Kate groaned. “I can’t drink any more cider. Anyway, shouldn’t we go somewhere quieter? Less crowded?”
“Not necessarily. Unless you’re in an open space you’re never as alone as you think you are, and the quieter it is the more your voice carries.”
She digested this bit of tradecraft, wondering how much Conor had been taught, and how much he just seemed to instinctively know. “Okay. The square is a big open space, and it’s noisy. Will that work?”
“It’s already worked once. Let’s try it.”
If the rules called for crowds and noise, the main square was a perfect candidate. She and Conor skirted a large audience gathered around the stage of a raucous puppet show, and crossed to a more dimly lit area at the back of the square’s large, oblong memorial. Sitting on a bench beneath the gaze of stern Hussites immortalized in stone, she waited while Conor placed the call. After giving the password he paced in front of her, evidently surprised by the length of the pause that followed. When Frank finally came on the line, the one-sided conversation was short, and not what Kate had expected to hear.
“What? … Why not? I thought it was secure. … Oh. Right. I did, yeah. … Well, we’ve a few things on the boil, Frank, and I needed his help. Now we need to talk, so drop the feckin’ attitude and tell me what to do. … All right. I’ve got it. … Yeah, ten minutes.” Conor snapped the phone shut and sat down next to her. “Bollocks.” After taking a quick glance around, he reached to the back of the stone bench and slammed the phone against it.
Alarmed by the uncharacteristic display of temper, Kate grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry. It’s okay.” He held out a hand. “Let’s have yours as well. We’re not meant to use them anymore.”
She took the phone from her purse and after turning it over to him winced at the sound of plastic shattering against stone. “Well, it’s not the first phone of mine you’ve smashed to pieces. What’s the problem this time?”
“It’s because I gave the number to Eckhard, but his phone wasn’t registered as a safe one. I guess an alarm blew back at MI6 headquarters on the computer of some creepin’ Jesus in the basement. When that happens they assume the phone is compromised and disable it. Frank was surprised it still worked.” Conor stepped away to throw the electronic remains into a trash can. “He said we should go to the British Embassy across the river. He’s calling the Prague head of station to get a secure line ready. I expect it’ll be the first the poor bastard’s heard about me or any of this, so he’ll be good and stroppy.” He sighed. “Ready? No, Kate. Keep the coat. It’s chilly out here.”
“Take it,” Kate insisted, pushing the tailcoat at him. “It’s dusty, but I don’t want you showing up without a jacket. The British notice things like that.”
Rolling his eyes, Conor pulled the coat on and allowed her to slap away some of the larger patches of grime. “We should grab a taxi. It’s too far to walk in ten minutes, and I think it’s going to rain.”
Conor retreated into silence during the ride to the Embassy, no doubt bracing himself to meet an MI6 officer who had every right to be outraged. Kate left him alone and concentrated on what they’d need to do next. As much as she hated the idea, they’d have to return to the house at some point, and it might be better to do so sooner rather than later.
“Listen,” she said, as the car stopped at the alley leading up to the British Embassy. “There’s no point in my going in with you. I know the story already and you can tell me later what Frank says. Why don’t I keep the taxi and go ahead to the house? Maybe the Labuts aren’t back yet. We need to find out what Sonia is planning to do, and if I can talk to her before they get there it might be easier.”
Conor gave the appearance of considering the idea, but she saw he was humoring her and wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. “If they’re aren’t home already they will be soon enough. I don’t want you in that house without me. The last time I saw Martin he was seething.”
“So what? As you told us earlier, she’s got a gun. And so do I, if it comes to that. The Walther is under the mattress.”
“Kate—”
“Conor.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “It won’t come to that. He doesn’t know who Sonia really is, or who we are, for that matter. Why would he drop the masquerade now, right when he needs to double down on it? He’s lived in the shadows for years and the last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself in his own house. That’s why Sonia knows she’s safe there, and we are too. Also, you’re conveniently forgetting the other part of the agreement we had—that you’d treat me like a partner. Isn’t this what you’d be asking any other partner to do right now?”
She knew she had him then. He had to dig deep, but he finally agreed and she was proud of him for it. “You’re impossible to argue with,” he muttered. He threw open the door but before getting out looked back and reached over to thread his fingers through her hair. “I love you.”
Before she could respond he jumped out, slapping a hand on the roof as he closed the door, and the taxi sped away.
After getting what she’d asked for, Kate immediately began wondering why she’d lobbied so hard for it, since a conversation with Sonia was the last thing she really wanted at this stage of the evening. She also regretted giving up the tailcoat because now she was cold again, and her head was throbbing. The thing she most wanted was bed, and not the unyielding concrete slab waiting for her back in the guest room. Kate wanted the soft, enveloping comfort of her own bed at home, but pining for it only made its absence more painful. She put the thought aside as the car bumped over the tram tracks in Malostranské Námĕstí, and a minute later the taxi turned onto the long plaza in front of the Church of St. Nicholas.
The Labuts’ building stood at the far corner, and the headlights shining against its lilac-colored stone was the only illumination in evidence. The windows were dark on every level, suggesting Martin and Petra had not yet returned or else had gone straight to bed. As Conor predicted, it had begun drizzling. Kate leaned forward to pay the driver and looking between the slapping wipers saw the outline of a figure next to the lamp post. He was leaning forward as though praying or preparing to be sick, but Kate knew he was doing neither.
“Oh crap.” She motioned for the driver to keep the change, and after leaving the taxi, hurried forward. When she was almost on top of him, Winnie looked up with a panicky twitch, but then his face relaxed.
“Lucky thing, you turning up just now.” He held up a soggy length of tape, lip curled, as though he’d caught a rat by the tail. “It’s rubbish, this tape. Won’t even stick to itself. Thought I’d need to wrap it round the bloody post like a ribbon, but then I wondered would you know what it meant? Tying instead of taping?”
“Not quite so loud, Winnie,” Kate whispered. Their corner of the plaza was dark and deserted, but the carrying power of his voice startled her. She darted a look around them, feeling greater respect for Conor’s wisdom about conversations in quiet places. “What is it you wanted to tell us? Did you find Ghorbani?”
His face brightened. “That’s right. Exactly that, and what’s more, at this very minute our Farid’s not three blocks from here. I tailed him by car to this part of town. For a minute I thought he was driving straight for this place, but then he turned down a different street and went into a restaurant. He was tucking into a large whiskey and a great platter of meat when I came away to fix a signal for the two of—” Winnie’s smile faded as he finally noticed they were missing a team member. “Where’s Conor, then?”
“He’s at a meeting,” Kate said. “Which direction is the restaurant?”
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, it’s down the street a bit and then off to the left, but I suppose we ought to wait—”
“No, show me now. Let me just get rid of these heels.” Ducking into the building’s covered passage, Kate put on the ballet flats, and after placing her high heels next to the gated door she ran back to Winnie. “Let’s g
o.”
She passed him, still moving fast, but he immediately caught up and tugged her to a stop. “Best wait for Conor, I’d say. He’s had me on the pavement once already. I don’t care to think what he’d do if I drag you round the streets, running after this Iranian bloke.”
“I’m the one dragging you, Winnie. Believe me, he won’t doubt that for a minute.” Seeing this didn’t shift his reproachful pout, Kate decided to share a few details. She tried imitating the crisp, professional tone Conor used with such success when he wanted to end a discussion. “Farid is working for MI6, and he’s supposed to be defecting. That’s why we took him to Hřensko, but then he disappeared. I need to find out why before he does it again.”
Her posturing failed to impress Winnie, nor did he seem to appreciate the trust implied by Kate’s revelation. If anything his face grew longer, but he appeared resigned to being on the losing end of the argument.
“At least put on my jacket,” he said morosely. “You’re not properly dressed for walking about in the sodding rain. Not that you don’t look lovely,” he quickly added. “As always.”
Although cleaner than the tailcoat, Winnie’s sports jacket was remarkably ugly, but she accepted it as though it were made of sable. “I’m sure I look like a half-drowned castaway, but you are very sweet and a perfect gentleman.”
The compliment and her smile went a long way towards improving Winnie’s mood. He led the way across the plaza and down the steeply graded street on its opposite side, struggling to stay a few steps ahead of the pace she set while puffing out the tale of how he’d located their wayward double agent.
Praŝná Vĕž, the bar Conor had suggested he visit, had turned out to be fertile ground. Winnie arrived late in the evening, presenting himself as a visitor who expected to meet his friend at the bar, and had expressed concern when Farid didn’t appear. Once they knew who he was waiting for, he found both the bartender and several female patrons eager to talk. Ghorbani had been a loyal customer for months and was sadly missed. They told Winnie he hadn’t returned since being hustled out the door several nights ago by a man they’d never seen before.
The witnesses presented a range of opinions about what had taken place—and violently disagreed as to the stranger’s appearance—whether Conor was handsome or ugly, muscular or fat—but everyone agreed Ghorbani had been staying in a hotel somewhere near Wenceslas Square before he disappeared.
“They had me thinking I’d make a quick job of it until I got to see how many bleedin’ hotels are on Wenceslas Square, never mind all the little streets and alleys around it. I mapped it out very methodical like,” Winnie said, warming to his story as the sidewalk leveled off and he steered them into a smaller side street. “It took most of the next day, nosing around hotel lobbies trying to match up their keys with the one I had, but I finally found the right one. The Hotel Imperial. A bit worse for wear, to be honest, but I expected that from the key, didn’t I? The flashier joints don’t use real keys anymore. Anyway, it was a sweet moment when I finally got the chance to pop it into the keyhole of his room.”
Kate came to an abrupt stop, and after a few more steps Winnie did as well, realizing he’d left her several yards behind. “You used the key to get into Ghorbani’s room?”
“Well, not while he was in it, of course. I mooned about in a cafe across the street most of the evening yesterday, waiting to see if he’d show. He came out of the hotel around eight o’clock and I nipped over to have a look while he was gone.”
“Conor told you not to do anything fancy.”
Winnie waited for a few pedestrians to pass before walking back to her, looking wounded by her hard stare. “I wouldn’t have called that fancy, taking a few minutes to peek around an empty hotel room as a matter of interest. I thought it might be helpful.”
She wasn’t sure she agreed with this liberal interpretation of his orders and was positive Conor wouldn’t, but Kate had to admire the man’s initiative. Taking him by the shoulders she turned him around and they continued walking. “What did you find in his room?”
“Close to bloody nothing. Literally.” Winnie gave her a meaningful glance. “A bit queer, isn’t it? He’s been in Prague for months, living out of a duffel bag like a monk, with only one change of clothes? I’ll wager the ladies at old Protcha Veg don’t waste time on blokes who show up in the same suit every night. Where’s all his clothes, then? And the rest of his kit? Laptop, magazines, Chinese take-away menus, the bits and bobs of rubbish you collect in your pockets and empty onto the dresser at night.”
“That does seem odd,” Kate agreed.
“From the looks of it, I’d say he’s tidied up and is ready to travel. Might have sent his luggage ahead or chucked most of it. If he’s not defecting, it still don’t look like he’ll be hanging about in Prague much longer.”
It was a reasonable conclusion to draw from the evidence—Kate was beginning to think they’d underestimated the skills of their private eye—but she wondered where Ghorbani could be planning to go, since his documents were still waiting for him in Dresden. For all she knew he might have already contacted MI6 to schedule a new rendezvous, but maybe he really had changed his mind about defecting. He could have decided to risk the exposure of his treason back in Iran rather than leave his country forever. And what about Frank’s theory—that he’d returned to Prague looking for the woman who’d betrayed him? Apart from tonight’s excursion, Sonia hadn’t left the Labuts’ home since Ghorbani had disappeared, but maybe he hadn’t even been looking for her.
“That’s the place, up on the right,” Winnie said. “It’s connected to a hotel.”
He pointed ahead to a quaint-looking restaurant with large windows on two sides of a quiet corner. The awnings covering an empty outdoor seating area were dripping with rain, but the scene still looked inviting. The light from two gas lamps attached to the building gave definition to its decorative friezes and a shining iridescence to the sidewalk around it.
“I parked the Hyundai around the corner and stood over here to watch him,” Winnie said as they stepped into the shelter of one of the city’s many covered arcades. It was directly across from the restaurant, its Roman arches stretching down the street for more than a block. Grateful to be out of the rain, Kate swept the wet hair from her face and peered in the direction he indicated. When her eyes had adjusted, she saw Ghorbani was still inside, sitting at a table wedged into the corner next to a brick fireplace.
“He was alone earlier,” Winnie said mildly. “Any idea who the other bloke is? Kate? Something wrong? You know him, do you?”
“Dammit, be quiet for a minute,” she said sharply.
Withdrawing into the darkness, Kate pressed her back against the stone pier of the arch. Her mind riffed on a dozen thoughts at once, hoping for one that would offer an alternative to the most likely, most disastrous interpretation for why Ghorbani was sitting across a table from Martin Labut.
22
The British staff member who met Conor at the door was a bony young man well suited for night duty at a sleepy embassy in Central Europe. He offered a fluttering handshake, his cold fingers more like a spectral encounter than a greeting, and walked him through several darkened drawing rooms. They were stuffed with antiques and he stepped along quickly, as though afraid anything slower would give Conor a chance to pocket a few knickknacks.
Once through the ceremonial rooms, they turned down a hallway with doors on either side. Near the end he opened one and invited Conor to walk into a shabby, sparsely furnished office where a battered mahogany desk occupied most of the space.
“This is the phone I should use?” Conor indicated the one sitting on the desk.
Alarmed, the staffer immediately placed a protective hand over it. “Oh no, no, sir, don’t touch anything yet please. If you’ll just have a seat, someone will be along shortly to assist you.” He nodded at a chair in front of the desk and waited until Conor was safely settled before removing his hand from the phone.
> “Could we have the lights on, do you suppose?”
“Certainly, sir.” He reached forward and switched on the desk lamp. Together, they watched it struggle to cast a pitiful light through the nicotine-stained lampshade.
“I expect you need to tell someone I’ve arrived,” Conor suggested.
“Yes, indeed. I shall do it straightaway.” The young man reluctantly crossed the room and paused before leaving. “It will be no more than a moment.”
“Sure I won’t move a muscle.”
He broke that promise as soon as the door closed but found nothing of interest to snoop over, so Conor moved to the window and opened a set of brittle venetian blinds. There wasn’t much to see outside either, other than a dark garden, glistening now with the rain that had begun falling. As he looked at it, a tingling stirred at the base of his neck, moving up over his scalp like a fast burn, but then it moved out of him just as quickly, leaving nothing behind. He closed his eyes, letting the sensation pass, and then taking advantage of a calm moment with nothing to distract him, he rested his forehead against the glass, reflecting on the mounting chaos swirling around him.
He wondered how Sonia would explain the failed assassination attempt to Martin and whether he’d believe it. He also thought getting her safely out of the city would be trickier than Lukas anticipated. Now that she was again barricaded inside the Labut home there was no chance Sonia would leave Prague without her son. Given how tightly Martin controlled her access to Leo, Conor dreaded the possibility of a kidnapping stunt—mother, son or both together—getting thrown atop the pile of complications. Before he could tease out this disturbing train of thought, the room’s overhead light snapped on, flooding the office with a fluorescent glare.
“Why the devil are you standing here in the dark?”
The venetian blinds came down with a crash as Conor jumped away from them and spun to gape at the figure in the doorway.
“Apologies for the subterfuge, my boy. I only arrived from the airport an hour ago and wasn’t expecting to speak with you so soon.” Frank arched an eyebrow. “What a treat to see you dressed for work. You’re quite handsome in a tuxedo, I must say, although it looks as though you’ve rolled on the floor in it.”
The Conor McBride Series Books 1-3 Page 86