wasn’t dark anymore. The light coming from the windows felt blinding. It was too soon for that much sun. Now the noise of the cell phone next to him was hurting his ears. He answered the call just before it went to voice mail.
“Bran? Are you all right?”
“Mom?”
“Where are you, dear? Your father and I have been worried sick.”
He stood up with a great deal of effort. The wheels were back in motion. He headed toward the kitchen to wet his dry throat with some much-needed coffee.
“I’m at the apartment. I tried calling yesterday, but—”
“You weren’t caught in the wildfire?” his mother asked.
“Wildfire?” He had to be half-asleep still. What wildfire?
“You didn’t hear?”
“Um, no. What are you talking about?”
“A huge forest fire broke out late yesterday afternoon. The roads were closed, and the telephone lines were down until this morning. We were so scared that you—”
“No, Mom, I’m fine. The police officers made me turn around, and I couldn’t get hold of you. So what happened? Did you have to evacuate?”
“No, the firefighters got it under control. Two of them came by earlier to tell us we have nothing to worry about. But on TV, they’re saying the neighboring village was completely wiped out. Can you believe it?”
“Mom, I have to run to the office. I’ll call you back when I have more information. Worst-case scenario, take Dad’s boat and go to the other side of the lake if the flames are close. Okay?”
“You know your father. He’s already taken care of everything if we have to leave.”
“Give him a hug for me. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
“Talk later, dear. And give Lucie my love.”
Branislav ended the call and went into the living room to turn on the TV. He clicked the remote to the news channel where he had gotten his start as a journalist. Horrific images came up. Planes were flying above the forest he had known so well. They were showering monstrous flames with tons of fire retardant. An impressive number of firefighters had spent the entire night battling the blaze, according to the reporter.
A scroll bar at the bottom of the screen relayed news of the fiery destruction of the small village. All the residents had lost their lives.
Branislav couldn’t believe his eyes—or his ears. His reporter’s instincts egged him on. The fire was a cover-up for what he had witnessed the day before. They were using the scorched-earth strategy.
Half an hour later, after a hot shower, Branislav was feeling reinvigorated. He rushed to his car and headed to the paper. A story like this could catapult him out of the professional rut he was in. He was tired of covering the same old sporting events. This could be his big break. But he needed more information. He had to put the pieces together. He knew what had happened to him, and he had seen the village himself. But what had caused this bizarre event? He had to keep his wits. Only yesterday, he had been staring death in the face. What personal perils would he be risking by taking on this story? That giant, Eytan, had warned him not to say a word about it, but now that it was on the news, it must be okay.
Playful heckling greeted him in the newsroom. He had made up an excuse for cutting his vacation short: an unfinished story about an obscure soccer club had been nagging at him, and he couldn’t enjoy his time off until it was done. The reporters covering the Pardubice fire were paying no attention. The fire would be filling many pages of the next day’s paper, and there was much news to gather. Three veterans were heading up the team. They were shooting off one phone call after another in search of the facts. A reporter and a photographer had been dispatched to the scene to conduct interviews with firefighters and eyewitnesses. The palpable tension in the newsroom discouraged Branislav from asking questions.
He sat down at his desk, took out the sandwich that would serve as his lunch, and logged onto his computer. He read the wire stories and those filed by his paper’s reporters. They all contained intriguing information. Or intriguing misinformation. He would have to do his own research. A wizard behind the curtain—perhaps more than one wizard—was doing his best to make people believe something that wasn’t real. And Branislav knew exactly where to start.
At about three in the afternoon, the news channel sent out a report announcing the firefighters’ victory over the disaster. The area where the fire originated would continue to be closed off. The cause of the blaze still hadn’t been determined, although there was speculation that it was fireworks-related. The exact number of fatalities still wasn’t known.
Branislav’s curiosity and determination were in high gear. Answers to initial queries e-mailed to the paper’s regular informants started flooding in. The reporter had been careful not to reveal the reason for his questions. After the previous day’s death scare, he was in no rush to draw unwanted attention. The smallest misstep could alert the government, the military, or other secretive authorities. Certain habits tied to the Czech Republic’s complicated past were still very much alive. If any doubt remained about that, this somber affair was clear proof.
Branislav was focusing on voter records for the village where the massacre had taken place. Most of the people on the list were retirees, but one puzzling name stood out. When the phone rang, he didn’t bother to take his eyes off the document to pick up the receiver.
The melodious voice of Svetlana, the receptionist, flowed through the line. “Bran, there’s a package for you at the front desk.”
“What is it?” Branislav asked, uneasy.
“It’
s a camera with an envelope. Are you coming down, or should I bring them up to you?”
The journalist was silent.
“Bran, are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Who dropped them off?”
“A big guy with waxed eyebrows. Kind of stocky but not bad looking. If he’s a friend of yours, feel free to slip him my number.”
“I’ll think about it. That would be great if you could bring them up to me. I’m swamped right now.”
“Okay.”
In his excitement to solve the mystery, Branislav had almost forgotten about his camera. Actually, he had half hoped that his rescuer would forget about it. Seeing how easily and brutally the man had eliminated those three commandos was disturbing, to say the least. Clearly, it was best to stay on this guy’s good side.
Svetlana showed up moments later, drawing the usual lustful looks. As she handed Branislav the camera and accompanying letter, she gave him a flirtatious smile. The receptionist’s visits to the newsroom had the ability to cheer up the male reporters on even their worst days.
Branislav plugged his digital camera into his computer. He was both surprised and relieved to see that it worked smoothly. Even more shocking, all his pictures were still there. Taking a closer look, he saw an additional folder in the list of thumbnails. A double-click later, and the image of a bistro appeared on the screen. And this wasn’t just any bistro. It was the small joint across the street from the newspaper. The time at which the picture was taken revealed the photographer’s intentions: five minutes before Svetlana’s call.
The envelope contained a short note with an obscure message: “Print photo DSC_081. Large format.” He transferred the indicated image onto a thumb drive and made the requested print.
Branislav collected all the papers scattered across his desk and put them in a plastic folder. He disconnected the camera, threw on his jacket, and jetted out of the office. Against all logic, he was going to RSVP this rather unusual invitation. He just didn’t know if he was confusing wishful thinking with a death wish.
CHAPTER 13