Run for Home

by Dan Latus

  There wasn’t much he could do before Lenka returned. But there was one thing: the room had a phone, and he used it. The time had come.

  ‘Paní Čechová?’

  ‘Mr Harry!’

  ‘Hello, Babička! Grandmother! How are you? And how is Lisa?’

  ‘We are well, thank you. Everything is normal here. Lisa often asks for you. More and more, she asks for you. Excuse me. I will get her now.’

  ‘No! Not yet, Babi. One moment, please.’

  He closed his eyes with relief. Lisa was well. Nothing had happened.

  ‘Babička, thank you so much for everything you have done for Lisa. I am so grateful. Marika would be, too. You have been wonderful.’

  ‘Lisa is my grandchild,’ the old woman said simply.

  ‘I know, I know, but still. … Babi, has anything unusual happened recently?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, sounding puzzled. ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘That’s good. I don’t want to worry you, but please take care. Now I will speak to Lisa.’

  Nothing, he thought with relief, while he waited for Babička to bring his child to the phone. Good so far. But for how much longer?

  ‘Father!’

  ‘Lisa!’ He smiled and chuckled. ‘How are you, my dear?’

  ‘My English language is very good now, I think.’

  It all came out in a rush, as if she knew there would not be much time, as usual.

  ‘And my gymnastics,’ she continued. ‘I play football now, Father. And my teacher says I play the violin nicely.’

  ‘All that? My! You are doing well. Babička must be making you work very hard, practising all these things.’

  ‘Yes, she is. Where are you, Father? When can I see you?’

  ‘Soon, sweetheart.’

  How soon?’

  ‘Very soon. I promise.’

  ‘You promised last time!’

  ‘I know, but. …’

  ‘I want to go to England, Father. I want to be with you again, like it used to be.’

  His eyes closed with anguish. Oh, how foolish he had been! Why had he disappointed her for so long? When would it end?

  Even now though, there was so little he could say, and mean. He didn’t control his life. He never had done.

  He swallowed hard. ‘Lisa, I promise I will come for you very soon. Believe me!’

  ‘This week?’

  ‘Maybe next week,’ he said, closing his eyes. ‘I will make it happen.’

  And so he would, he thought afterwards. So he bloody well would! There was nothing that mattered more to him now.

  Lenka returned just after ten that night. He heard her before she reached his door, and was ready waiting for her.

  She shrugged and gave him a weary smile as she entered the room. He closed the door and turned to face her.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked.

  She flopped onto the bed and stretched. He waited anxiously. She was very tired. He could see that. But he needed to know.

  ‘Lenka?’

  She sighed and sat upright. ‘Something is happening,’ she said. ‘We don’t know what, but there is unusual activity. People are meeting.’

  He waited.

  ‘Your Mr Simon Mayhew flew into Prague this afternoon, unannounced.’

  Harry’s ears pricked up. ‘Mayhew?’

  ‘Unannounced,’ she repeated for emphasis. ‘He was collected and driven straight to the British Embassy, where he has remained ever since.’

  ‘And nothing has been said?’

  ‘Not to my minister, or to anyone in the department, no.’ She shrugged and added, ‘If we ask, they will say it is unofficial, a private visit. So we don’t ask.’

  He moved away from her and turned to the window. He opened it slightly and took a deep breath. It was very dark out there now, and bitterly cold. The weather had changed. Heavy cloud had moved in and there was the smell of snow in the air. It wasn’t here yet, but it was coming; coming from the east. He had experienced it too many times before to be mistaken.

  Good times, bad times, he thought wearily, the prevailing wind never let up. Never failed. Things from the east were inexorable, relentless. It had always been like that. Russia could never be discounted.

  So. Mayhew was here.

  ‘What do you make of it?’ he asked, closing the window and turning back to Lenka.

  She yawned. ‘Not much, to be honest. But something important is going on.’

  He nodded. It must be, if Mayhew had come to Prague. Mayhew was important. He didn’t know what position in the intelligence world he occupied now, but whatever it was, it would be rarefied.

  Mayhew had been on the rise for many years, and would have reached some significant summit by now. He had only met the guy once, many years ago, but he remembered him. He had been impressed by his cool, detached air of intelligence and general superiority. Not a man to underestimate, or alienate. They hadn’t got on.

  Lenka’s phone vibrated softly. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Then she answered it, and spoke briefly. When she looked up, she was frowning.

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Not for me,’ she said quickly. Then she gave him a rueful smile. ‘Sorry.’

  He waited.

  ‘Two of our Russian knowns have just entered the British Embassy. Mayhew is still there.’

  ‘Oh?’

  It seemed to confirm that something big was indeed happening. If it involved Mayhew, it had to be big.

  ‘All these things must be connected,’ he suggested.

  Lenka nodded. ‘That’s the premise we are operating on.’

  ‘How, though? How are they connected?’

  She shook her head and had nothing to add. It was a mystery.

  So, he wasn’t much further forward, he thought. He knew now that something important was happening, but he had no idea what. And he didn’t know how, or if, it was connected to what had been happening to him.

  ‘You were going to tell me about your daughter, I think?’ Lenka said quietly.

  He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Was I? Was I really?’

  ‘I think so. It’s time you did, Harry.’

  Still he hesitated.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go downstairs and see if Jan has any food he can offer us. I don’t know about you, but it’s a long time since I last ate.’

  He glanced at his watch. Almost with surprise, he noted the time and felt hungry again himself.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ he admitted.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘He is here! I just know it.’

  Jackson waited respectfully for the boss to explain and justify his conviction. He caught Murphy’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head to keep him quiet. The last thing he wanted was Murphy complaining about being given another runaround. They had a lot riding on this assignment: get it right and they could kiss a lot of things goodbye – including the boss.

  ‘What? You don’t agree?’

  Jackson shrugged and cleared his throat. ‘I have no idea,’ he said, ‘one way or the other.’

  The look he got suggested he needed to do better than that.

  ‘We’ve been chasing around Scottish islands,’ he added. ‘We’re out of touch.’

  The boss nodded, and seemed placated. ‘Let me explain my thinking,’ he said. ‘But first, welcome back to Prague.’

  ‘We like it here,’ Murphy said, unable to stay out of it any longer.

  Jackson smiled. ‘What he means,’ he said, ‘is that we didn’t like all that rain they get up there.’

  ‘Rain? Yes, I suppose they do get rather a lot in Orkney.’

  ‘And the rest of Scotland,’ Murphy said with a shudder. ‘It’s as bad as Ireland. Worse, in fact.’

  ‘Quite.’

  The boss nodded and waited a moment before he began.

  ‘Gibson will return to Prague, if he hasn’t already done so, because this city is where his life has been led for many ye
ars. He is at home here, a stranger in England, and there is nowhere else he could go.’

  It didn’t sound much to Jackson. People running for their life didn’t usually care where they went, as long as they felt safe when they got there. Their man had already been as far as Orkney, for God’s sake!

  ‘There’s a million people here,’ Murphy pointed out.

  ‘And time is pressing?’ the boss said. ‘I know, I know. This is no time for the usual search-and-find methods. We must speed things up.’

  ‘Maybe we should advertise for him to give himself up?’ Murphy suggested, scarcely able to conceal the scorn in his voice.

  Jackson winced.

  The boss, surprisingly, smiled. Then he removed his glasses to polish them.

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ he said, like an old-fashioned schoolmaster commending a favourite pupil.

  He replaced his glasses and leaned forward.

  ‘Gentlemen, we haven’t time to look for Gibson. So what we need to do is bring him to us. And I know just how to do that.’

  Murphy’s scepticism must have been plain because the boss spoke directly to him now.

  ‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘I know exactly how we can bring him in.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was late and the restaurant was quiet that evening. Jan Klaus pursed his lips in thought when Lenka spoke to him about the possibility of food. Then he disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, a minute or two later, he brought a couple of beers and the advice that he could provide them immediately with brambora polévka, potato soup. Otherwise, it would take time.

  ‘Thank you, Jan,’ Lenka told him gravely. ‘Polévka will be perfect. You’re an angel.’

  Jan Klaus gave a little bow and Harry was astonished to see that grave face collapse into a thousand laughter lines.

  ‘He was a friend of my father’s,’ Lenka said when Jan Klaus had disappeared again, ‘back in the old days.’

  Before 1989, he knew she meant. Before the Velvet Revolution that had ushered the Communists and Red Army out, and the year that had subsequently given Callerton the name for his new counter-espionage team.

  ‘This restaurant,’ she added, ‘was one of the places where people like Vaclav Havel and my father used to meet.’

  ‘To be dissident?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Lenka gave him a smile. ‘Before the world became new again!’

  He smiled himself at that.

  ‘I’ve made some progress this evening,’ Lenka told him. ‘At least, we now know several of the people involved in the Embassy discussions.’

  ‘So what are they talking about?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t even know if anyone in my department knows that.’

  ‘How about your minister?’

  She shook her head. ‘He would know only if we were able to tell him.’

  ‘I wonder why they are meeting here?’ he mused. ‘Because it’s neutral territory?’

  ‘Perhaps. The Russians do all sorts of things here, as they always did. And President Klaus doesn’t seem to mind too much, if at all. He is very friendly to them these days. Sometimes I think he has forgotten what it was like when they ruled our country.’

  Harry nodded and chuckled. ‘My impression is that he thinks he’s above all that – politics. I suppose he is, constitutionally, as head of state. Coalition governments can come and go, but he sees himself as the Great Protector of the Czech Nation.’

  ‘Something like that,’ Lenka said, putting a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. ‘He’s nothing like Havel, though. Maybe his ideas will work. I don’t know. Tell me about your daughter, Harry.’

  The change of tack caught him off guard. He sighed, but he knew he couldn’t put Lenka off any longer, not if he wanted to retain her support.

  ‘She is called Lisa.’ He shrugged. ‘You were right. She is 7 years old now, and looks exactly how Marika would have looked at that age.’

  ‘So she is beautiful?’

  ‘Of course!’ He smiled. ‘Despite her father, she is beautiful. If her mother could see her now, she would be very proud.’

  ‘Marika’s death was a tragedy,’ Lenka said with a sigh. ‘We still don’t know if that car crash was a genuine accident.’

  Or something else, she meant, as some still believed the road crash that had killed poor old Alexander Dubček, the country’s first post-1989 president, had been. But he just nodded. By now it scarcely mattered. Nothing would bring Marika back.

  ‘Marika wasn’t the only officer we lost in those days,’ Lenka added.

  ‘Was there a pattern?’

  ‘Not that we could see.’ She shook her head and asked, ‘Where does Lisa live?’

  He squirmed a little over that one. They were getting close to things with the potential to hurt, things that no one at all had been told.

  ‘I know she isn’t with you,’ Lenka pressed gently.

  ‘No, she isn’t.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve told no one where she is, deliberately. I’ve kept her out of it.’

  ‘I understand.’

  But things had changed, apparently. Lisa’s existence was known now, at least to some people.

  He shrugged. ‘She lives here, in Prague.’

  ‘So that you can see her?’

  ‘Occasionally. If it’s safe.’

  ‘And is that why you are still here?’

  ‘A large part of it,’ he admitted. ‘I could probably have moved on if I had pressed for it.’

  Jan Klaus arrived with their soup, some rough bread and two more glasses of beer. All talk of Lisa was suspended until he had departed.

  ‘We believe people know she is here,’ Lenka said when the conversation resumed. ‘They are looking for her.’

  He stared at her. ‘They can’t be!’

  ‘There are indications,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Communications, messages, that suggest it.’

  It was deeply worrying. He rubbed his face with his hands and uneasily thought it over. Could they find her? Was it possible?

  ‘But what could anyone possibly want with her?’ he asked.

  Lenka shrugged. ‘To put pressure on you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Perhaps you are in somebody’s way?’

  He shook his head and glanced distractedly at a TV behind the bar. Manic dance scenes and unwelcome noise poured from it. He turned away and drank some beer. He was thinking furiously about what Lenka had just said.

  If people were looking for Lisa, perhaps the time had come to move her. He could take her back to England with him now, which was what Lisa had long wanted. But if that was to happen, he would have to give up the idea of investigating why Unit 89 had been wiped out, never mind all thoughts of avenging Landis and the others. Well, realistically, there never had been much chance of him doing that anyway.

  Lenka give a little gasp. A spoon dropped from her fingers to clatter on the floor. He glanced at her. She was staring over his shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’

  She pushed her chair back, stood up and set off across the room. He turned, stared wide-eyed at the television screen for a moment and leapt to his feet, his heart beating wildly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The woman behind the bar had switched channels to catch a news bulletin. A photograph, a headshot, dominated the screen: it was of Lisa. No question about it.

  Harry stumbled forward and caught the tail end of the opening commentary. A little girl was missing, believed abducted, in Prague.

  The view switched to a street scene he knew only too well. He stood still, his stomach lurching, his heart pounding, and tried to concentrate on what was being said. He watched in anguish as the reporter spoke to an elderly woman, Babička. She was distraught and spoke only in monosyllables, aided by a younger woman who was described as a neighbour.

  It had happened that afternoon, the younger woman said, while her friend’s granddaughter was outside playing with her own daughter. Men, she said. Two men had arrived in a car and
taken her.

  The bulletin moved on to consider the result of an ice hockey game between Pardubice and Most. Heavy snow was forecast for much of the country. Blizzard conditions. Gas supplies from Russia. …

  He wheeled away and sat heavily in a chair, sweating, panicking. His brain was racing out of control, doing no good at all. The nightmare he had worked for so many years to avoid had descended and paralyzed him.

  ‘Harry? Harry, look at me!’

  He felt Lenka’s hands on his face. He looked up.

  ‘Hang on, Harry!’ she said softly. ‘Hang on!’

  His head stopped spinning. His eyes began to clear.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said.

  He wasn’t, but he rallied and tried to get his brain in gear. A big question floated to the surface: how had Lenka known it was his daughter? Never mind, he thought. Leave it! Just leave it for now.

  ‘I must speak to Babička,’ he added, his voice a rasp he didn’t recognize, ‘and find out exactly what happened.’

  ‘She has been living with her grandmother all this time?’

  He nodded. ‘It seemed the best arrangement.’ He paused, took stock. ‘So you were right, Lenka. About the threat. But who the hell has taken her?’

  She shook her head. ‘But whoever it is, we know what they want, don’t we?’

  He didn’t bother replying. The kidnappers wanted him. It was obvious. He was the last piece in the jigsaw, last man standing.

  Back in his room, he stared out of the window while Lenka worked her phone. She was trying to find out more, but he didn’t bother listening. She would tell him anything she learned. His mind, surprisingly, was focused and cool now. He had got over the shock, the dreadful, gut-gripping fear that had come with seeing Lisa’s photograph on the television screen. He knew now what he had to do.

  First, he had to speak to Babička. He had to hear directly from her what had happened. Then. … Then he would have to trade – himself for Lisa.

  Lenka finished her phone calls.