The Witch Who Came in From the Cold - Season One Volume One

by Lindsay Smith

Now even the reputable papers were speculating openly about the sightings of a strange figure, and whether they were connected to the two recent deaths. But the average man and woman on the street would naturally assume the StB officer had been killed by sinister Western provocateurs. And that logic kept most people from using the word “golem.” For now.

  CIA Prague Station had picked up the bad news over the wire. The light atmosphere of the previous few days was nowhere in evidence. Nobody lingered around the coffeepot this morning. It was all hands on deck while their captain stood just outside his office, barking orders.

  “We need to know the story here,” Frank said. “Because in about”—he glanced at his watch—“three hours the early risers in Washington are going to see this on the wire and we’d better have some goddamned answers by then.”

  By now the news was already old in Moscow. The Soviets took pride in their orderly cities. Rampant murders were a symptom of the sickness of capitalism; they did not happen in a workers’ paradise. Which meant the CIA’s local KGB counterparts were under twice as much pressure to find an answer. An answer that would almost certainly involve heaping blame upon the Western services.

  Frank continued, “And we need to know who our friends think might be doing this. Everybody from loudmouthed students to escaped circus bears.”

  One didn’t have to squint very hard to see the murders as a statement about the ouster of the Dubček government. The Soviets would see that angle: retaliation for the brutal crackdown on the Prague Spring. And they’d assume the West was stoking those coals. Which they’d use as an excuse for retaliation. Meanwhile, the Western services, suspecting the deaths to be false flag work, would cast equally wary gazes back across the Curtain. The rival services would be circling each other like feral tomcats.

  Gabe rubbed his temples. Despite the risk to his career—and, given what Ice did to people like him, perhaps his very life—he’d arranged to meet Tanya this afternoon. She’d be in a swell mood, no doubt.

  Frank continued, “I only care about three things.” His prosthetic pushed little divots into the linoleum floor while he paced. It reminded Gabe, not for the first time, of Captain Ahab’s whalebone leg. “I care about clean hands.” Stomp, stomp. “I care about heading off every possible avenue our KaGeBeznik friends might use to connect this to us.” Frank turned the corner, completing his circuit of the room. “And I care about keeping my people safe. As long as we don’t know who’s doing this, we don’t know who they might target next. Doesn’t matter if it’s a lone lunatic or a crew of political radicals. As much as I hate calls from Washington, I hate calling next of kin even more.” Standing again in the door to his office, Frank said, “We can be sure the local authorities have already drawn up a list of suspects.”

  They’d be combing those lists even now, Gabe knew. But the killer wasn’t a political radical. It wasn’t human.

  Casually, Gabe said, “The papers are drawing a connection to sightings along the river.”

  Josh’s eyebrows tried to climb onto his scalp. “The ‘golem’ sightings?” He wiggled his fingers, putting scare-quotes around the word. “You don’t believe that.”

  “Of course not. But the return of the legendary golem, a protector of the oppressed, would make an excellent symbol for a dissident group chafing under friendly Soviet rule, wouldn’t it?”

  Frank chewed on this. “Long shot. But yeah, okay, I can see it.” Gabe relaxed. Frank never wasted more than one officer on a wild goose chase. He could still make his meeting with Tanya. “Sniff around, that’s it. You smell anything fishy, you come straight back here.”

  “I understand.”

  Frank said, “Everybody else, put feelers out. Call on your developmentals and local contacts. Find out what they know. What they’ve heard. What they’ve heard other people have heard. Get everything.”

  Gabe headed for the coatrack by the door. Dominic raised a hand as if he were in a classroom. “I don’t have any local connections, sir. What should I do?”

  “You can go keep Pritchard out of trouble. Normally that’s Toms’s job.”

  Damn it.

  Josh opened his mouth to object, but Dom cut him off with a slap on the back that echoed through the office. “I’ll try to live up to your example,” he laughed. Then he joined Gabe at the coatrack. “I can drive. It’ll help me learn my way around.”

  Did Dominic notice the split second hesitation while Gabe again recalculated his day? He covered with a smile, making certain it crinkled the corners of his eyes. So genuine.

  “Sure. That’d be great. Along the way I’ll show you where the good cafés are.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  Gabe followed him out the door, pausing momentarily to throw an apologetic shrug at his partner.

  • • •

  The Moskvich bumped over a set of tram tracks. Gabe pointed to the left.

  “That place makes excellent koláče. Probably the best in town. But”—he shook his head—“the baker’s husband is an StB informant. So tread lightly.”

  “I’ll stay out of there.”

  “Well, don’t be rash. Seriously. Try their koláče.”

  “You’re a hell of a tour guide, Pritchard.” Dominic downshifted as they turned a corner. “So what’s the angle here?” He brought the car to a smooth stop at a light.

  “Angle?”

  “Yeah. What’s really going on? I’ve been around. I’ve seen some weird shit, okay? But then I get to Prague and the moment there’s a chance to take a breather people start chasing mythical creatures.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who brought up the golem.”

  Dominic chuckled, shook his head. “Potato-eatin’ peasants. Crazy.”

  He released the clutch so smoothly the finicky Moskvich barely hiccupped. Gabe was glad they had somebody so capable on board for ANCHISES. Short of political assassination, pulling a defector from the Iron Curtain was just about the trickiest operation a team could mount.

  “Look, I don’t want to step on any toes,” Dom said, “and I’m not looking to put you on the spot. But I need to know if this will complicate the extraction. You seem plugged in. Will this splash back on us?”

  “This isn’t an op gone wrong, if that’s what you’re wondering. Not one of ours, anyway.”

  Dom turned past the National Theatre, heading for the Legion Bridge. He cleared his throat. “I gotta ask you something else. And it’s not personal, okay?”

  Gabe did not like where this was going. But he clung to the mask of cheerfulness. “Fire away.”

  Dom took his eyes off the road for a split second to nod at Gabe’s hip. “I notice you touch that flask in your pocket every time somebody mentions the golem.”

  Gabe reeled as if slapped. He’d developed a tell. Dom hadn’t been here more than two weeks but already he was reading people like he’d known them for years.

  I have to ditch this guy. I have to ditch him now. He’ll sniff out Tanya in a heartbeat.

  Dom continued, “Listen. I’m not passing any judgment, okay? I’m no saint, believe me, and I’m not pointing fingers. You ever get posted to Buenos Aires, ask about me and you’ll hear stories. But I need to know right now if you have a problem that’ll become my problem.”

  “You can relax. It’s not booze.” Gabe squirmed in the seat to pull out the flask. “It’s a good-luck charm.”

  Dom gave him the side-eye. “Lotta drunks say that.”

  “No, honestly.” Gabe unscrewed the cap and held the open flask under Dom’s nose. “Give it a whiff.”

  He did. And scowled. “What the hell?”

  “River water.”

  “Remind me never to take a swim around here.” Dom shifted again as they approached another turn. “I’ve seen some superstitions in my day, but that’s a new one. I’ll bet there’s a hell of a story behind that flask.”

  Brother, you have no idea. “My priest gave it to me,” said Gabe. “I’m supposed to keep holy water in it.”r />
  Dom laughed again. A genuine, full-belly laugh. He slapped the steering wheel. “I knew I would like Prague.”

  You’re too good, Dom. Too good to be anywhere near me.

  Gabe closed his eyes, leaned back in the seat.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Little headache is all.”

  Gabe called up the exercises Alestair had taught him. He centered, focused, reached inward. Reached for the hitchhiker. Nudged it like a drowsy girlfriend’s shoulder. Wake up, sleepyhead. You want mercury? I know where you can find a nice juicy gob of it. The Moskvich’s trunk light operated by a simple mercury switch, turning on when the tilt of the open trunk sent a little bead of liquid metal rolling downhill to connect a pair of terminals. Gabe pictured this now. The hitchhiker stirred. That’s it. Wouldn’t you love that delicious metal . . . For a split second, he could have sworn he felt the mercury splaying against its glass cage, trying to slither toward him, desperate to merge—

  Dom slammed on the brakes. The car skidded over uneven cobbles. “Gabe! Talk to me.”

  Gabe opened his eyes. They hurt. His face was warm and wet, he realized. He was bleeding from the nose and eyes again. He hoped those were the only places. Blood dripped from his chin and stained his shirt.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not contagious.”

  Dom fished out a handkerchief. “Yeah, great, but what the hell is it?”

  Gabe coughed. Blood had trickled down the back of his sinuses to tickle his throat, too. “Little souvenir from my time in”—for a split second he almost said Egypt—“the jungle. It comes and goes.”

  Dom narrowed his eyes. Calculating: He’d heard things about Gabe. Gabe remembered how Dom schmoozed the secretarial pool.

  “You’ve kept this from the company medics.” A statement, not a question. He’d heard things and followed up on them. Thorough. Dangerous.

  “Yes,” said Gabe.

  He glanced at the handkerchief. Extemporaneous lies were anathema to good tradecraft. His mind raced. Lies worked best when they were mostly true. So he worked up his best pre-confessional sigh, the sigh of a man gearing up to admit his darkest secret.

  “Dom. Here’s the thing. Nobody knows about this, okay? Josh suspects something’s up but I’ve managed to do some damage control in his direction. Frank will look the other way but only to a point. If this gets into my file, Langley will yank me stateside. It’ll be the end of my career.”

  Dominic pulled a cigar from the inner pocket of his jacket. To Gabe’s relief, he only chewed on it, rather than lighting it in the close confines of the Moskvich. Finally, he said, “My lips are sealed. For the moment. But if I suspect for one second this will compromise ANCHISES . . .”

  “It won’t. But I understand. Thanks, Dom.”

  They shook on it.

  “Okay. Now what?”

  Gabe suppressed a sigh. “Drop me at my flat.” He gestured to the handkerchief. “It’s rarely this bad. I’ll be fine if I can lie down for a while.”

  Dom dropped the cigar in his pocket and slid the shuddering Moskvich back in gear. “Can do, chief.”

  “And here you thought keeping me out of trouble would be a cakewalk.”

  • • •

  Gabe really did need to return to his flat. He had to change clothes before meeting Tanya. Showing up covered in blood would draw all kinds of attention their rendezvous didn’t need. He lingered in his apartment long enough to make it look like he had taken a nap, just in case Dom was suspicious and chose to linger nearby. Then he slipped out the back.

  He felt particularly self-conscious as he left his apartment building. It had taken a bit of effort to mollify Josh and get things back on an even keel. Now he had to start all over with the new guy. Dom seemed pretty okay, and that wasn’t something Gabe said about every backslapping jingoist he met. But he’d have to step lightly around the man from now on. At least until he got rid of the hitchhiker once and for all.

  You’re already lying to your colleagues and collaborating with a KGB officer. At what point will the cost of this exorcism be too dear?

  The ancient fort of Vyšehrad commanded a magnificent view of the Vltava. The twin neo-Gothic spires of the Basilica of St. Peter and St. Paul towered nearly two hundred feet over the river. Academic lore dated parts of the fortress all the way back to the Dark Ages; local lore said the hilltop was also the spot where the witch prophetess Libuše had envisioned the city of Prague.

  Gabe had shed his coat by the time he passed, puffing and sweating, beneath the arch of Tábor Gate. It was a long, tall hill. And it didn’t stop rising after he entered the Vyšehrad grounds. He’d changed out of his bloodstained shirt but its replacement was damp with sweat by the time he turned right at the more ornate Leopold Gate. From there he stalked past a Romanesque rotunda, through manicured lawns and tidy white buildings with red slate roofs. Lovely place, even in winter. He’d have to come back in the summer, when the grass was green and the trees weren’t bare. He checked his watch, then picked up the pace as much as he dared, trying to hurry without looking like somebody in a hurry. He passed a tripod of stone columns known locally as the Devil’s Column and, finally, entered the cemetery adjoining the basilica.

  Wandering through the graves, he took time to run his eyes over each inscription like a curious tourist. He seemed to be spending a lot of time in famous graveyards lately. Was that a reflection of Prague, or of him? Finally he spotted the KGB officer in a corner of the arcade that bounded the cemetery. She stood with hands in her pockets, gazing down at a tomb marker.

  She wasn’t alone. Her pal, the tall brunette, lingered nearby, carefully contemplating a gravestone, with a clear view of Tanya and anybody approaching her. Prague Station had a file on her: Nadezhda Fyodorovna Ostrokhina. AKA Nadia.

  Gabe hesitated. He’d already told Frank about an earlier contact with Tanya; he had to step lightly in his next report, now that their interaction was a matter of record. Repeated contacts with the same KaGaBeznik would raise eyebrows. But meeting with two known officers . . . And that was just the spycraft angle. Ice had a special boat for people like him. Were the Russians here as spies intent on squeezing a CIA agent, as sorceresses intending to capture a magical pawn, or both?

  He backed off, did another sweep of the grounds. If the KaGeBezniks had other allies on-site, he didn’t sniff them. Still, he considered waving off entirely. Would have, too, if not for the voice in the back of his head.

  I could be myself again. Have my old life back.

  His footsteps echoed beneath the groined vaults of the arcade. He came to a casual stop before a marble bust. Tanya dropped a flower on the grave of Antonín Dvořák. He recognized the blossom he’d left for her on the Charles Bridge, much worse for wear. She studied him from the corner of her eye. He tipped his head, ever so slightly, toward her companion.

  “Well aren’t you just two peas in a pod,” he murmured. The KGB officer furrowed her brow. But she was too stubborn to admit she didn’t understand the idiom. “We have a saying. ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd.’”

  “Too bad,” she said. But the glance she shot in Nadia’s direction wasn’t entirely friendly.

  Oh, ho. You didn’t want her here, either. Just how are things at the KGB these days?

  And then, covering her tracks, she elaborated. “I’d be a fool to meet alone with you.”

  “I’m not crazy about this either, sweets.”

  “I didn’t ask for this meeting.”

  Slowly, he worked his way closer. Whispers carried under the arcade. He didn’t know where to begin. “I need your help.”

  Tanya frowned. Another voice said, “We don’t handle defections.”

  The other woman had joined them, he realized. She was dangerous. He remembered how easily she’d tricked Josh. It wasn’t a simple disguise the night they’d followed Tanya and the student; he was certain Nadia had used magic as part of her decoy deception. Her stealth knocked him off-balance.

/>   He blurted, “I have something inside me.”

  His voice echoed. The few others strolling in the shadow of the basilica turned to stare. The three spies strolled in silence past the graves of Czech national heroes until the awkward moment passed.

  “Hear me out, okay? It’s a long story.”

  Tanya studied his face, his bearing, for a long beat before gracing him with a microscopic nod. Magnanimous.

  “It started in Cairo,” he said. He outlined his Egyptian misadventure for them, skipping over the part about surveilling Mossad officers (no reason to give the KGB information about the CIA’s capabilities in the Levant) and instead emphasizing Jordan’s hypothesis that he’d disrupted a major sorcerous work by Flame magicians. He figured that should win him some points with the Ice witches.

  By the time he got to the mercury, Tanya was staring at him as though he’d grown a second head. Nadia took her elbow and pulled her a short distance away. They consulted in low voices. The consultation quickly turned into an argument, both women taking turns to flick glances in his direction. It grew heated; their hissing at each other sounded like Medusa’s worst hair day.

  “I’m not jerking you around. You wouldn’t believe what it took to ditch my partner this morning.”

  Nadia turned from Tanya to look at him. “Oh, yes, Mr. Toms. And how is Joshua enjoying his first overseas posting?”

  Oh, you slimy commie. Gabe played along, though. If they hadn’t yet pinged to Dominic’s arrival in town, he sure as hell wasn’t going to tip them off. “Josh hasn’t forgotten the way you led him on a wild goose chase, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s eager to catch up with you sooner rather than later.”

  He didn’t know if their English was good enough to catch the double meaning. All the better. Let them chew on it a while.

  Tanya looked unconvinced, too. He looked her in the eye. “The hitchhiker,” he whispered, “sometimes makes me feel as though I’m floating.”

  Her eyes widened. She got it: The hitchhiker had led him to the barge. And then she flicked another razor-sharp glance at her comrade.

  Interesting. So Ice’s cozy little love barge is part of your tiff, eh?