Anne returned up the stairs to the great room. There, disappointed that Peter had not come with Jeannine, she sat alone and listened to the surf crashing on the beach out of sight behind the dunes.
After some minutes, she stepped into her bedroom. The moon shone brightly, lighting the scattered clouds over the Currituck Sound and casting soft shadows on Anne’s wall.
Soon she was deep asleep.
***
A door opened and shut.
Anne Simek sat up, eyes wide. How long did I sleep? She looked to the west where the moon, now high and distant, lit the clouds a shimmering white against the dark sky. The waters of the sound rippled and glistened in the pale light.
She shook her head clear, stood up, and reached for the light switch. A nearby movement stopped her.
A man stood at the foot of the bed, his face and form vague in the shadows.
She froze. The man spoke.
“Miss Simek, do not scream. It would only bring your father and Miss Ryan, and then I would have to kill you and him too. That would be an unnecessary waste.”
Anne’s eyes roved the room, wildly searching for hope, for some means of escape, but found none.
“No, Miss Simek, there is no way out, except that you follow my instructions. Bad or good, I am your only hope now. Do not fight me.”
At that moment beams of moonlight pierced a high cloud and glanced across the man’s face. Anne saw that his eyes were dark, almost black.
“What do you want?”
But the man did not answer. He moved suddenly to the side and stamped downwards. Anne heard a scratchy squish. He killed a roach!
But the brown things with six spiky legs no longer mattered to her. She had bigger trouble. She spoke again.
“What do you want?”
“I know Miss Ryan has a shotgun with her. I want you to call her up here to see the moonlight on the clouds. She will come in unarmed and I will subdue her while you sit over there. Then you will watch as I cause her great pain, violate her and terminate her. You will remember every detail, her shrieks, her writhing, and you will tell Mr. Bill Hamm everything, every detail. That is why you will live. I will spare you to hurt him.”
“My God!”
“There is no God.”
“But there is, and He will punish you!”
“As you wish. Will you call Miss Ryan.”
“You are a monster.”
“What is your answer?”
“If I say no?”
“I will kill you and your father. And then torture Miss Ryan. You and he will die needlessly, and I will write Mr. Hamm with all the details of Miss Ryan’s death myself.”
***
Havel Simek’s bedroom was directly under his daughter’s on the Currituck Sound side of the house. Heating vents in the two rooms shared a common duct, so that when these were open, neither room was soundproof.
The fresh air of the Outer Banks induced slumber. Havel slept.
He heard a door open and close.
The dream!
He was in the room with the pink ceiling and exposed pipes. Bright lights blinded his eyes, as he repeated an all too familiar refrain.
“Nevim, Nevim, Nevim nic. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know anything.’”
And then the blows, many to his kidneys, to his shoulders, his shrieks of pain, always followed by a welcome blackness that undulated to nothing.
Awaking, Havel felt his forehead. It was wet with sweat. He drifted off again.
More blows to the back, pain, pain, pain, followed by darkness.
Then he heard that voice. The rasping tones of that unknown man who had led the torture, broken his body, his spirit.
He awoke, but the voice was still there.
The voice was real.
Muted, it came through the duct from his daughter’s room.
Barefoot, Havel crept up the stairs to Anne’s level.
The moon was bright. Havel could see clearly. No sound arose from Jeannine’s bedroom downstairs. Evidently, she had heard nothing.
Havel went to the kitchen. Perhaps a knife?
Then he saw it. Jeannine’s shotgun lay against the counter next to a stool.
He picked it up and turned towards his daughter’s room.
***
The door to Anne’s bedroom opened. A man stood in the dark shadows of the doorway. Havel froze.
The man held a Browning, pointed at him.
Behind the man, Havel recognized his daughter.
The man spoke.
“Good Evening, Mr. Simek.”
The voice was rasping, harsh. Havel knew those sounds.
“You!”
It was the voice of evil in his nightmare!
Havel pointed the shotgun at the ugly specter.
Josef Hrubec laughed.
“So it’s you! The one I called the ‘Roach.’ I thought I squashed you for good. No matter. You have changed, but you will still obey me. Put down the weapon. Now!”
At the confident strength of that voice, Havel’s eyes glazed. Still, he kept the shotgun pointed towards the doorway.
Hrubec continued.
“I know you remember the pink ceiling. We all were younger then you, Johan and I, but you have aged the worst.”
A momentary pause, then Hrubec still pointing the Browning at Havel, reached out his free hand.
“You old fool, give me the gun. You won’t pull that trigger.”
Anne screamed.
“Father! It’s not the dream. He’s real!”
At the sound of his daughter’s voice, Havel’s eyes opened wide. He tilted the shotgun upwards.
At point blank range, he could not miss.
Havel pulled the trigger.
***
But there was no explosion.
“Click.”
Hrubec’s eyes opened wide. Then he laughed.
Jeannine’s shotgun was not loaded. Her father had drilled her never to keep a loaded shotgun in car or house.
Hrubec did not wait. He slammed his Browning against the side of Havel’s head crumpling him to the floor.
Then he picked up the shotgun and turned to Anne.
“Your father has done us a favor. Now we have Miss Ryan’s gun. She is unarmed. Call her up here.”
Anne shrank backwards against the wall. She shook her head “No.”
Hrubec shrugged and stepped towards the stairs. He passed the expansive windows at the front of the great room and glanced out.
The drapes were pulled back. All appeared normal. In the moonlight the dunes shone white amid the twisting blue shadows of waving Sea Oats.
Then, all at once, the sea breeze disappeared. The fruited heads of the Sea Oats drooped earthwards, still and motionless in the moonlight. There was no wind.
Hrubec was unsettled by the sudden stillness. An omen?
But it was the slight sounds heard after the wind stopped that truly unnerved him.
Footsteps scraped along the deck at the side of the house.
***
Jeannine appeared at the head of the stairs.
“Anne, what’s all the noise about.”
Distracted, Hrubec turned towards her.
In the dim light Jeannine recognized his dark eyes, her former captor. She drew back.
“No!”
But Hrubec swung the Browning in a circular motion. She saw the blow coming and raised her arm to block it. Though partially deflected, the blow knocked her senseless.
She fell to the floor
***
Before Hrubec could assess Jeannine’s condition, a loud banging sounded from the deck.
“Anne, it’s Peter. Open up. What’s wrong? Who’s in there with you?
Hrubec responded. Several rounds from the Browning shattered the safety glass of the doors.
Anne jumped to the side and cried out.
“Peter, watch out. He has a gun!
Hrubec turned and fired at her. Unharmed, she dropped behind t
he sofa.
Hrubec turned back to the shattered doors, but now, Peter stood before him.
Hrubec had thought Peter unarmed. In dismay he saw that Peter held a gun, a Makarov. It jerked upwards, twice.
Hrubec realized that a shot had been fired. He felt a thrust in his chest as the initial 9 mm round moved him backwards and sideways. Then the second round struck his head and all awareness ceased.
Hrubec was dead before his body hit the floor.
***
Fortunately for Jeannine, Hrubec’s blow had glanced to the side and not caused its intended damage. She shook her head and struggled to her feet.
In the center of the room, Anne and Peter Zeleny were locked in a fierce embrace. Nearby, Anne’s father sat up with a dazed expression on his face.
Anne looked away from Peter.
“Jeannine, are you all right?”
Jeannine nodded.
“I’m fine. But your father?”
Havel stood up. Anne smiled.
“He’s fine.”
Anne wasted no time. She took Peter by the arm and dragged him in front of Havel.
“Father, Peter and I want to be married and we need your blessing.”
For several moments, Havel stared at the still body on the floor. When he looked up his eyes were clear. He addressed Peter, not Anne.
“My daughter is all I have in this world. Promise me you will take care of her always, and I will give her to you.”
Peter swallowed.
“I will.”
Havel smiled.
“Then, my son, it is done.”
***
Anne covered Josef Hrubec’s body with a bed sheet while Jeannine stood by.
They left the body untouched, but no one wanted to stay near it. Cloaked with blankets Peter, Anne, Havel and Jeannine sat on the deck to Anne’s bedroom to wait for Jim Harrigan and deputies from the Currituck County Sheriff’s office.
It was only after the arrival of the police that Jeannine’s analytic mind returned to action.
“Peter, thank God you had a gun, but you don’t carry one. Where did you get it?”
“There’s an old tin box under the house, like for old milk bottles. It was in that box.”
“But how?”
“After I drove Aileen here from Maryland, I put it there. I was afraid of what Jim Harrigan might think so I hid the gun there. It’s the one I took from Gustav.”
“Afraid of Jim Harrigan?”
“He’s police. There was a time when we Czechs could not trust the police. I know it was stupid, but ...”
Jeannine smiled.
“Your ‘stupidity’ saved us. Thanks.”
Anne stepped to Peter and looked into his eyes.
“Let me repeat that. Thanks.”
***
******
Chapter 54
Friday, December 10
Early morning in Prague. Alone in his office, Karel Moravec finished packing his satchel. As promised, Abdul Rahman had deposited the many millions of Euros in the three Swiss accounts. And now, thanks to a clever mnemonic device, the numbers of those three accounts were committed to Karel’s memory.
And no one could withdraw funds but Karel. That knowledge was insurance. It guaranteed his survival.
The satchel held several passports. The tickets to Brazil were in his suit pocket. Of course that country was not his final destination. He was headed for a remote area east of the Andes in Argentina near Bolivia and Paraguay.
Not that he planned to be a hermit rancher. No, isolation was not for him. He needed luxuries and a night life. He would arrange to spend long “vacations” in a civilization with high culture, in Montevideo, Uruguay. He had already rented a small office there in the shadow of the World Trade Center building. Karel had major investment plans.
He zipped his satchel shut, and turned to the laptop on his massive desk. Erik Holub would arrive soon, and Karel would see to a generous transfer to Erik’s account.
His work was done. He leaned back and relaxed. He shut his eyes.
***
Karel opened his eyes to a gentle knock on the door.
“Erik, come on in. That was a great job you did in Virginia.”
The door opened, but it was not Erik. Rather the man who entered was disheveled, as if he had traveled all night.
Karel gaped in amazement.
Gustav Slavik stood before him.
And Gustav held a gun, a CZ-52, pointed directly at Karel’s chest.
Karel froze.
He forced a smile.
“Welcome back Gustav. Our goods are delivered. Our part of the project has succeeded. We have received our payment, so I can pay you now.”
He paused to add.
“But put away the gun. There’s no need. I have a magnificent share for you. It’s ready.”
Gustav did not move. Neither did the gun.
Karel tried to avoid looking at the aperture of that lethal barrel. Somehow he continued to smile.
“What would you like? More money?
Gustav did not answer. He seemed in a dream.
Karel carefully slid his desk draw open. Gustav appeared not to notice.
Karel’s armpits were sweaty. He steadied himself.
“Gustav my old friend. If it’s money, I can make you rich beyond your dreams.”
At last Gustav broke his silence.
“I am too old for money.”
Karel felt hope. He knew that he could out-talk Gustav.
“But not too old for a woman. Beautiful and young! Would that please you? I can arrange it. Along with all the money you need to keep her happy.”
“You mean like Ivana Novotna?”
“No, no. Not like her. Ivana is a whore. Trust me. You can do better.”
“Yet you lived with her.”
“Yes, but only because she begged me. She’s a bitch. Besides she may be dead by now. A good thing too.”
Gustav’s brow furrowed.
“Dead?”
“Yes, I saw she was interfering with the mission, with ours, with yours. She was a threat to both of us.”
Gustav’s face turned red.
“Karel, you bastard. Ivana is my daughter.”
Karel stared. His daughter?
Gustav continued.
“You tried to kill my daughter. And you would have succeeded if it were not for the Americans, their damned CIA and that ‘Bill Hamm.’”
He added.
“Capitalists! You put me in debt to greedy money-grubbing Americans.”
Karel interposed.
“Gustav, I’m sorry, I had no ... ”
Gustav did not notice. He scratched his chin with his free hand.
“I could excuse you for the Americans, but for my Ivana? No. Never!”
His eyes focused on Karel’s.
“You used my daughter for your pleasure. Then you discarded her.”
“No, Gustav. She left me, remember?”
“She told me about that. She only left after you tried to have me killed, and after you chose Fiala over her, not before.”
“Not true.”
But his voice was weak. His lies could not convince Gustav.
Karel’s eyes fell on the open desk drawer. In it his P226 Sig Sauer lay chambered and ready.
Gustav, saw that glance. His voice was dull and monotonal.
“Yes, Karel, reach for the weapon. I have no conscience, but my little Ivana does. It will help her to know that I killed you in self defense, not in cold blood.”
Karel did not wait.
He grabbed the Sig Sauer and got off the first shot.
Then he squeezed again. Because of the mechanism, the second round required less finger pressure than the first, but it never left the chamber. The second squeeze had been a weak reflex.
Karel hit the floor, a hole in his forehead.
***
Gustav stuffed the CZ-52 in his belt, at back. He felt his left shoulder. His suit was torn and
damp where Karel’s slug had grazed him. It was not a problem.
With his right hand he fumbled in his shirt pocket and drew out a king-sized Petra cigarette.
He inhaled deeply, and looked about the spacious office.
The massive desk, symbol of Karel’s authority, was unstained. It hid the body from view.
But not from the plaster angels on the ceiling above. They looked down, silent and uncaring.
Gustav left.
Behind the desk a dark pool of blood formed under Karel’s head.
***
In Prague, Erik Holub arrived at the main administrative building of the chemical and pharmaceutical giant Hus-Kinetika. He was relaxed for the first time in months. After a restful day in Paris to alleviate his jetlag, he had flown to Prague for his big payday.
In the hallway to Karel’s office, he was stopped by uniformed policie who blocked the corridor.
Their unsmiling questions left him confused.
“Who are you?” What is your business with Mr. Moravec?”
They noticed the suitcase in his hand.
“When did you arrive in Prague? From what city? Where were you earlier today?”
In vain, Erik peered over their shoulders to see what was happening.
“Sir, you need to come to the station with us. We will drive. Here, give me your bag.”
One of the policemen picked up the suitcase and motioned Erik to follow. As he did, a gurney topped by a black plastic body bag appeared in the hallway. Erik found his voice.
“Is that Mr. Moravec?”
With a barely perceptible nod, the policeman pushed Erik towards the exit.
“Prosim, ‘Please,’ come with us, Sir.”
A bewildered Erik complied.
***
It was evening in Vienna, Austria, when Ivana Novotna, accompanied by Bill Hamm, arrived at her hotel.
That afternoon, the news of Karel Moravec’s untimely death had convinced Bill’s superiors that the “Goldfinch” no longer needed protection. Ivana could shift from a safe house to a hotel of her choosing.”
The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3) Page 37