The Barista’s Guide to Espionage

by Dave Sinclair

  She dove under the nearest table and covered her head with her hands. Angelis was dead and she’d soon join him.

  Who the hell were these men? They didn’t act like Harry’s security force, she doubted they’d kill a man in front of her. Then who?

  Eva had never been so petrified in her life. She could see Angelis’ gun lying on the floor about three metres away, but froze in fear. Even if she wasn’t petrified, there was no way she could take down three heavily armed attackers. All that training wasted.

  Heavy boots clomped their way towards her. Eva shook her head. She wasn’t one to pray, but wished with all her might to be somewhere, anywhere else. Her fists balled. No. If she was going to die she’d go out swinging.

  The table she cowered under was kicked away. She glanced up to see an Uzi aimed at her. The figure held a finger to his ear, and in thickly-accented English, said, “Target acquired.”

  His fingers flexed on the trigger. The hot barrel burned into her temple.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eva heard a small pop. A tiny one. Then another. A fraction of a second later the assassin’s head burst apart. One second he had a face, the next it was gone. His lifeless husk collapsed to the floor like a marionette with cut strings.

  She raised her head and witnessed another gunman fall. At the door a lone dark figure rushed towards her, gun raised.

  “Are you injured?”

  “No, I’m…I’m okay.”

  “How many are there?” Bishop shouted, his gun sweeping the room.

  “Three.”

  Bishop crouched. “Bollocks.”

  A shadow crept into the doorway where Bishop had been and Eva gasped. She needn’t have bothered. It was Paul. A gun in her friend’s hand seemed so unnatural, so otherworldly that she had a hard time believing it. It was like seeing your grandmother in a sex dungeon – it didn’t connect. The way he held himself, it wasn’t natural for Paul either.

  Without a word or even a gesture exchanged, the two took a side of the dining hall each, their guns scanning the room. Eva slid across the floor until she reached Angelis’ gun. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the grip, she was more secure, less fearful. And, most importantly, enabled to exact vengeance.

  Scurrying footsteps echoed from the end of the room Paul and Bishop had come through. The assassin leapt through the door as it was peppered with gunfire from the two. They were too slow, he made it through without being hit. Bishop ran after him.

  Paul knelt beside her. “You’re unhurt?”

  “Angelis, he’s…”

  “I saw. Evie, are you alright?”

  “But your friend…”

  “Will be mourned later. The last thing he’d want is for us to sit around lamenting his passing and being shot in the goolies. He’d say, ‘get your lazy arses moving’. He was an awfully practical bastard. Now come on.”

  Paul wrenched her from the floor and virtually flung her towards the exit. She shook him off and retrieved her backpack. She slipped it on as Paul propelled her onward. They paused at the door. She felt sick.

  Bishop bounded in breathlessly. “Not that way.”

  Eva snuck a glimpse around the door. The foyer was filled with balaclava-clad assassins. There must have been at least eight of them, all of their guns trained on the three of them. Paul and Bishop fired indiscriminately, causing the attackers to dive for cover. It would slow them, but there was no way it would be enough to stop so many.

  Paul checked his magazine and nodded at Eva. “Take her out through the kitchen, I’ll cover you.”

  Bishop shook his head. “You go with her, she’s your friend.”

  “And because she’s my friend, she’s going with you.” Paul sneered grimly. “I’m not a field man, never have been. If she’s going to survive this, she goes with you.” He fired four times. The shots were wild and poorly aimed. His grip was all wrong and he winced every time he pulled the trigger. Paul was right, he was no field man. “That’s final. Call it an order if it makes you feel better.”

  “Do I get a say in this?” she asked indignantly.

  Paul grinned, more genuinely this time. “No, you really don’t.” His big bear arm wrapped around her in a lopsided hug. “I love you Evie. Now fuck off.”

  She was prepared to protest the point, but Bishop had other ideas. “You heard the man.”

  He pulled Eva to her feet. As Bishop dragged her away, she struggled and broke free of his grip. His hand clasped her arm again, harder this time. “The longer we wait, the more likely everyone will die. Do you want to distract Paul in the middle of a firefight? Operatives are on the way, they’ll come in from behind, opening a new front. He’ll be okay, Eva. But if you stay, you’ll place Paul between them and you, and by the looks of it you’re what they really want. They had no issue with murdering a Station Chief to get to you, so the sooner we get you out, the sooner Paul will be safe. So you need to move. Now.”

  Her body sagged as she realised she wouldn’t be winning the argument. Bishop tossed Paul a magazine and led the way.

  With a grimace, Bishop said, “Just like old times.”

  Paul snorted. “I hated the old times. Go.”

  They ran towards the kitchen and she took one last glance at Paul. He fired single shots, deliberate, focussed. She doubted she’d ever see him again. The thought almost paralysed her, but Bishop pushed her on. Eva wanted to be sick. How could she leave her friend behind like that? As if reading her mind, her companion positively carried her away. She swallowed hard, fighting the wave of tears forming. Eva wondered what she’d say to her best friend. How could you apologise for causing the death of someone’s husband?

  Bishop and Eva slammed their backs to the wall on either side of the kitchen door.

  He nodded towards the gun in her hand. “Safety off?”

  “Never went on.”

  “Good girl.” He winked. “Stay close to my gorgeous arse and you’ll be fine.”

  From the far end of the room there was a series of shouts and an escalation in gunfire. Bishop shoved her through the door.

  Smoke filled the kitchen. Pans billowed vile black vapour, food burning unattended. At the first sound of gunfire the staff probably scrambled out leaving everything to burn on stovetops.

  They crouched their way to the only door at the far end of the galley. Their guns were held at torso height, ready.

  Sunlight shone under the door frame. Without preamble, Bishop kicked the door open and leapt into the void. No gunfire. He aimed his weapon at every window, corner and rooftop. He seemed pleased enough to jerk his head for her to follow.

  The thin cobblestone alleyway was quiet enough, but Eva knew they were far from safe. Bishop raised his gun and yelled, “Down!” He fired three shots at the rooftop. It was a distinct pattern. He’d taught her the technique. One head, followed by two heart. Brutal. Effective.

  A body fell in the alleyway with a stomach-churning thud. Bishop scanned the rooftop for more. “We need to get out of here.” His gun raked the skyline. “We’re sitting ducks wearing t-shirts sponsored by Target.”

  She tugged his sleeve and pointed to the only thing in the laneway. “Over there, the little Skoda 130.”

  Bishop shook his head. “No keys.”

  Eva rolled her eyes. She sprinted to the rusting once-yellow car. She rested her back on the driver’s side window and in one swift movement used her elbow to smash the glass. She opened the door and shook off her backpack. From the front pocket she pulled out a flick knife and threw the backpack into the back seat. She deftly pried open the steering column cover and pushed aside two of the three bundles of wires. With the remaining bundle she cut the red battery wire then the brown. She sheared two centimetres of plastic off both and twisted them together. The radio came on and she turned it off. She then cut and stripped the blue wire. She sparked it against the exposed battery wire and the engine roared to life.

  She unlocked the passenger door for Bishop. “Come on Gorgeous Arse,
get in.”

  He slid into the passenger side. “We didn’t teach you that.”

  “You’re right, but I’m sure you didn’t get all your unlawful skills from MI6.”

  Eva put the car in gear and released the handbrake.

  Downcast, Bishop said, “Well, I did actually.”

  A shake of her head. “You guys seriously need to expand your hiring practices.”

  Bishop’s eyes darted between her and the steering wheel. “Maybe I should drive.”

  Eva sneered. “Why, because I’m a girl?”

  “No, it’s, ah, I did a course.”

  “A half-day defensive driver’s course has nothing on me, baby.”

  She put her foot down. The pre-end of the Cold War Skoda sped along the alleyway and Bishop’s hand fumbled for the grab handle. When they reached the road, Eva wrenched the wheel and narrowly missed two black Humvees bowling down the street. She didn’t exactly know where she was headed, but she was getting there in a hurry.

  During her preparation for the mission she’d managed to commit a map of Prague to memory, but with adrenaline pumping she found it hard to translate actual streets to map references. To clear her mind and put herself slightly more at ease, she asked, “What car colour would you call this? Diarrhoea yellow?”

  Bishop ignored her and used his mobile. It went unanswered and he punched the dash. Eva glanced in her rear-view mirror and spat, “Jizzlobsters.”

  “What?”

  “You remember ages ago when we passed those Hummers?”

  “Like, two seconds ago?”

  “Yeah, then. They, ah, seem to be chasing us.”

  Bishop’s head whipped around and saw the black monoliths careening towards them. “Shit.”

  “Mine was better.”

  Bishop opened the glove box and pulled out an old folding map. She didn’t need the help. Able to get her bearings she had a firmer idea of what street they were on.

  She planted her foot to the floor and the engine gave her everything it had. The car screeched in protest wanting to be placed into fifth but she needed the torque. She took the next corner at speed, taking a solid racing line. The car held firm. At least the tyres had adequate grip. Especially in the post-storm wet.

  She made a small amount of ground on their pursuers. Either the drivers of the Hummers were too tentative or inexperienced. Either way, Eva needed to choose a route with the most corners if they were going to have any chance outrunning them. Given the state of the elderly car, it seemed a stretch.

  They still had no idea who had killed Angelis and why they were after her. All she knew was they weren’t altogether too friendly. But who? Then an odd thought struck her. There was one way she could exclude Harry from being part of this.

  Bishop gazed up from the map and pointed forward. “Keep heading west, we can meet up with the secondary team at–”

  Yanking the wheel the car did a sharp turn onto a smaller street. She narrowly missed a fallen branch from the night’s storm.

  “What the hell are you doing? Go west!”

  Eva concentrated on her driving so could only imagine the expression she was receiving. She gulped as she narrowly scraped through the gap between a parked car and another coming the other way. “We’ll head west, but I have to make a minor detour first.”

  “There’s no time for sightseeing.”

  She glanced at the rear-view mirror. Both Hummers slowed to get past the parked car, but soon made up for lost ground. The vehicles were impractical for Prague’s ancient winding streets. She had to assume they were American. Brute strength versus practicality.

  Eva was giving it everything she had, but they would close the gap soon enough. Distant cracks could be heard over the howling engine. The car shook as it was pockmarked with gunfire. Bishop wound down his window and returned fire.

  With his head halfway out the window, he yelled, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “As much as I always do.”

  The two exchanged glances. Bishop regarded her in horror. Eva tried to appear as adorable as possible.

  She tore the wheel and careened towards her objective. With a crash the rear window was shot out. Bishop fired again then collapsed into the passenger seat.

  “Gave up?”

  “Out of bullets.”

  “No buwets?” Eva said in her best Bugs Bunny voice.

  Bishop stared at her blankly.

  “You seriously need to…,” she barely missed a tram that had stopped to pick up passengers, “…work on your pop culture references.” Once the car had straightened, she held up Angelis’ gun. “Want mine?”

  “No point. Armoured. We’ll need it when they catch up to us. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Bishop leaned into the back seat and rummaged around. Eva approached a roundabout knowing she’d lose precious ground.

  Her eyes flicked to Bishop. “What have we got?”

  “The best defensive weapons we have is a tennis racquet, several strings missing. A small ball-pein hammer for thumb-sized terrorists and this.” He held up an ancient fire extinguisher. “Not sure why you’d need it in a car. It looks more suited to putting out a fire on a ye olde paddle steamer.”

  She’d hit the roundabout too fast. They barely missed hitting a tourist bus and bumped the lip of the roundabout, the left side of the car lifted into the air. It landed with a sickening thump, but lost little momentum. Eva hit the accelerator.

  She peered behind as the Hummers careened into the intersection. The first connected savagely with the rear of a painter’s van which sent ladders and paint flying. The second Hummer overtook it but smashed a Citroën out of the way. It still managed to gain on them. The first Hummer re-entered the fray close behind. Heedless of the carnage the two Hummers were closing in.

  Eva wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I’ll tell you why they need a fire extinguisher.” She heaved the wheel and entered Smetanovo nábreží, the roadway that ran alongside the Vltava River. “Because this Skoda has all the safety features of a piñata.”

  The Vltava of today was completely different to the serene river from the day before. The storm surge had seen to that. The river was fast flowing, chaotic and dangerous. She could sympathise.

  Before them, the road opened up. There were no longer any turns. The Hummers were gaining. Fast. They couldn’t outrun them. They would be on top of them before they reached the nearest turn off.

  Eva pressed the accelerator so hard she was surprised her foot didn’t go through the ancient car’s floor.

  “If they want to ride my arse so hard…” they darted around a slow moving BMW, “…the least they could do is pull my hair.”

  In acknowledgement of their current dire predicament, Bishop didn’t respond. Her mind raced for options, but could only come up with one. And it wasn’t great.

  There was a slight bend in the road ahead. Over the sound of the increasingly strained engine, she yelled at Bishop, “Toss the extinguisher into the middle of the street.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  “But why?”

  “Throw it out the fucking window, Bishop!”

  Bishop did as he was told.

  There was a loud clang as the fire extinguisher hit the asphalt. Eva took her foot off the accelerator, turned the wheel sharply and yanked the handbrake. Before the tail of the car slid out she stepped on the accelerator. The car spun in a circle on the wet road. She grabbed Angelis’ pistol.

  The extinguisher tumbled end over end. The Humvees zoomed towards them. In an instant the world slowed. Eva held the wheel firm and as the car spun she aimed at the extinguisher and fired two shots. She missed. The car revolved. The extinguisher rolled. The Hummers closed. On the next pass she fired two more shots. One hit. The extinguisher erupted in an explosion of white powder.

  She tapped the brake, whirled the steering wheel in the opposite direction and hit the accelerator. Bishop bounced off the passenger door with
an, “oof!”

  Behind her, she watched as one of the Hummers emerged, roaring through the thick white fog. Too late to notice the bend in the road. The driver hit the brakes in an attempt to correct his trajectory but the second paint-splattered Humvee hurtled through the fog and rear-ended it.

  The first vehicle, propelled by the second, crashed through the low railing and leapt over it. The Hummer flew in the air momentarily until it splashed into the ferociously flowing Vltava River.

  The second Humvee smashed into a light pole and bounced violently backwards. She doubted it could continue the chase but wasn’t hanging around to find out.

  Eva drove on.

  Dazed, Bishop said, “That’s seriously some of the best driving I’ve ever seen.” He paused. A wry grin crossed his lips. “From a girl.”

  She squinted. “If this thing had an ejector seat…”

  Bishop flashed his baby blues. He touched his scalp and winced at the blood from a small wound. “Where exactly are we headed?”

  “Here.”

  The Skoda turned a corner into the old part of Prague. She slowed as they approached the Old Town Square.

  Bishop’s face was confused. “Why are we…?” Then he got it. “Oh, Eva, you don’t need to…”

  “I need to know, Bishop. I need to.”

  Near the centre of the square was the huge Jan Hus statue. Due to the weather, it was more or less deserted. But not quite. In front of the memorial was a lone figure. He was dressed, as agreed, in a white trench coat. He seemed to be scanning every passing car, assessing the occupants.

  She couldn’t help it, an enormous wave of relief swept over her. Harry was there. Waiting. If he was waiting then he didn’t send the armed men after her. They weren’t his. Who they were could be answered another day, but all Eva cared about was that Harry wasn’t responsible.

  She couldn’t be sure, but Bishop may have actually growled. “Keep moving, we can’t stop here.”

  “I know.” Eva was guilty for feeling so relieved about Harry. She felt even worse that Bishop had seen it and knew her dirty little secret.

  If she wanted, she could still meet Harry. She had her backpack, after all. But none of the MI6 agents would be in place. They were incapable of nabbing him. Would that really be so bad? Her traitorous mind whispered.