Run for Home

by Dan Latus

  ‘Anything?’ he asked, looking round.

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She scrutinized him. ‘How are you, Harry?’

  ‘I’m OK. I’ve just been working out what to do. First, I need to talk to Babička.’

  ‘Yes?’ Lenka looked dubious. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I spoke to her? They may be waiting for you to turn up.’

  ‘She wouldn’t speak to you, Lenka. She doesn’t know you. It has to be me.’

  ‘Then we should go together,’ she insisted.

  ‘Is that wise – for you?’

  She shrugged. ‘Is any of what we do completely wise?’

  ‘Probably not, no.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘I’ll phone her first.’

  ‘And is that wise?’

  Of course it wasn’t! He shook his head, irritated with himself.

  ‘What’s wrong with me? I’m not thinking straight.’

  ‘You have had a terrible shock, Harry. That’s all. There is nothing wrong with you. But two heads are better than one in a situation like this.’

  He glanced at his watch. Gone eleven. Late for Babička, but she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, any more than he would be himself.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  Babička lived in Holešovice, once a separate town, way out in the north-eastern part of Prague. They drove there in Lenka’s little Skoda, travelling fast. They crossed the Vltava via Čechův Most, one of the big bridges, and sped along the northern bank of the river, leaving the bright lights of the central area behind. The roads were quiet. As midnight approached, the city was drifting off to sleep.

  The old house where Babička had lived all her married life was a detached, two-storey building that had long been divided into two apartments, one up, one down. It was shabby, run-down even, but spacious and still pleasant. Better to live there than in a modern tower block, he had always thought. The surrounding garden, with its mature shrubs and trees, added to the house’s character. Lisa had been fortunate to live in such a place, as had her mother been before her.

  Lenka stopped at the end of the road, near the exhibition ground containing the Bruselsky Pavilion, which he knew had something to do with the 1958 Brussels World Fair. They considered how best to approach the house. It was possible, likely even, that it was being watched by somebody.

  ‘Perhaps you could get in at the back, through the garden?’ Lenka suggested.

  He shook his head. ‘Not in the dark. It’s jungle down there. Fifty years’ worth.’

  ‘But if you approach the house directly, from the front, you might just as well give yourself up.’

  He grimaced, knowing she was right. ‘You’re going to have to go instead, Lenka.’

  ‘Yes, but how do we persuade her to trust me?’

  ‘Just tell her Mr Harry needs to speak to her. That’s what she usually calls me. Say he doesn’t trust the phone, and is waiting in the exhibition ground. And tell her Marika was your friend. Keep it simple,’ he added. ‘We don’t want to risk confusing her.’

  ‘Where exactly shall we meet in the exhibition ground? It is a big place.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Just get there. I’ll come to you.’

  He left the car and slipped into the shadow cast by a high hedge. He waited until Lenka drove away. Then he turned and walked back to the exhibition ground.

  The place was empty, deserted. Not entirely dark, but lit only by occasional and feeble street lamps. He walked across the vast parking area near the entrance, empty acres of tarmac stretching away before him. In the near distance, there were buildings that could have been part of a funfair, and beyond them he could see the outline of the main conference hall against the night sky. All was in darkness now.

  The night was bitterly cold. He shivered, pulled up the hood of his jacket and headed for the shadowy buildings around the edge of the parking area. He slipped, recovered his balance; realized a veneer of ice had formed on the wet surface of the tarmac.

  Looking for shelter, he moved into the doorway of a lapidarium, a museum for stones and gems, and stood there to wait. They wouldn’t be long. Either Babička would come instantly, or not at all. If she was there, he didn’t think she would take much persuading.

  A breeze stirred, catching something loose at the corner of the building, making it rattle. Guttering, perhaps. A few bits of white fluff floated into the doorway. Then more came. He glanced up and saw the stars disappearing. It looked as if the forecast was right, and the warnings justified. The snow was arriving a little early this year. He shivered again and wriggled his shoulders. It was cold. He was cold.

  Ten minutes later, a car turned into the entrance. He tensed. It could be Lenka’s Skoda, but he needed to be sure. The headlights swept across the empty tarmac, reflecting off patches of ice and gleaming pools of winter rain. The car crept slowly into the centre of the open space, circled, and drew to a halt outside a kiosk that was shuttered up for the winter. Zmrzlina ice-cream: a giant white cone, with red and yellow swirls spiralling down it. And snowflakes, drifting down more heavily now, just before Lenka cut the lights.

  He waited a little longer. But no other vehicle came through the entrance. It looked as if they had not been followed. Either the watchers had been taken by surprise, or they were just short-handed, and had no one available to follow when Babička left the house unexpectedly at such a late hour.

  He strode quickly across to the car, ducking his head against a sudden flurry of snowflakes. Lenka spotted him coming and opened her door to climb out.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so. She was still up. A bit traumatized, I think. I’ll let you speak to her. Snow?’ she added, looking round and giving a little shiver. ‘Already?’

  ‘What a country!’ he said.

  He got into the car and closed the door, leaving Lenka outside to keep watch.

  ‘Babi!’ he said gently. ‘How are you?’

  She turned to him and he wrapped her in his arms. She gave a little sob and said, ‘Oh, Mr Harry! I am so sorry.’

  ‘Ssh! It wasn’t your fault, Babi. I shouldn’t have left her with you so long.’

  She sniffled and tried to compose herself. ‘Everything was fine. Life was normal. Then – poof!’

  He waited for her to calm down. Then he released her and gently took hold of her hand.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said gently. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘First, I have something for you. They left an envelope with my neighbour’s little girl.’

  He took the envelope from her and tore it open. In the faint glow from the instrument panel, he read the typed message on the small sheet of paper. It was brief and to the point:

  Four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. The girl will be at the entrance to St Peter and St Paul in Všehrad.

  All was indisputably clear. There was no room at all for uncertainty. It really was him they wanted.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, turning back to Babička. ‘Exactly what happened?’

  There wasn’t much to tell. Lisa had been playing outside on the street with her friend from a nearby house. The girls played together most days. This time they had been using their scooters. It was a safe street, normally. Not much traffic to speak of. Only residents’ cars. So Babi had never had qualms about Lisa playing there.

  ‘She is a growing child,’ she explained. ‘She cannot be kept indoors or in the garden all the time.’

  ‘No, of course not. You have looked after her very well.’

  Babi sighed. ‘She was so happy, Mr Harry, knowing you were near, and that she would see you soon.’

  He nodded. ‘What happened?’ he pressed again.

  ‘I did not see it myself. Terezka, my neighbour’s daughter, said a big black car arrived, and stopped. Two men got out. They picked Lisa up and put her in the car. Then they gave the other girl the envelope. That is all.’

  Babi sniffled. He squeezed her hand gently. He didn’t blame her; she had performed wonders, lo
oking after Lisa alone these past several years. It hadn’t been easy for her, not least because she was no longer a well woman. Time had caught up with her.

  ‘We’ll get her back,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, Babi.’

  She looked round at him, her face tear-streaked in the reflected light. ‘You think so?’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t worry,’ he repeated. ‘I know who has her, and I know what they want. I’ll get her back.’

  He was sure of that, at least. He had no idea how he would do it, but he was certain that he would. Any other outcome was unthinkable while he still had breath in his body.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was too cold to sit in the car and do nothing but wait. So every once in a while, Murphy turned on the engine, and the heater. The trouble with that, apart from the noise, was that the warm air fogged up all the windows. But the alternative was to die of hypothermia.

  Jackson blew into his cupped hands and said, ‘Switch it on again.’

  Murphy turned the key. Engine and heater came back to life.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come tonight?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘He’ll come.’ Jackson nodded emphatically and added, ‘I agree with the boss. He’ll want to know what happened.’

  When Murphy didn’t respond, Jackson said, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s fucking cold!’

  Jackson chuckled. ‘Orkney was too rainy, and now it’s too cold!’

  ‘Why don’t they run to Mexico any more?’ Murphy said plaintively. ‘That was a good place to go.’

  ‘Yeah. It was a pity we found him as fast as we did, that guy. I wouldn’t have minded if it had taken another month. Mexico, eh? Good country.’

  ‘Maybe we should go there? You know – afterwards, when we get the money?’

  Jackson frowned and pretended to give it a little thought. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said reluctantly. ‘The place is a war zone these days, what with the drug gangs and the government attacking each other. Switch the wipers on a minute, can you?’ he added.

  ‘See something?’

  Jackson peered through the windscreen as the wipers started working. After a few moments, he shook his head and settled back in his seat. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘But it’s started to snow.’

  ‘What we needed,’ Murphy said.

  Jackson wasn’t sure what he’d seen, the windscreen was so fogged up. Had it been movement?

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said to Murphy. ‘Why don’t you wait outside? You’ll have a better view.’

  ‘And you wait here, in the warm and the dry?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, thanks. I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we call it a night, and clear off?’

  ‘Soon,’ Jackson said. ‘Just give it a bit longer.’

  The snow became heavier. Murphy wondered if anyone else in Prague was as stupid as them. There were times when all the money in the world didn’t seem worth it.

  ‘Damn!’ Jackson said, leaning forward. ‘How did she get out?’

  Murphy peered hard through the windscreen and saw what Jackson meant. An old woman was closing her gate and turning to walk up the garden path. There was no doubt who it was.

  ‘There must be another way in and out,’ Jackson said, tapping the dashboard with his fingers. ‘Gibson could have been and gone while we’ve been sitting here.’

  ‘It’s hard to see any damn thing in this weather,’ Murphy said, already planning what they could say to the boss. ‘But we’ll get him tomorrow, if not tonight.’

  Jackson nodded. ‘Let’s go. I’ve had enough of this.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, clutching the grab handle. ‘They want to meet in Vyšehrad.’

  Lenka nodded and then swore as the car slid sideways and turned round to face backwards.

  ‘This snow!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You’re driving,’ he said with a grin.

  The conditions were bad, and rapidly getting worse. The radio was warning continually now of blizzard conditions sweeping the country. The forecasters had been right, he thought, even if it was a bit early in the winter for weather like this.

  ‘We should have listened to the forecast,’ Lenka said.

  He shrugged. It wouldn’t have made any difference. They would still have come. He would, at least, and he couldn’t imagine that Lenka would have let him come alone.

  ‘You watched Babička go inside the house?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Men were watching from a parked car, but we managed to get past them both times.’

  He hoped Babi would be all right in what remained of the night. She ought to be. All she had to do now was wait – and worry.

  ‘What time tomorrow?’ Lenka asked.

  ‘Four in the afternoon.’

  ‘Not the morning? That’s strange.’

  He had wondered about that himself. What it seemed to mean was that they wanted to minimize the risk of the meeting being observed. At that time of day, going dark, and in that particular place, it was unlikely there would be onlookers. Especially now the weather had turned. It didn’t augur well for his own survival prospects, but that couldn’t be helped. He had no choice. He had to go. They would know that.

  ‘They’. Whoever ‘they’ were, he thought bitterly.

  He assumed it was the same people – his people – who had been hunting him all along, ever since the attack on Unit 89. Jackson and Murphy, and whoever was pulling their strings. He couldn’t imagine who that might be.

  ‘Perhaps we should stay somewhere closer to the venue?’ Lenka suggested, peering hard through the windscreen. ‘Movement will be difficult tomorrow, if this keeps up.’

  He was glad of the observation. Thinking about who was hunting him – and who now held Lisa – was too difficult, and too painful.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said.

  It would be utter chaos tomorrow as people struggled to get to and from work, and as the authorities were stretched to cope with mountains of snow, blocked roads, abandoned vehicles, and trams and buses going nowhere fast. Not to mention people stranded in nowhere land.

  ‘There’s a hotel nearby,’ he said. ‘The Barbican?’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Let’s make for that.’

  They travelled on, their speed dropping drastically as the snow built up on roads that wouldn’t be ploughed for hours. They could hear the wind roaring above the screaming of the Skoda’s engine. It was more like being out on the Russian steppes than near the centre of a sophisticated European city.

  ‘We’re not dressed for this weather,’ Lenka remarked, as if the fact had only just occurred to her.

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  Somehow they would, he thought. He would have to do some sort of recce anyway, whatever the inadequacy of their clothing. There was no way he was going to turn up for the meeting tomorrow without doing that. He wondered what the abductors’ plan would be for the meeting, but he soon gave that up. Speculation was pointless until he had done a recce.

  They travelled on for a while without speaking. The weather worsened. Lenka concentrated hard on her driving, pressing the car on through the deepening snow, unable to see far in front even with the wipers going full speed. He avoided distracting her with idle conversation.

  The snow was piling up on the road, and there was a constant roaring noise as the bottom of the car ploughed through it. He began to wonder how much further they would get before the car stopped, finally stuck, and they had to start walking.

  They crossed the Vltava by the Čechův Bridge again and turned to run along the embankment. The snow was not so deep here, the road sheltered by the massive buildings fronting the river.

  ‘Whoops!’ Lenka cried as the car turned sideways again and slid across the road. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ he said to encourage her. ‘Keep it going a little bit further.’

  They managed ano
ther couple of blocks. Then they hit deep snow in a wide-open intersection and the car dug into it and stopped. The engine died. Lenka tried to restart it, but without success. He guessed too much snow had built up inside the engine compartment. Nothing in there would turn now, and no spark ignite.

  ‘That’s it,’ she said, turning to him with a shrug. ‘We’re walking from now on.’

  He looked around. He couldn’t see out of the rear window for packed snow. The side windows were fogged up. All he could see through the windscreen was driving snow, illuminated by the background glow from neon street lamps. The only sound was the shrieking of the wind as it drove yet more snow hard against this puny obstacle in its way.

  ‘Right,’ he said, not looking forward to what had to come next. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  He opened his door and was immediately hit in the face by a blast of snow. He stumbled out and doubled over for a moment to catch his breath. When he straightened up, he saw that Lenka had got out on the other side and was foraging on the back seat. He joined her in salvaging a few things that might prove useful.

  Then they began walking, trudging, head down, through snow that was now up over their knees. Progress was slow and hard work, made more difficult by the relentless wind screaming in their faces and hammering them with snow.

  ‘About a kilometre!’ he shouted to encourage Lenka.

  She seemed to nod but didn’t turn to look at him, still less to answer him. Ten minutes, he thought. If they survived that long!

  The temperature, given the wind chill factor, was probably off any scale he had ever encountered. He held an arm across his face to lessen the impact of the driving snow and battled on, sometimes catching hold of Lenka and pulling her along when she faltered.

  They reached the Barbican at last; there were lights inside. Not many, but some. The big front door wouldn’t open, though, and no one came when he rang the bell. He kept his finger on the button for a couple of minutes, but nothing happened. He grew frantic, closing his eyes against the searing cold.

  ‘It’s no good!’ Lenka shouted in his ear. ‘Harry, we must go!’