The Conor McBride Series Books 1-3

by Kathryn Guare

  Brushing at the sleeves, Kate looked curiously at Lukas. He was the same height as Conor, and they shared a further similarity in their lean, athletic frames, but the Czech officer was probably fifteen years older. His closely cropped rust-colored hair was feathered with gray, and a deeply etched network of crow’s feet gave his eyes a look of weariness.

  “What happened with Son—”she caught herself and switched gears. “You said I’d only see you again if something went wrong.”

  “Something did,” Lukas said. “I didn’t count on the heroic altruism of your partner, so Greta got away.” He pulled one of the heaters closer to their table and frowned at it. “Sorry it took so long. Nearly everyone had run from the reception and they were standing around in the square, so we had to split up and mingle for a while. Should we try to find a place inside?”

  “No,” Kate said firmly. “I’ve waited long enough. Sit down, both of you, and start talking. The first thing I want to know is what happened to poor Eckhard. I didn’t have much time to explain and I feel like I deserted him.”

  “Eckhard isn’t looking for explanations,” Conor said. “I spoke to him. He’s not interested in adding anything to what he already knows, so he’s heading back to the hotel with the other musicians. I’m wondering about the Labuts. I didn’t see them in the square. What happened to them, do you know?” He directed this question to Lukas.

  “They got swept up by the security guards. They’ll assume the gunshots were aimed at the president, but the Labuts will likely be sent home with police protection as a precaution.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Kate looked at Conor. “I thought the plan was to shoot out a few lights. You came awfully close to hitting them, and I don’t understand why you waited for the president to come out before firing.”

  “It’s a bit complicated,” he said.

  “You took those shots? Did you happen to grab the casings?” Lukas grinned in admiration as Conor took them from his shirt pocket and laid them on the table. “Good for more than a Mozart tune, aren’t you? Kudos. If she got away clean they won’t have much to go on, and hopefully by the time they get a line on anything I’ll have gotten her out of here.”

  Kate immediately jumped on this opening. “Which brings me to my second question. How did you get involved in all this, and what does Harlow have to do with it?”

  “That’s a little complicated, too.” He stared into space, as if considering how to explain himself. “You know how airlines have hub cities?”

  “Ah, Jaysus,” Conor muttered. “An airline metaphor.” He waved off the officer’s confusion. “Keep going.”

  “Hubs,” Lukas repeated. “It’s not something they advertise, but intelligence networks have them, just like airlines. MI6, CIA, BND—all the agencies from the countries in the NATO Alliance have cooperated for decades on maintaining neutral stations in a dozen or so cities. They don’t run operations, and they’re agnostic—or at least they’re supposed to be—when it comes to politics or national interests. Their main purpose is to support member state intelligence officers and agents in need. They manage identity documents, act as supply depots, and provide emergency response.” He tapped each of his middle fingers on the table as he named the functions and drummed the last a few times for emphasis. “Emergency response. That’s how I got involved in all this. MI6 requested help with an extraction.”

  “And they sent that request to Harlow?” Kate asked.

  “They did. She’s the head of the Prague Fermature. She’s got a dotted-line relationship with MI6, but her primary duty is with the NATO Alliance and the Fermature network.”

  “What’s that?” Conor frowned. “It sounds French.”

  “It is. When the system was set up, French was the ruling language of diplomacy. Literally translated, ‘fermature’ means ‘closer’ or ‘fastener.’“ Lukas shrugged. “Holding stuff together. The title applies to the hub itself as well as the person directing it.”

  Kate tried to think of a delicate way to phrase her next question. “It sounds like a pretty intense job for someone who’s … nearing retirement?”

  Lukas shifted in his chair and glanced away. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the profile of the Fermature.”

  “No? Why’s that, now?” Conor sat forward, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the man’s carefully blank face. “It’s because she’s not that old, isn’t it? Does she have her legs as well?”

  Kate gasped. She’d never considered this and was surprised Conor had never mentioned it, but as she remembered Harlow’s alert eyes and energetic voice it seemed entirely possible the woman had disguised herself as an elderly invalid.

  Lukas remained silent, but he didn’t need to speak. The flush rising up from his neck made the answer clear.

  “I’ll be damned,” Conor said softly.

  “Look, I really can’t talk about it. If you see her again, you can ask her yourself.” He paused as a waiter approached their table. “What will you have? Wine, beer, something stronger?”

  Conor quickly swept the bullet casings back into his pocket and took an experimental sip from Kate’s glass. “That’s quite good, actually. I’ll have the cider as well.”

  On comfortable ground again, Lukas rattled off their order in Czech, and after the waiter retreated he continued. “As I was saying, MI6 needed help and they had intelligence to pass on regarding a threat to the Minister of Culture. I’m an officer in the Castle Guard, but I also hold an appointment with the BIS—the Czech security service—and my dotted-line relationship is with the Prague Fermature, so the director asked me to take care of the extraction. Usually it means an agent is in trouble, but in this case it looks like she’s causing it. My understanding is Greta blew the cover of a fellow agent, and she’s also been ignoring requests to contact London for instructions on reassignment.”

  At his mention of the name “Greta” again, Kate gave Conor a sidelong glance. Surely now was the time to reveal Greta was actually Sonia, especially since MI6 had formally handed over the threat intelligence? He nodded an affirmative to the unspoken question, and Kate released her breath in a sigh of gratitude.

  “Right. About Greta.” Conor cleared his throat. “There are few things MI6 doesn’t know about her, and …” He looked at Kate. “There are a few things I’ve learned tonight that even you don’t know yet.”

  Kate felt sorry for their waiter, who arrived back at their table with three orders of hot cider only to find two of his customers rendered inanimate. Discreetly ignoring their paralysis, he arranged the glasses on the table, and nodded his understanding when Conor hinted they would need nothing else for quite a while.

  Beyond astonishment, her immediate reaction to the news she’d just heard was revulsion. Kate found it hard to stomach the discovery that they were being hosted—and she was being flattered and provocatively touched—by the conniving leader of the New Přemyslids. The plot against the president didn’t bother her as much as the prospect of continuing to accept hospitality from a man with genocidal tendencies.

  Emerging from her daze, she noticed a different emotion on the face of Lukas Hasek. He was shocked, certainly, but for some reason he also looked deeply embarrassed. Conor saw it as well.

  “Got something you’d like to share?”

  The officer hesitated, then bowed his head in surrender. “There’s nothing to like about it, but I suppose I should share it with you. I got this assignment because the Fermature knew I’d already be at the reception and in good position for an extraction after the incident. The BIS has been watching the Labuts for the last eight months.”

  “Eight months!” Kate exclaimed. “They’ve known the Czech Minister of Culture is a homicidal white nationalist for eight months and didn’t do anything?”

  “Um, no. That part comes as quite a surprise.” Lukas looked sheepish. “Petra has been the primary focus. At several diplomatic events she’d made a point of bragging to the BIS director about the secrets she could tell. I
t’s widely known she’s slept with the president on more than one occasion, so there was some concern …”

  “Ah, jayz. They pimped you out?”

  Glaring at Conor, Lukas raised his steaming glass of cider. “That’s one way of putting it. Thanks for casting it in the most professional light.”

  “Sorry, mate.” Conor looked contrite, but Kate knew he was trying not to laugh. “Only, I wouldn’t have thought you’d need eight months with Petra to work out what kind of pillow talk the president likes. Has she told you anything?”

  “Nothing pertinent to national security, but now I’m realizing those weren’t the kind of secrets she meant. Christ. I knew Labut was twisted, but I never imagined …” he trailed off, bowing his head before adding, “I’ve told her often enough to get away from him, but she can’t seem to leave.”

  “You don’t think she could be part of his network?” Kate asked.

  “God, no. She’s not that sort of person.”

  “But she’s protecting his secrets,” Conor pointed out.

  “Seems to be, yeah.”

  Conor looked at Kate, all trace of laughter gone. She nodded and turned back to Lukas.

  “You care for her,” she said gently.

  He raised his eyes to meet hers, his ruddy cheeks darkening further. “I know how she seems, but you need to understand, Petra’s been damaged in a lot of ways. Her mother died when she was twelve and her father … used her … as a surrogate. Martin controls her with the same corrupted paternalism, I’ve seen that. I worry about her and … yes, I’ve come to care for her. I’m sure she knows what he is, but I can’t believe she’s part of it.” He lowered his eyes again. “I realize it’s a biased opinion.”

  “It is, but I think you’re right,” Kate said. “I think the only person Petra really hates is Martin. And he hates her. They’re both acting their parts, but they can barely keep the scenery from falling down. It’s a gruesome relationship. Why do they keep at it?”

  “It’s an addiction,” Conor said. “That’s what Sonia called it.”

  “A good word for it,” Lukas agreed. He rubbed his fingers against his eyes and looked even more tired when he was done. “I’ve met Sonia, by the way. I don’t know what the hell I would have thought if I’d actually caught her tonight. And you’re saying London hasn’t been briefed on any of this, yet?”

  Now it was Conor’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Not exactly. Or, rather, not at all,” he added, catching Kate’s eye. “Look, okay, I agree. It’s time to do that. Can you stand down and give me a chance to put them in the picture?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m in an awkward position. I’m pledged to carry out this assignment, but in posing as a conspirator, this woman has the inside track on a man who represents a serious threat to the republic. I can’t just put her on a plane and let her disappear. On the other hand, there’s real danger for her in all this. I have until midnight to report back to the Fermature on the results of tonight’s operation. When MI6 requested help they indicated it might not be a friendly extraction, meaning she’d possibly resist or evade it. If she’s not picked up quickly they intend to target her as a rogue, and that kind of thing generally ends badly for an agent.”

  Kate turned Conor’s wrist to check his watch. “It’s only nine o’clock. You have plenty of time to contact Frank before midnight.”

  “Right.” He leaned across the table. “Just give me twenty-four hours to see if we can hash something out. Maybe this is an opportunity to patch up relations between MI6 and the BIS.”

  Lukas seemed dubious. “A nice thought, but I won’t hold my breath. I’d think you were a wide-eyed innocent if I hadn’t seen the shots you put under the nose of our president.”

  “I’d say innocence is something I left behind a long while ago. Do we have a deal?” Conor put out a hand to the officer, who grasped it after a few seconds of hesitation.

  “Fine, twenty-four hours. No more.”

  “Good man. Let’s drink to it. Sláinte.”

  They all raised their glasses together. Looking at his bluff, apple-cheeked face Kate realized they’d learned almost nothing about Lukas Hasek, but she liked him very much all the same.

  “You told me you aren’t American, so why do you sound like you grew up a few blocks away from me?”

  “I might have,” he said, smiling. It was a nice smile, one that went all the way to his hazel eyes, making the lines around them seem more like creases etched by laughter.

  “My Czech heritage dates back to the fourteenth century, but the government divested the family of its land and property in 1918, so my grandparents left Czechoslovakia. Both my father and I were born in New York. There was a brief restitution after the war, but then the communists took it all back again.”

  “Land that was yours since the fourteenth century? They took it from you?” Conor looked appalled. Kate remembered he’d once tried to explain to her the relationship between an Irishman and his land, and it was one of the few times she’d ever seen him struggling for words.

  Lukas nodded. “It went along with a nullification of the nobility in Czechoslovakia. We finally got it back after the Velvet Revolution when the government returned most of it. That’s when we came back. My family represents the Roudnice branch of the House of Lobkowicz.”

  “Oh!” Kate barely avoided knocking over her glass as she banged it on the table. “I’ve heard of that family.”

  “I thought perhaps you had.” He looked pleased. “There were some marriages with the House of Nassau several centuries ago. It’s likely we have a few ancestors in common.”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but Kate never knew how to negotiate these chance interactions with the royal houses. It made her feel like a diplomat sent to a foreign land without training. She anxiously peeked at Conor, worried her own clumsiness about her lineage only made it harder for him to adjust to it. He was frowning down at the table, swiping a napkin over the cider she’d spilled, but he glanced up as if he’d sensed her eyes on him and his face softened into amused affection.

  “Common ancestors a few centuries back. In Ireland that’s enough to get you on the Christmas list. You’d best get his address.”

  Lukas laughed. “Don’t quote me on it. I don’t keep up on the genealogy, I’m afraid. But then, I’m not the heir, so I don’t have to. It’s also uncomfortable walking around Prague with a name matching the most revered palace in the city. That’s why I use ‘Hasek’. Intelligence officers aren’t supposed to have famous names, right?” He looked at Conor.

  “That’s no bother for me. If the McBrides have palaces somewhere I’ve certainly not been told about it.”

  “Maybe not, but a man who plays a violin with your sublime touch stands a good chance of getting his name recognized.”

  Conor smiled. “Thank you, but who’s the wide-eyed innocent now?”

  21

  They talked for a few more minutes before Lukas departed, and to avoid being seen together Kate and Conor agreed to wait ten minutes before leaving.

  When the officer was gone, Conor leaned back and rested an arm on her chair. “Cousin Lukas. Should I expect this to happen a lot, now? Your family were a fairly randy lot, back in the day?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Ah go on, I’m only messin’,” he chided. “If I can’t tease you about it, I’ll go mad. Seriously though, I’d like to know more about your ancestors.”

  “Well, I’m the wrong person to ask,” Kate said. “I don’t keep up with my genealogy any better than Lukas does with his.”

  “Why not? You should.”

  She was about to offer another tart reply when she realized Conor wasn’t teasing any more. Flustered, and having no good answer, Kate stood up and leaned against the balustrade near their table. Every seat on the patio was occupied now, but their corner of it still felt secluded and private. Turning again from the picturesque view and the noise of the crowd she l
ooked out on a quieter, darker section of the city. The waiter returned with their bill, which Conor paid before getting up to stand next to her.

  “They’re your family, Kate,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t matter if they were crown princes or Bavarian dirt farmers. Probably there are scoundrels and eejits in the mix, God knows we all have them, but they’re your people. There must be a few that deserve to be remembered?”

  “It isn’t that.” She laced her fingers through his, trying to think of how to explain something she’d never put into words. “I don’t know how to do any of this. The money, the titles—I’ve run from it most of my life, and not because I’m a selfless humanitarian. The truth is, I just don’t want the responsibility. How am I supposed to manage a fortune? How is a descendent of one of the great royal houses of Europe supposed to behave? My grandmother knows exactly what she’s doing—she’s telling me to grow up. I can’t run from it anymore, but I’m afraid of turning into someone I don’t want to be. I like myself the way I am.”

  “Me too.” Following the direction of her gaze over the rooftops, Conor grasped her hand a little tighter. “And I’m not worried. You said you’ve seen people made small by money, but I don’t really believe that. It’s a fair bet they were small to begin with—money just gave them a better chance to show it. You’re not shallow, Kate. You’re about the farthest thing from it, and I’d say the least likely person to back off from a challenge. You’re going to manage just fine.”

  “And you’ll help me?”

  “As much as I can, which is to say, as much as you’ll let me.” Conor turned to look at her. It seemed as though he wanted to say something else but then thought better of it. Instead, he changed the subject.

  “I need to get on the phone to Frank.” He swiveled to look at their surroundings. “I suppose I could do it here, but I’ve already paid the bill. We’d need to open a new tab.”