Run for Home

by Dan Latus

  ‘Lenka, please,’ he said cautiously.

  After a long pause, the familiar voice came on the line. He relaxed.

  ‘It’s me, Lenka.’

  ‘Ah! Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. Nothing’s changed. Are you busy?’

  ‘What do you think? That was my mother who picked up the phone.’

  He smiled. Not exactly a put-down, but close enough. Served him right.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Lenka. I should have called before I came. But I’m here now. Can you spare me half an hour?’

  ‘You’re here? What do you mean?’

  Definitely not in friendly mode, he thought with a wince.

  ‘I’ve just got off the tram, at your stop.’

  ‘Stay there. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Better,’ she added, ‘there’s a small bar about fifty metres away. I’ll see you in there.’

  He switched off and put the phone away. It sounded like he had caught her at a bad moment; she and her mother having a domestic, perhaps? That might explain why she had not invited him inside. Life was difficult enough.

  To make amends for his intrusion, he turned into a little flower shop next door to the bar Lenka had designated. It was packed. People queued in that tiny space like proverbial sardines, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, and shuffled forward when they could. Others came into the shop behind him, preventing him leaving even if he had changed his mind. The only possibility was to reach the counter, make a purchase, and then leave by an exit behind the counter.

  It was unbelievable, he mused, how many people must be living with ecstatic love or a weighty sense of duty – or a guilty conscience, like himself.

  It was while he was ordering a single, special, red rose that he saw a man pause at the window and glance into the shop for a moment. He was stunned. The woman serving him had to bark out a repeat demand for his payment. There was muttering around him at the delay. Hurriedly, he thrust a hundred-crown note into the woman’s hand and pushed his way out of the back of the shop.

  The man was gone, disappeared, swept up in the human tide rolling onto and off a convoy of trams, and to and from the many nearby blocks of flats. Frantically, he scanned the crowds as he walked quickly about the immediate area. But it was no good. The man had vanished.

  He swore softly to himself, anger and frustration replacing shock. He had no doubts about who he had just seen so fleetingly, and so improbably. The man had been George Mason. He had a good memory for faces, and he was sure of it. Quite certain.

  He gave up and made his way back to the bar, where he found Lenka waiting for him. She looked up anxiously.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Something came up.’

  ‘I thought you had got lost, or perhaps been kidnapped.’

  He handed her the rose wrapped in tissue wrapper. ‘For you, Lenka. I am sorry for this intrusion.’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘Thank you, Harry. It is beautiful.’

  He was undecided about telling her what he had seen. She might think him paranoid. Well, she knew that. He was. They all were. It went with the territory. You didn’t survive if you were not at least a little bit paranoid in this business.

  But ought she to be told anyway? The reason Mason might be in the vicinity – and it definitely had been Mason – might have something to do with her. She could be in danger.

  He remained undecided.

  There was an alternative possible explanation for Mason’s presence in the area, but he really didn’t want to consider that. He did have some uncertainties about Lenka, and how much she knew, but he couldn’t let himself start wondering if Mason had come here to see her. Not after all she had done for him.

  Anyway, perhaps he was mistaken, and it hadn’t been Mason, after all.

  ‘You look worried, Harry?’

  He sighed and told her what he had seen, or what he thought he had seen.

  She shrugged. ‘You were mistaken, I think. He is on your mind so much that by now you will be seeing him everywhere you look. It is only natural.’

  He smiled tentatively. ‘Probably. But you should take care, just the same.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I always take care. If I don’t think of it myself, my mother scolds me until I do.

  ‘Now, why did you want to see me?’

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it was about George Mason. I was wondering if there was anything you could tell me about him.’

  ‘About George Mason?’ She stared at him and shook her head. ‘Harry, for God’s sake! What did I just tell you? Go and get me a drink!’ she added, starting to laugh.

  They didn’t get any further. Lenka didn’t really know anything about George Mason. Someone in her department might, but she didn’t.

  ‘You couldn’t find out where he lives, I suppose?’

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps someone knows. But probably he is not important enough – or dangerous enough – for us to have taken such an interest.’

  Until now, he thought. For me, at least.

  ‘By the way,’ Lenka said, changing the subject with a happy smile, ‘I hope I will be able to introduce you to Stefan soon. I think he will be home again in the very near future.’

  ‘That’s good. I would like to meet him.’

  Still smiling, she added, ‘I am always happy when Stefan is here.’

  He smiled back. ‘I am glad for you, Lenka. You deserve someone special in your life.’

  He was genuinely happy for her. Relationships had never been easy for her to make, and Lenka had always struck him as someone destined for life as a single person. It was good to know that things might be looking different.

  ‘Will you allow me to buy you a drink?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No thanks, Lenka. I must be getting back. Besides, your mother will complain if you go home smelling of booze.’

  ‘Oh, her!’ Lenka waved a careless hand. ‘She is in a bad mood anyway. She always is when Stefan comes home.’

  ‘Perhaps she thinks he will steal you away from her?’

  Lenka laughed. He was pleased to see it, and they parted on a happy note.

  While he was waiting for the tram to take him back to the city centre, his phone buzzed with a text message. He glanced at it with surprise. Ellie?

  Please phone me! the message said.

  What now? Only in emergencies, he had told her. Lisa? His heart began to race.

  His tram arrived. He let it go and walked away from the platform, concentrating on the phone.

  ‘Ellie? It’s Harry.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness! How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing! Don’t worry.’

  He felt his anxiety collapsing like a wet paper bag.

  ‘Ellie, I was worried by your message. Are you sure things are all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Don’t worry. It’s just that there’s something I wanted you to know.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘But Lisa is fine. She’s perfectly well.’

  ‘And you, too?’

  ‘Yes. Me, too. We both are very well.’

  He chuckled with relief. ‘So what is it, Ellie? What couldn’t wait?’

  ‘Well, I wanted to hear your voice, of course. I wanted to know you were all right. To be honest, Harry, I’m not sure about this, about what I’ve got myself into with you.’

  He grimaced. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Ellie. Anyway, it will be over soon.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s difficult for me.’

  He was reminded then that he was asking an awful lot of her. ‘Look, Ellie. …’

  ‘There was something,’ she said quickly, cutting him off. ‘Lisa made a phone call.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘To the Czech Republic, to her grandmother. I thought you should know.’

  ‘How did she do that?’ he asked with astonishment.

  ‘It’s pretty simple, really. You pick up a telephone. …’

>   ‘Did she get through?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘But. … But how did she know the number?’

  ‘It’s no good asking me. She just did. Anyway, I thought you should know.’

  ‘You were right. Thanks. Tell her not to do it again, will you?’

  Little more was said. It hadn’t been an easy call, and it didn’t end terribly well. He knew why. All this must be pretty inexplicable to someone like Ellie, with a life so far removed from the one he had lived for so long.

  He looked around. He was the only person there now, and he was standing on the concrete platform, out in the open. The next tram couldn’t come quickly enough.

  While he waited, he thought about Lisa’s phone call. He didn’t know how she had managed it – an overseas call, as well. Ellie had been right to tell him. But it was something else for him to worry about. The call had broken the seal around Lisa’s whereabouts. Hopefully, no harm had been done, but he didn’t want it to happen again.

  He decided to get in touch with Babi, to make sure she was all right, but there was no answer when he phoned. Then his tram arrived. He got on and glanced at his watch. Almost 9 p.m. He would visit her. It wasn’t too late. Get back to the hotel first and pick up the car.

  Snow was heaped up in giant piles in Babička’s street. The ploughs had done their best. Now it was up to something else to finish the job; Spring, probably. He left the car at the end of the street and walked briskly along to the house. No need for stealth this time. The last thing George Mason would have now was time and resources to maintain surveillance.

  There were no lights on in the house. Babi having an early night? He didn’t want to disturb her. On the other hand, he knew she wouldn’t mind him waking her up. Not at all. She would be avid for more news of Lisa.

  He walked round the house, just to be sure. First impressions were right: no lights anywhere.

  The spare key was still where it had always been kept, under a prominent stone in the garden. He collected it and rubbed off the damp soil, reminding himself to suggest it be placed inside a plastic bag in future.

  At the front door, he hesitated before using the key, and then rang the bell. Opening the front door without warning might frighten her. Better to give her notice.

  No one came to the door. He used the key and let himself inside. Then he switched on the hall light and called a greeting.

  No response.

  He called again, and listened. Nothing.

  He moved on, switching on a couple more lights. Babička’s bedroom on the ground floor was empty, the bed neatly made. He frowned, puzzled. Had she gone away? He wondered if some kindly friends had collected her and taken her to their cottage in the hills for a few days? That did happen from time to time.

  The main living room was empty, too. And a lot tidier than it used to be, no doubt thanks to Lisa’s departure.

  He moved on again, and found her in the kitchen. She was in a heap on the floor. He stared, stupefied, and then let out a great roar of pain and anger. There was no need to check to make sure she was dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She had been shot – eventually. When he calmed down enough to look closely, the bullet hole in the back of the head wasn’t hard to find: the trademark execution. Before that, she had been knocked about. He could see that, too. The evidence was all over the kitchen.

  They hadn’t just come here to kill her. Whoever had done it had wanted something from her first. Information, presumably. She had nothing else to give. She didn’t even have much of that. What could she have told them? Nothing. Almost nothing. She had no idea where he was, or where her granddaughter was. That was the reality. Prague or England would have been all she could have said. For that, she had paid a heavy price. A pointless killing, unless it was intended to anger or frighten him.

  Jackson and Murphy, probably. It was their style. Utterly ruthless.

  He turned away and considered his options. There weren’t many. First, he had to get away from here. It went against the grain to abandon Babička like this, but he couldn’t afford to be caught up in whatever happened next. He would be no use to Lisa, himself, or anybody else, if he was. It was as simple as that. He left.

  Back at the car, he drove some distance away and then stopped to phone Mayhew.

  ‘Something else has happened.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Remember I told you about my daughter, and how she had been living with her grandmother here in Prague? Well, I’ve just found her grandmother – murdered.’

  ‘By our mutual friend?’

  ‘It looks like it. Him or his associated cretins.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Harry. It’s a sad situation. I wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘I should have seen it coming,’ Harry said bitterly, ‘and done something to stop it.’

  Mayhew didn’t respond for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Is there anything practical I can do to help you?’

  ‘There is, yes. I don’t want to get tied up with the police over this. Not now, anyway. It would be better if someone else could notify them of the death.’

  ‘Of course. Give me the details.’

  After he had been given the name and address, and a couple of other bits of information, Mayhew said, ‘There is one thing I can tell you. We know a little more now about what Mason has been up to. We found one of his associates, and in exchange for the usual waivers he’s told us the gist of it. Apparently, the elimination of Unit 89 was the price, or part of it, Mason agreed to pay for a significant stake for himself in a new gas field in Siberia. God knows who over there is in a position to make him such a gift, but that’s what it all seems to be about.’

  Confirmation, once again, that Mayhew had levelled with him. It was good to know. He toyed with the idea of telling Mayhew about Kuznetsov, but he dropped it. The time wasn’t right.

  ‘So I’m in his way?’ he suggested.

  ‘Exactly. Last man standing. As I said before, take care. He can’t close the deal while you’re still on your feet, and now he needs to do that more than ever. He’s burned all his bridges with us.’

  ‘At least I know where I stand,’ Harry said, as if he hadn’t until then.

  Mulling it over on the drive back to Malá Strana, he swore bitterly as his thoughts returned to poor old Babička. What had she ever done to harm anyone? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. She was, had been, an extraordinarily good woman, and he had no idea how he would ever be able to tell Lisa what had happened to her. Damn Mason to hell!

  Where was the bastard now? It had to be somewhere not far away. If Mason couldn’t get to him and finish the job, then all that he had done so far would have been in vain. The killings and the loss of his career and country would have been for nothing, and the door closed on Siberian riches.

  His guess was that Mason knew he was here, in Prague. They might have got enough out of Babička to make them believe that. Even if he wasn’t, they might think that her death would bring him back. So Mason would probably be here too, somewhere, and still looking for him.

  His thoughts turned to the Mason sighting near Lenka’s place. Was it really him? He wasn’t so sure now. It made little sense, for one thing. There was no reason for Mason to be in that area, no reason at all that he could see. If it had been him, it could only have been coincidence.

  The worry that Lenka might be at risk had faded. Mason probably wouldn’t even know she existed, still less have any reason to target her. Besides, he didn’t do wet jobs himself. They were assigned to the likes of Jackson and Murphy. He must have been mistaken. It couldn’t have been Mason.

  Just as he reached the street where his hotel was located, the other possibility came to mind again. He swore, angry with himself for even thinking it. He must be going out of his mind. But he couldn’t let it go. He parked along the street, and sat and brooded, unable to bring himself to get out of the car.

  Lenka. Was she involved in some way he didn’t kn
ow about? Was that why Mason might have been in the vicinity – to see her?

  It didn’t bear thinking about. But once raised, it was a question that wouldn’t go away. He began to wonder if he had been incautious, naïve perhaps, in assuming Lenka was totally on his side. She had certainly helped him, but was that enough to prove her one-hundred per cent commitment to his cause?

  Alternatively, once again, could Lenka herself be at risk? Perhaps Mason somehow knew she was helping him, and was set on eliminating her? It was a possibility, and one he liked better. He decided to speak to her again, and to warn her.

  He started the car up and headed out to Strašnická. Late as it was, it would be better to speak to her face-to-face than risk using a phone.

  He parked nearby and set off to walk to Lenka’s apartment block. It was a beautiful night. Icy cold, no wind and a big, chilled moon that lit up a desolate landscape. Mountains of snow everywhere; cars still half-buried, not yet dug out. Just one car moving. It pulled to a stop outside Lenka’s block. A man got out and headed for the entrance. The car moved away, with the soft purring sound that all big expensive cars make.

  Harry blinked, gasped and began to run. He was too late. The entry door had opened and was shut again long before he reached it. By the time he arrived, the lift door, too, was closed and the lift was steadily ascending.

  Through the dirty glass he watched the indicator button as the lift travelled upwards. It stopped at the seventh floor. Lenka’s floor.

  He pulled out his phone and hurriedly punched in the numbers. Come on, come on! he urged, almost demented, as the phone rang and rang. Eventually it was picked up.

  ‘Lenka don’t. …’

  ‘Harry!’

  She laughed and giggled at someone obviously close by.

  ‘Lenka!’

  But she wasn’t in listening mode.

  ‘Harry, you will never guess! I can’t talk now. I am sorry. Stefan has just arrived. I am so excited!’