Run for Home

by Dan Latus

  ‘So what is the problem?’ Lenka asked when both waitresses had moved away.

  ‘You know what I do?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. Like us, you keep an eye on the Russians.’

  ‘Yes, the bloody Russians!’ he said with a sigh and a shake of the head. ‘How many of their agents are here in Prague these days?’

  ‘At the last count?’

  ‘To the nearest thousand,’ he said with a smile.

  She chuckled. ‘They have been reluctant to let my country go. I think they have more agents here now than ever.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe they just like it here.’

  He watched her draw on her cigarette and waited for her to cough, remembering how it used to be for him in the mornings when he was a smoker.

  She cleared her throat and stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette.

  ‘I should give up,’ she said ruefully, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand.

  He kept his thoughts on that subject to himself.

  ‘Parliament was shocked the other year,’ she said, ‘when for the first time the minister described the situation with Russian agents in his annual report on the security service. He admitted there were more now than ever.’

  ‘I remember. We thought then that something might be done about it, once it was out in the open. But it wasn’t, was it?’

  She shook her head. ‘What could we do? We just live with it – and with them. They’re everywhere. As with you, in London. Maybe it’s better this way, better than how it used to be. I don’t know.’

  Maybe it was. He didn’t know either. This had always been a country where the intelligence services watched each other, and made contact and arranged deals when necessary. It wasn’t neutral territory, like Austria. More of a common stomping ground. But that wasn’t his concern right now.

  ‘My unit has been wiped out,’ he said, leaning forward.

  Her brow wrinkled in a query.

  ‘Unit 89, as it was called – after the big convulsions in this part of the world. Eliminated. I’m the only survivor, and I don’t know how long that will last.’

  She stared at him. ‘What do you mean, Harry?’

  He told her. Everything. He told her about the safe house, the regular meetings, the care they took, and the massacre he had discovered a few days ago.

  ‘It’s worse than you might think,’ he added wearily. ‘The Russians didn’t do the killing.’

  She listened with a grim face as he told her what he had observed and about the efforts made to hunt him down since then.

  ‘It is incredible,’ she said when he was finished.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ He shook his head and added bitterly, ‘It took me a while to get used to it.’

  ‘But you came back here?’

  ‘Here is where it started. Here is where I’ve been for many years. The explanation has to be here, somewhere. That’s what I was hoping you might be able to help me with.’

  She shook her head. ‘I know nothing about any of this, Harry. I don’t even know if the bodies of your colleagues have been found yet.’

  He gave her the address of the safe house, but warned that the bodies might have been removed in a clear-up operation.

  ‘What were you working on?’ she asked. ‘At the time, I mean. Anything special?’

  He shook his head. ‘I certainly wasn’t. Routine stuff, basically. Tracking. Keeping an eye on the agents we knew about. The usual.’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary? No warning signs?’

  ‘Nothing. To be honest, I’ve been wondering for some time why we bother any more. It’s all so routine. It might have been important in the past, but these days. …’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘I was hoping you. …’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘But now I must go. I have a meeting to attend.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘I’m moving around. I don’t feel I can afford to stay anywhere for long.’

  She reached into her bag, took out a pen and scribbled an address on a piece of paper. ‘Stay there,’ she said. ‘It is safe.’

  ‘Officially safe?’ he asked dubiously.

  ‘No, not that. It is a building owned by a friend. Give him my name, and ask for accommodation. I will come this evening.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Take care, Harry,’ she said, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek.

  He stayed where he was, watching her through the window until she boarded a tram that would take her into the city centre. She knew nothing, apparently. He wondered why he had thought she might. And he wondered again if he could trust her. Probably not, he decided with regret. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone.

  Chapter Ten

  He found his way to the address Lenka had given him. It was in Malá Strana – The Little Quarter – on the west bank of the river and close to the city centre. He got off the tram at Divadlo Národní, the National Theatre, and walked over Charles Bridge, easing his way through the visiting hordes of tourists, increasing numbers of whom were Russians these days. Sign of the times, he thought. The Russians were everywhere now they had money, and they especially liked it here. At least they didn’t come in tanks these days.

  The street he sought was a narrow canyon between nineteenth-century apartment buildings that fronted directly onto the pavement. Dark and quiet, it sheltered a thousand people, perhaps more, behind its sandstone walls. He felt conspicuous, possibly watched, as he walked alone along the street, mindful of the quiet. He grew uneasy, and almost sorry to have left Charles Bridge and its teeming, noisy visitors behind.

  He walked past the address he had been given, carrying on without pause to the end of the street. Then he turned, stepped into a doorway and waited a few moments before setting off to retrace his footsteps. There was still no one in sight. It felt too quiet, but what could you do? Nothing. He walked the full length of the street again and then headed over towards the river. He had seen enough.

  The ground floor of the building he wanted was occupied by a small restaurant called Jana, a combination bar and café. The menu board outside suggested it was not aimed at tourists. The meals on offer were simple and traditional, and a tenth of the price they would have been just a couple of blocks away on the tourist trail up Mostecká towards the cathedral and the castle. The name he had been given was presumably the name of the proprietor: Jan Klaus.

  He would come back later, he decided. There was no reason to spend longer here, or in any other place, than necessary. Movement suited him better. What he needed was not a bed, or even a meal: it was information. And for that, he was pinning his hopes on Lenka.

  It was a long day, a day spent unobtrusively in the shadows at the edge of a busy, noisy world. He fretted, inevitably, but he steeled himself to wait and see what Lenka came up with. If it was nothing, which he half-expected, he would have to move on and think again. Meanwhile, he tried not to think about Lisa. That was hard too, but necessary.

  He moved the car across the river, parking it on a quiet street a couple of blocks away from Jan Klaus’s establishment. Then he whiled away the hours on a small island, a little way upstream from Charles Bridge, where there were wandering visitors, but not too many. From where he sat beneath a lime tree, he could see what was happening all across the island, and felt reasonably safe.

  Leaves drifted down gently from the great trees all around him and the scent of autumn was heavy on the air. But the sun was warm still, despite the month, and in other circumstances it would have been a Prague day to enjoy. As it was, his mind was racing too fast, constantly retracing recent events, trying to make sense of them but getting nowhere.

  Lisa was never far from his thoughts and eventually he gave up the attempt to put her out of his mind. At some point soon, he would have to find a way of checking on her. Not yet, though. He couldn’t risk exposing her to the dangers besetting him. As far a
s he knew, Lisa was safe. He wanted to keep her that way.

  The afternoon wore on slowly but eventually the sun did begin to sink, and with it the temperature. It was almost a relief. A little before 4 p.m., he stood up and set off back towards the address Lenka had given him, trudging through the fallen leaves covering the grass. For a moment, he wondered if it would be like this in Northumberland too, but it required a greater feat of imagination than he was capable of at that moment. He let the thought go.

  Jan Klaus’s street was quiet still. There were no suspicious parked cars or loitering pedestrians. He stepped into a doorway and waited there for a couple of minutes. Briefly, playing devil’s advocate, he considered again the possibility that Lenka might not be on his side, after all. He soon dismissed that possibility. If he couldn’t count on Lenka, he might as well give up and surrender – or just shoot himself now, and get it over with. He emerged from the doorway and headed for the restaurant along the street.

  There were half a dozen customers in place. He could see them all as soon as he entered the restaurant. Jana was small, no more than a single, L-shaped room plus a hidden kitchen. Beer drinkers sat at tables close to the bar in the short L-part of the room, one group playing a game of cards, others watching the television mounted on the wall in a desultory, late-afternoon sort of way. In the larger dining area, there were a dozen tables, two of them occupied by young couples eating meals. He sat at a vacant table near a window.

  A waitress, a young girl, appeared very quickly. He ordered pivo, beer, brambory polévka, potato soup and guláš. He also asked if Jan Klaus was around. The girl scribbled his order on a notepad and said she would check about the other.

  The pivo arrived very quickly, as normal. He smiled his gratitude. Pivo always received urgent attention in traditional Czech restaurants. It was part of the culture, a culture he appreciated, and in which he was at home after so long spent here.

  How long, exactly? he asked himself. He couldn’t remember, not exactly. Quite a few years, though. It had all started with occasional visits, which had then become frequent visits. Finally, Cally had suggested he just stay here. That was after he had set up Unit 89. The ostensible reason was to save travel costs, but he had known the proposal was an accolade, and that in effect it meant the old man was appreciative of his work and trusted him.

  He shrugged. All that was in the past. To hell with it! His priorities now were Lisa and himself. Everything else was nothing to do with him any more. He was finished with it all.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  He looked up at the large, round man who had quietly appeared alongside his table. The man had come through a discreet door at the back of the dining room. Probably a doorway to the kitchen.

  ‘Pán Klaus?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Novotná sent me. She suggested you might be able to provide me with temporary accommodation.’

  Klaus studied him for a moment, as if awaiting proof of his credentials.

  ‘Lenka herself will come this evening,’ he added. ‘She is an old friend.’

  ‘And colleague?’

  He nodded. ‘Something like that.’

  Klaus glanced round. There was no one in earshot.

  ‘Perhaps there is some difficulty?’ he suggested.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Klaus nodded with apparent satisfaction. ‘Eat,’ he suggested. ‘Eat, and afterwards I will take you to your room.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The man nodded and left.

  The room was simple, clean and perfectly adequate. It comprised. … Enough! No point making an inventory, he decided. He wasn’t going to live here.

  Once he had decided the room was satisfactory, he left to bring his bags from the car. Then he settled down to wait.

  A slight breeze from the open window tickled the curtain. A motorbike roared along the street. Distant voices told him tourists still thronged Charles Bridge. But this building itself was still and quiet. He could hear his watch measuring out time.

  Just before 7 p.m., his ears detected creaks in the corridor outside his room. He stood up, tensed.

  Fingernails tapped lightly on his door.

  ‘Yes?’ he said quietly.

  ‘I am here.’

  Lenka. With relief, he opened the door and let her inside. Before he closed the door again, he glanced automatically both ways along the corridor. There was no one else. He turned to face her with a welcoming smile.

  ‘It is not good,’ she said with a weary shrug. ‘It is not good at all.’

  Chapter Eleven

  He steered her to a chair and sat down himself.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  She stared bleakly at him.

  ‘Whatever you have heard,’ he said gently, ‘I’ve done nothing you don’t know about, and nothing you would regard as wrong. As far as I know, that was true of my colleagues, as well.’

  He shook his head with exasperation. ‘I haven’t a clue as to what’s been going on.’

  Lenka yawned, stretched and leaned forward.

  ‘Harry, my ministry doesn’t know what is going on either. We are not in the loop. So what I tell you now is more best guess than fact. OK?’

  He nodded.

  She sighed and said bluntly, ‘We believe your people have done a deal with the Russians. Part of the price was the elimination of your Unit 89.’

  He stared at her with astonishment. ‘And that’s it? That’s what you’ve come up with?’

  She nodded. ‘Our best guess.’

  ‘Crap!’ he said angrily. ‘Absolute bloody rubbish! They would never do that.’

  ‘Not even if the rewards were very high?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  He got up and began to pace around the room. What he’d just said was wrong. He knew that as soon as he’d said it. He had seen the cleaners at the safe house. They had followed him to Orkney, for God’s sake! Not to mention what they’d done to Cally – and his bloody caravan!

  She could be right.

  He leaned against a blank wall. He pressed his face against the cool whiteness and let some of the heat drain out of his face.

  ‘Harry?’

  He straightened up and turned around reluctantly. He stared at her and shook his head, more in despair than denial now.

  ‘This is what we believe,’ Lenka said quietly.

  ‘What could the UK possibly want from Russia that badly?’

  She shook her head. ‘We have no idea. But surely there are many things your country might want? Better relations, for example. Or the return of important prisoners. The release of human rights organizers? I don’t know.’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. It would have to be something urgent and really important. National security, perhaps. Even then. …’

  He spun away for a moment and then turned back to her again.

  ‘It’s difficult for me to see this with your objectivity.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand. Perhaps it is not true anyway. It is just our. …’

  ‘I know. Your best guess.’

  She gave a little shrug and looked away, and he wondered if she was holding something back.

  ‘What?’ he pressed. ‘What else?’

  She turned back to him, her expression blank.

  ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  She nodded. ‘There is, yes. Sit down, Harry – please.’

  Reluctantly, he sat down.

  With another little shrug, almost an apology, she said, ‘You have a child, Harry.’

  His heart began to race. He struggled to keep his own face blank now. ‘A child?’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘You and Marika had a baby girl. The child will now be six, or perhaps seven.’

  ‘Whatever makes you say that?’ he said with a hoarse chuckle.

  ‘It is on file. Perhaps the file is wrong?’

  He said nothing. How did she know? How did they know? Even more important, if they knew, who
else knew?

  ‘I believe the file is correct,’ Lenka said matter-of-factly.

  Still he said nothing.

  ‘Perhaps it is not my business,’ Lenka added, getting up. ‘But I must warn you that we believe the child is in danger.’

  He got up, too, anguish tearing him apart.

  ‘No, Harry. You don’t need to say anything now. But think about it. I will return later.’

  She delved into her pocket and produced a slip of card, on which she quickly wrote something. ‘Use this number to contact me. It is safe. And you are safe here – for the moment.’

  He took it and nodded. ‘Thank you, Lenka.’

  ‘Remember,’ she said, ‘that Marika was my friend.’

  Afterwards, he wondered what on earth was going on, and what, if anything, he could do about it. Could Lenka possibly be right about a deal having been struck? She knew about Lisa, after all. Could she be right about HMG doing a deal with the Russians, as well?

  It was possible. He knew that. The killings, and the way he had been pursued, hadn’t left him with many illusions. Somebody was intent on ridding the world of Unit 89.

  But Lisa? He frowned. Why would she be in danger?

  It was so frustrating. Worse. He had done everything he could to keep Lisa safe. Since the moment she was born, he had always had her safety in mind. He had promised Marika that, and Marika’s death had made him even more careful. Lisa’s very existence had been kept secret. Or so he had thought, until now. What had changed?

  When Lenka returned he would have to press her, even though that would mean admitting that he did indeed have a child. Continued denial was no longer a viable option.

  Jesus Christ! She knew already. He’d better get real. If Lenka knew, then others knew. Her whole bloody ministry, for a start! And who else besides?

  At least they didn’t know where Lisa was.

  He thought again. Did they? Sickened, he realized he could no longer be sure, either about that or anything else. His whole world had been turned upside down.