by Dan Latus
‘What?’
‘Stefan is here! He has been away so long. It is wonderful.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked lamely.
She laughed.
‘Marika’s mother has been murdered, Lenka. I want you to be careful.’
‘Oh? I am so sorry. But I must go now, Harry. I will phone you back later.’
Stefan, he thought, as he turned to walk away dejected. Yes, of course. Not George Mason at all. Or rather, it was. But he was also Stefan.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was a nightmare. No other word for it. But hadn’t it been just that from day one? He swore savagely, started the engine and gunned it. Getting away from here was his priority now.
He drove aimlessly for hours. Only by driving fast on the empty night roads could he find distraction.
Lenka!
He didn’t want to think about her, but … her and Mason?
So she was involved. Somehow she was. He could be certain of that now. The best he could come up with was that her involvement was unwitting. Otherwise, surely, Mason would have found him by now – and she wouldn’t have helped him in Vyšehrad anyway.
He wondered if she had also unwittingly given Mason information that had led to the death of Jan Klaus. He grimaced. Quite possibly. On the phone perhaps, she had casually told him where she was going, or where her friend was staying.
The reasoning made him feel slightly better. Perhaps Lenka was essentially innocent, even if she was involved. He didn’t want to think any more about the possibility that she knew what she was doing, and had done all along.
Part of him longed now simply to turn the car west and north, and drive until he reached The Running Man. But there was no way he could do that. Whatever was going on here had to be brought to an end before he left this time.
He grew tired, exhausted, and knew he had to stop before he fell asleep at the wheel. But he couldn’t return to his hotel. He had to assume that Stefan, aka George Mason, was capable of finding it now he was back in town. Christ, all he had to do was ask Lenka!
He stopped finally on the edge of the city and booked into an all-night hotel, one with sparkling neon lights, lots of ladies in short skirts around and a steady stream of customers arriving and departing in Mercedes, BMWs and Audis. Most of the visitors were from over the border, the land of plentiful money and opportunity. He felt safe amid all the busy anonymity to get his head down and sleep.
In the morning, the car park was almost empty. No need to wonder why. He seemed to have been the only guest to have stayed more than a couple of hours. Even the dining room was deserted. Just as he was finishing a desultory breakfast, his phone rang. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. Lenka.
‘Good morning, Harry! How are you today?’
He tried hard to cover his ambivalence. ‘You sound happy?’
‘Oh, yes. It is so good to have Stefan home again. Such a surprise, too. I wasn’t expecting him yet.’
‘Where has he been this time?’
‘Russia, I think. I am not sure,’ she said, laughing. ‘It is always hard to pin him down, and to get him to remember exactly where and when he has been.’
Now there’s a surprise! Harry thought.
‘This time he has brought me some especially good news. We have spoken in the past of retiring and moving out of Prague. Now, Stefan says, his business is going so well we can afford to do that. And I am ready for retirement.’
He grimaced. Retirement? On the proceeds from Siberian gas? Well, why not. Perfectly reasonable.
‘Where would you go?’ he asked. ‘And where’s Stefan from, for that matter?’
‘Slovakia. That is the answer to both your questions. Somewhere peaceful in the mountains.’
He had wondered how Mason could get away with the language issue. He might well speak good Czech, but not like a native. The Slovaks, of course, had their own language. So not speaking Czech like a native wouldn’t be a problem if you were a Slovak.
‘Stefan speaks English, too,’ she added. ‘Very well, in fact.’
I just bet he does! Harry thought grimly.
‘Often we find it is better for us to speak together in English, rather than Czech.’
He winced. God, Lenka! How naïve, how deluded, can you be?
‘This evening, Harry, we would like to meet you and have dinner together. Is that possible, do you think?’
He was staggered. ‘Aren’t you too busy?’ he asked lamely. ‘I mean, if … Stefan has only just returned?’
‘Oh, no! He insisted on meeting you when I told him about my old friend and colleague.’
‘You didn’t tell him too much, I hope?’
‘No, of course not.’ He heard her sigh with apparent regret. ‘Unfortunately, there are limits to what I can confide to him.’
He shook his head. It just seemed to get worse.
‘If you are agreeable,’ Lenka continued, ‘I would like to suggest we meet at a restaurant just the other side of Charles Bridge.’
He thought quickly. Why not? This could be the opportunity he had been looking for. Get it over and done with.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘It sounds a wonderful idea.’
Lenka suggested a time. And that was that. They would meet at the restaurant.
Afterwards, he returned to his room to think it through. The situation was different now, better in some ways, but a hell of a lot more complicated. He needed to get it right.
He didn’t believe now that Lenka was part of the opposition, as briefly he had feared. It was far more likely that she was innocent, somehow duped by Mason. She didn’t seem to be at risk herself at the moment either. That was another plus. But how the hell was he ever going to persuade her of Stefan’s true identity? He soon dismissed that thought. He wasn’t even going to try.
Another question he wasn’t going to waste time on was how Mason and Lenka had got together in the first place. How the hell had that happened?
He couldn’t remember Lenka ever having had a man in her life before. His assumption, Marika’s too, was that she had no need of one. Well, somehow Mason had overcome that problem.
He must have had good reason to try, too. It was impossible to believe it was love, not for Mason. Lenka must have had something he needed, and needed very badly. Whatever that was, it was hard to see Lenka lasting long once he’d got it.
More immediately, of course, Lenka was giving Mason the chance to catch up with him. Once he had done that, he would be free to pick up his reward and walk away – from Lenka and everything else.
Well, this evening would bring it all to a head. Harry didn’t suppose either Lenka or he were intended to survive the night. But the evening would provide the chance he had been looking for, too. Showtime, he thought grimly. Showdown at the O.K. Corral. Bring it on!
Chapter Thirty
It was a long morning, and threatened to be a long day. Harry drove back to Malá Strana and parked the car. Then he set off to recce the restaurant.
He wondered what Mason’s plan would be. Somehow he couldn’t see any of them actually reaching the restaurant. All Mason needed was for him to approach the place, with Jackson and Murphy lying in wait. A quick double-tap from silenced weapons in a crowded street would take care of things, before they disappeared back into the shadows.
Mason wouldn’t need to do anything himself; he could sit inside with Lenka, and fret with her over where her friend Harry Gibson was. No need at all to break cover at this point, unless his association with Lenka was no longer useful and he wanted rid of her.
For a moment, Harry wondered if instead of making plans like this he should simply tell Lenka who she was involved with, and put up with her anguish and disappointment, perhaps even total collapse. The trouble was, he didn’t think he could do it; Lenka was in love. And he wasn’t the man to douse the flame.
Possibly, just possibly, he might be able to convince her afterwards, but not in advance. Besides, he wanted Mason’s
plan to work – up to a point. He wanted the meeting to go ahead, not be aborted. This was the chance he had thought would never come. Tonight, at last, he could hit back.
Passing the buck to Mayhew was another option, and possibly a better one. He thought seriously about that. Would it work, though? What could Mayhew do? He was here on his own, with his own agenda, and faced with chaos at the embassy.
He could contact the Czechs. But that would lead him into a diplomatic nightmare: crazed British spies making mayhem on the streets of Prague! You could see the tabloid headlines now. Mayhew’s career would be at an end, in all probability, and meanwhile Mason might well have been tipped off and got clean away.
All in all, Harry decided grimly, it was better to handle it himself – and make sure the job got done.
The restaurant Lenka had specified was small and discreet, in an historic street of churches, ancient houses, and bars and charming restaurants, all beneath the walls of the Hradčany castle. Harry stood in the doorway of a shop on the opposite side of the street and studied the approaches. At night it would be an excellent place for a stake-out. A narrow street, with dim lighting and vehicular restrictions, lots of tourists wandering by on foot, and plenty of doorways and shadows. Ideal. Hard to find a better ambush spot.
He guessed they would expect him to walk up from Charles Bridge, and look to waylay him before he reached the restaurant. So his best bet would be to come in from the other direction. Come down the hill from the castle. If he could reach the restaurant, he would hit Mason immediately, and take his chances thereafter. He doubted if Jackson and Murphy would stick around with their boss dead.
It wouldn’t be fun coping with Lenka. Quite possibly, she would turn on him. He shrugged; he would just have to deal with it. Somehow. Anyway, he still had a few hours to think about it. He left the doorway and set off to walk back towards Charles Bridge.
His phone vibrated with a text from Lenka. Change of plan, he read. The restaurant advised was not available tonight. Meet us at the end of Charles Bridge. We will walk together to another restaurant. Same time.
He smiled grimly. Well, the message might be from Lenka, but it might not. He didn’t know who had been using Lenka’s phone. It could have been Mason. This might be just a way of throwing him off course.
It could also be a way of cutting Lenka out of the loop, and creating a meeting she didn’t even know about. If it was, it would be a change to welcome.
Keyed up, ready to go, he walked on.
Even on such a cold, dark evening, with piles of dirty snow everywhere, there were plenty of tourists about as he approached the huge archway that marked the entrance to Charles Bridge. He arrived early and slipped into the shadows, prepared to wait.
It was a long, cold wait, a full hour, to the appointed time. The crowds flowed past. Nearby, a sketch artist attracted a few customers, with his lightning cameos and cartoons. A little further along, a jazz band played Dixieland, while one man on his own sold atmospheric pictures of Old Prague and another worked the strings of a couple of wooden puppets that danced jerkily to music from his CD player.
The task he had set himself began to seem impossible. How could he possibly pick out a Jackson or a Murphy, still less a George Mason, in all this noisy, moving mass of people?
He wondered what the plan might be. A knife between the ribs as the crowd pressed? A single, silenced shot fired at close quarters? Or even a push over the medieval ramparts of the bridge?
It wasn’t good. He became restless, fearing he was not going to be able to cope with the threat, not here. Mason had too many options. The odds were stacked against him. He should walk away and think again. Arrange something more in his favour.
He pushed himself away from the wall, ready to leave. It was then that he saw Lenka. She was already here, and standing under the middle of the arch, exactly where they had arranged to meet. With her was a man he didn’t know, had never seen before. Late thirties, perhaps. Tall and heavily built. Wearing a ski jacket and a woolly hat.
They were laughing and hugging one another, and clapping hands and stamping their feet to ward off the cold.
He stared. They seemed happy, very happy. Lenka turned and he saw from her face how happy she was. Stefan, obviously. Dear God! Don’t say he had somehow managed to get it wrong after all?
For a moment he was too shocked to do anything but stare. He couldn’t think. Then he took a deep breath and moved forward to greet Lenka.
‘Been waiting long?’ he asked, summoning a cheerful smile.
‘Harry!’ She laughed, surprised by his approach. ‘Here you are. Not long, no.’
‘And this must be Stefan?’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you at last.’
‘No, no!’ the newcomer said with a chuckle. ‘I am Josef.’
‘My brother,’ Lenka added.
‘Oh?’ His heart missed a beat. He swung round to face Lenka. ‘What about Stefan?’
‘He will meet us at the restaurant. Come! Let us go.’
Her brother, he thought dully. Shit! Wrong again.
‘Josef turned up unexpectedly, and I invited him to join us. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘No, of course not.’
He was back in high vigilance mode, his eyes scanning everyone within reach. How was this going to work? Where were they? He was back to Mason again, and to Jackson and Murphy. What did Lenka know? Anything? Was she still innocent?
‘Do you live in Prague, Josef?’
‘No. I live in Brno, in Moravia. So it is very rare that I get here to see my sister.’
They moved on, threading their way through the crowds, heading towards he had no idea what. Events had slipped out of his control. Mason was waiting somewhere, but where? And who was with him? And what did Lenka know?
‘The two men in my life,’ Lenka said gaily, ‘and I hardly ever see them!’
He scarcely heard her.
Five minutes later, they reached the arch at the other end of Charles Bridge. He tensed. Not so many people on this side. But more shadows than ever. Beyond, a world of shadows, in the streets leading past the great churches and up to the castle. Surely it would be soon? He couldn’t believe Mason would really wait until they reached the restaurant.
There was little traffic on the streets this side of the bridge. The odd parked car, but only the occasional vehicle actually moving. Evenings here belonged to the tourists, the people seeking the little bars and the restaurants in the historic huddle of ancient buildings below the castle and the cathedral.
So he immediately spotted the car that came round the corner at speed. He noticed, and stopped walking as it sped down the cobbled street towards them. He tugged Lenka’s arm, urging her towards the sidewalk.
It was too late. As if in slow motion, he saw that the side window was down on the passenger side of the car. He saw the gun barrel poke out. And he saw the continual flashes as the assault weapon was fired, and felt and heard the swathe of bullets.
He saw Josef fall, and as he fell himself he felt Lenka sag away from him as she took bullets meant for him. Then the car was past, sliding on the damp cobbles and squealing round a corner.
People were screaming in the street. His hearing was fuzzy, but he heard them. His head was ringing and waves of agony distorted his vision, but his eyes began to clear. He realized then that he was on the ground, his face flat on the icy surface. He moved his head and saw he was lying next to Lenka. But it didn’t feel real. Things were all wrong. Shock had him in its grip. People screaming!
He levered himself up into a sitting position as his senses began to return. He had been expecting an attack, but not one like this. He had been surprised and overwhelmed.
He scrabbled to his knees, knowing without thinking about it that he had not been hit. Lenka was face down, unmoving. He pulled her over onto her back, shouting at her to wake up. He touched her neck and could feel no pulse. He sought a pulse in other places, and couldn’t find one.
&
nbsp; Josef was groaning, alive still but not in good shape. A passer-by appeared alongside, and reached down to him with kind words. People were gathering. He could see their legs all around him.
Then he heard a huge bang and the squeal and grind of tortured metal from somewhere nearby. Round the corner, perhaps? He struggled to his feet and tottered in that direction.
A woman asked if he was all right. He ignored her and tried to run. Pain engulfed him, but he forced himself on.
Round the corner there was chaos. The car had slammed into a refuse truck making its evening round to empty street bins. The car had buried itself deep into the back of the truck. A man in a yellow safety jacket was flat on his back, motionless, in the middle of the street. Steam or smoke was rising from the wreckage. Other men in yellow jackets were closing in on the scene.
The passenger door of the car opened and a figure emerged, to hobble away. Mason. An attempt was made to detain him but gunshots sent two men to the ground. The rest backed off.
As he passed the car, Harry saw the lifeless figure of the driver trapped behind the steering wheel. He kept going, freeing his own gun as he ran. He called out Mason’s name. The figure ahead of him turned and loosed off a fusillade of bullets from the assault weapon he was carrying.
Harry had dropped to the ground as he saw the gun coming round. Now he steadied the hand holding the Glock with his free hand and aimed carefully. He fired, once, twice. Mason stumbled and fell, and then squirmed and scrabbled to reach the weapon he had dropped. Harry got there first, and kicked it aside.
Someone nearby called his name. He spun round as two men converged on him, coming from he had no idea where.
‘Harry!’ one of them said again.
It was Kuznetsov.
‘Yuri?’
The second man took his arm in a friendly way and steered him aside.
Kuznetsov smiled and stepped past. Harry followed him with his eyes, and saw him lean down and shoot Mason twice in the head.