The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3) (6 page)

In Prague, the elaborate high-walled office featured an almond-colored stucco ceiling edged by stylized flowers across which plaster cherubim romped and cavorted. The decorative angels looked down on a ponderous walnut desk that made the man behind it appear powerful. That individual was ensconced in a stiffly padded chair. A well-tailored suit tightly configured a muscular frame. He had hair that was partially gray, but his torso exhibited a youthful vigor. An alert demeanor signaled a readiness to trade the chair’s cushioned comfort for action at a moment’s notice.

The man looked up as an attractive woman entered the room. Stylishly dressed in a trim suit, her spike heels accentuated her shapely bearing. She approached the desk.

“Sir, Gustav called. Vaclav survived. He is still alive.”

Karel Moravec frowned and peered over his reading glasses.

“And?”

“And Gustav says he will finish the matter within 24 hours.”

“And our documents?”

“Gustav is sure that Vaclav still has them.”

“If Gustav fails, Ivana, What then?”

Ivana stood slightly to the side to present her distinctively feminine profile to her superior. Straight blond hair, falling just off her shoulders, added to her classic good looks and well-formed figure. She had struck this pose before. Karel enjoyed this view.

“Sir, I did as you said. The backup team you wanted is in North Carolina. They will act should Gustav fail.”

“Good. They will be needed. Your Gustav failed once, and he will again. Ivana, I want you to learn from his failure.”

“Sir, you seem sure about Gustav. Why?”

“My life is to know people. You must learn from me. When I let you choose Gustav, I hoped he would succeed for your sake, but I had my doubts. You will learn from this episode. There are costs to unwise choices.”

“But if Gustav should succeed?”

Karel’s lips widened, almost a smile.

“He won’t, but either way we have no further use for him.”

Ivana stared out the window. Across the river, lights illuminated Prague’s landmark, the resplendent Hradčany Castle while the lamps on the Charles Bridge sent glowing streaks that shimmered in rippling reflections across the dark waters of the Vltava River. Ivana’s brow furrowed.

“Ivana, dear, do not be concerned. Trust me. I anticipated Gustav’s failure. That is why I had you arrange the backup team.”

He switched his address to the diminutive.

“Ivanka, we have nothing to fear. My backups will take care of Vaclav and the stolen records. They will eliminate Gustav too.”

Ivana’s eyes widened.

“But why kill Gustav?”

“Don’t you worry about that. I have decided. Now go, there is another matter I must attend to.”

He opened a folder on his desk. She turned for the door.

Karel looked up and smiled. Ivana from the rear was as pleasing as from the front. He called after her.

“Ivanka, tonight you and I shall dine
ve starém městě
, in the Old Town, at the Hotel Leonardo’s Platina Restaurant. Wear that outfit with the red silk scarf. It is quite appealing.”

Ivana did not respond. She opened the heavy door and left.

Karel watched her go. Then he scribbled notes on the pad in front of him.

It was not tourist season in coastal Carolina, so Jim Harrigan and Mila did not need reservations for the restaurant in Duck.

In fact, they had their choice of tables. Mila chose a booth with a view of Currituck Sound. The late afternoon sun, suspended well above the horizon, imparted a golden sheen to the marsh grass, while a gentle wind rippled the open stretches of water.

Mila studied the menu and ordered.

“The ‘crispy cornmeal-fried Carolina catfish’ please.”

She turned to Jim.

“What would you like?”

“I’ll just have coffee, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“Jim, thanks for babysitting me. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t know what to think, about Anne or Vaclav. Anne must be OK since she came back for her computer.”

“Maybe, but if it was her why didn’t she wake you, and let you know she was all right.”

“She knows I deceived her about the meeting. If she had known it was Vaclav, she might have refused to meet him.”

“You know your cousin better than I do, but suppose she is with this Vaclav character, and suppose he was shot. Why not go to the hospital? There have been no reports of gunshot wounds locally. Where would she hide him?”

Mila’s eyes lit.

“Jim, that’s it!. There is a bed and breakfast that Anne uses. It’s in an isolated spot, near Wanchese.”

The waiter arrived with her catfish, but Mila had already jumped up.

“Can you box that for me. I’m sorry, but I have to leave.”

The waiter frowned. Jim Harrigan protested.

“But Mila?”

“No, Jim. Anne may be in Wanchese. I have to go now!”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Thanks, I hoped you’d say that.”

They took Mila’s Ford Escape. She drove south.

On Roanoke Island near Wanchese, Bordens’ bed and breakfast was a simple frame house isolated from its neighbors by mixed woods of pines, evergreen oaks, and other hardwoods. The dated structure sat at the end of a shaded lane whose surface was topped by layers of pine needles and dry live oak leaves.

The first level of the two-story house had a screened porch that projected out from the main structure. The branches of a nearby live oak tree provided easy access to the porch roof.

Vaclav Pokorny's room was on the second floor. It was furnished in quaint “country” style with an old-fashioned bed whose deep mattress accommodated awkwardly, but comfortably, any and all human forms. The room’s windows faced onto the porch roof. The attached private bathroom was modern. It was there that Anne Simek had dressed the wound in Vaclav’s shoulder. Various hues of red streaked the white marble of the sink and there was blood splatter on the floor tiles.

Vaclav lay on the bed, his forehead beaded by moisture. The room was hot and stuffy. He stared at the ceiling.

Anno, kde jste? ‘Anne,
where are you?’ Why aren’t you back? Did you find Peter? I must tell him about the plan!

Exhausted, his eyes closed.

The gray Ford Excursion stopped at the end of the lane to the bed and breakfast. The driver sipped his coffee while the passenger slipped quietly out of the car.

Minutes passed. The driver looked up as his partner returned.

“He’s there all right. He’s stretched out on the bed, passed out. He’s in a bad way. The room is bare except for the bed and a dresser. I looked in the drawers. There’s no other place to hide the files. Pokorny is out cold and the owners are in the kitchen downstairs in the rear extension. They’re old. They won’t hear a thing. I could finish him now.”

“No. Our job is to get the files back to Mr. Moravec. Pokorny is helpless, so Simek would not have left them with him. She has them, and she’ll come back to help Vaclav.”

“So what now?”

“We wait.”

Their wait was not long. A white SUV, a Ford Escape, its interior lights on, turned down the lane to the bed and breakfast. The passenger appeared to study a map. The SUV disappeared around a bend marked by the low branches of a Live Oak tree.

The driver of the Ford Excursion spoke first.

“Damn! Did you see that?”

“The SUV? Simek drives a red Focus.”

“No, damn it! The people in the SUV. That woman is Simek's cousin. Her name is Mila Patekova. She arranged Pokorny’s trip. The guy with her is that local cop who found Pokorny’s minivan.”

“He doesn’t know anything.”

The driver’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He turned to his partner.

“Idiot, if he doesn’t know anything why is he here? Damn!”

Mila parked near the kitchen door of the bed and breakfast and knocked. A white-haired woman appeared.

“Mrs. Borden, I’m Mila Patekova, a realtor from Nags Head, May we come in?”

Mrs. Borden frowned and turned to Jim Harrigan.

“And who might you be?”

“I’m with the Duck Police Department. I know your son Tony. We worked together on a case last year.”

Mrs. Borden’s son was with the Manteo Police Department. She peered into Jim’s eyes.

“Have I met you?”

“No Ma’am, but I know his wife Louise, and little Anthony. He told me about his ‘Granny Katie.’”

At the mention of her grandson, Mrs. Borden unlatched the storm door, turned down the TV, and pointed to her coffee pot.

“Would you like some coffee? At my age, I have to be careful. My husband is asleep in the den. Have a seat.”

Jim took a cup. He and Mrs. Borden chatted while Mila sat silent.
Hurry up, Jim. Get to the point. Ask her about Anne.

Finally. Mila was done waiting.

“Mrs. Borden, I’m sorry. I need to know if my cousin, Anne Simek, is staying here. She’s stayed with you before.”

Mrs. Borden did not like Mila’s accent, and she did not like her attitude. She turned to Jim. He spoke.

“Anne’s a blond. Has she been here? It’s important.”

Mrs. Borden knew Anne was a blond. In fact, she knew Anne well. Anne spent most of her visits in her room, reading and typing on her laptop. This morning, Anne had sworn Mrs. Borden to secrecy about the male visitor upstairs. Mrs. Borden had not seen him, but Anne had implied that he was a boyfriend whose presence she needed to conceal.

She ignored Mila and spoke to Jim Harrigan.

“I know the girl you mean. She’s very sweet. She hasn’t been here recently. Today, none of our rooms is occupied.”

Jim nodded. Only one car had been outside when they arrived. He turned to Mila.

“It was worth a shot, but Anne’s not here. We’d better go.”

Mrs. Borden shrugged and clicked on the TV.

Mila and Jim left.

The driver of the Ford Excursion watched the white SUV turn out the lane and leave. He looked at his partner.

“They didn’t find Pokorny.”

“The old woman must not have told them about him. But why not?”

“I have no idea. But if Patekova doesn’t know he’s here, she’s clueless. She must not know that Vaclav stole the files.”

“If Patekova doesn’t, then Simek must. She hid Vaclav.”

“Damn right. If we find her, we find the records.”

“But where is she?”

“She’ll be back. Vaclav is here. Trust me, she’ll be back.”

The driver knew stakeouts. He handed his cup to his partner.

“Pour me more coffee. The next visitor will be Simek.”

In Old Town Prague, it was two a.m. and Karel Moravec was snoring. Ivana eased his limp arm from her waist and slipped out of the bed. She stood up and tied her negligee about her.

Karel stirred and reached his hand for her vacated pillow.

Ivana stared and waited, frozen.

The sonorous breathing resumed. Ivana stepped to a chair and retrieved her purse from under her red scarf. Three steps more and she was in her spacious bathroom. She shut the double doors and switched on the lights. The mirrored wall reflected the outline of her shapely breasts and hips.

Ivana could still feel Karel’s hands pawing at her.
How much longer can I endure this animal?

She shuddered.
Ivana, get hold of yourself.

Karel provided well for her. She wore designer clothes, enjoyed the haute cuisine at upscale restaurants, skied on vacations at Val Thorens in France and Graz in Austria, and drove a beige Mercedes registered to Karel Moravec. Not least, she lived in this upscale apartment in Old Town with a splendid view of the Charles Bridge and the Prague Castle.

Yet she was unhappy. She abhorred her body, though it had brought her Karel’s rewards.

She dropped the negligee to the floor and gazed, full length, in the mirror. Her breasts were round and gracefully tilted, but what good were they? They had not nurtured life as her own mother’s had.

Mine are good only to nourish his lusts, the needs of a beast.

She remained staring at her breasts.

Were her breasts to swell with milk, due to a new life in her womb, Karel’s rejection would be immediate and final. How many times had he threatened her to be careful.

She thought of her own mother and cringed. Ivana had been young when her mother died, but she had seen her pray and heard her sing of heaven. She had loved her mother. Thank God, her mother could not see what had become of her daughter.

Or maybe her mother could see her? See what she had become, a possession, a commodity, bought, paid for, and without love.

She continued to stare at her reflection. A hot flash coursed over her. Sweat beaded her forehead. She wanted a shower, desperately. She needed pure water to cover her, to cleanse her.

She sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, head in her hands. She murmured.

“
Není to dobré
. ‘It’s no good.’ It won’t work. Think, Ivana, think.”

She resolved to break with Karel.
But how?
He was dangerous
.

She needed to take a step, a single step, any step.
But where to start?

Ivana thought of Gustav. Her father, Ivan, had deserted her mother when Ivana was born, but Gustav had befriended them. He had bounced her on his knee. And now Karel was going to kill him. For no reason.

I cannot let that happen. I will not!

She must alert Gustav. It would be a small step but one towards freedom nonetheless. Then Gustav would owe her.

Ivana picked up her cell phone.

Deftly and rapidly her fingers touched the desired sequence of letters. Soon, an encrypted text was on its way across the Atlantic to North Carolina.

Done!
Relieved, she sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi.

She switched off the lights before opening the bathroom doors.

Quietly she drew a bathrobe about her and went to the padded lounge. She sat, eyes open, wide awake.

She shivered. No way would she get back in bed with the “beast” this night.

Finally, her chin lowered and touched her throat. She dozed.

In North Carolina, Gustav Slavik followed Anne Simek’s twisted route. He could not afford to lose her.

Gustav was a native-born Czech, although his mother was German from the “GDR,” the East Germany of Cold War days. She had named “Gustav” after her father. Fortunately for Gustav’s mother, the name “Gustav” was admissibly Czech. His Name Day was August 2. (A child’s name had to come from an official “Name Day” list.)
Thanks to his mother, Gustav could speak “familiar” German, but his educated language was Czech, with some Russian added due to his early schooling. In the eighties he had added French while working as a liaison to a French terrorist based in Liège, Belgium. There too, he had picked up his English from the Sky channel on TV.

He was an old-school Communist, a man of the people. In the name of the people he was willing to undertake many tasks. In particular, and for a fee, the assassination of a capitalist like Pokorny. He smiled. A blatant capitalist like Karel Moravec was paying him good money to eliminate enemies of the people. Capitalism would always defeat itself!

He hated Americans! A corrupt capitalist named Reagan, together with a Polak Pope, had brought an end to Gustav’s preferred way of life!

After her diverting maneuvers, Anne slowed down, causing Peter to slow also. Anne waited for the third car to pass. It did not. The lights stayed discretely to the rear.

She sped up. Peter did likewise. She looked in the rearview mirror hoping to see nothing behind Peter. That hope was dashed. The third set of lights had kept pace. They remained as before.

Gustav did not think that Anne was aware of his presence, but nevertheless decided not to follow closely. He was a safe distance back when his cell phone signaled the arrival of a message.

He checked the sender. It was Ivana, his contact with Karel.

Gustav had known her mother before her marriage. Her husband, Ivan, had been a true worker, a
Soudruh
, who had supported Gustav through several struggles with traitors to the Party. And he had known Ivana as a little girl.

Too, Gustav knew Karel Moravec and detested him. He hoped that Ivana’s relation with Karel was only business. But he knew the man.

Gustav read the text message. Ivana’s warning was clear. He owed her, big time!

Děkuji moje děvčatko. ‘Thank you, my girl.’

The message changed his plans. Gustav pulled the minivan off the road and parked.

Anne Simek was elated when the lights of the minivan disappeared. Relieved, mouthing a silent thanks, she turned onto Highway 64, and drove across the bridge to Roanoke Island.

Shortly thereafter, she turned south on Route 345. Peter Zeleny followed.

Anne turned on her CD player. The dulcet tones of Dennis Brain’s French Horn reverberated from speakers back and front, Mozart’s horn concertos. She smiled. Mozart had loved Prague, as had Anne. She turned up the sound. For the first time since Elizabeth City, she relaxed.

She took the unpaved road to her left. Not far ahead was the lane to the Bordens.’ All was peaceful.

Calmly she drove down the lane to the bed and breakfast. The evergreen oaks and pines, once cheerful in the sunlight, now were dark and somber. They blocked the little available moonlight from the roadway. From a far-removed perch, a screech owl provided its eerie call.

Anne was glad the lights of Peter’s car were close behind her.

Her headlights swept around the bend and illuminated the porch of the bed and breakfast. Peter’s headlights followed. Vaclav’s room was dark. Only a lone yellow bulb glimmered above the kitchen door.

The Bordens’ car was parked in the rear.

Anne stepped out. She turned to Peter and whispered.

“The Bordens are asleep.”

“Where are we?”

“Never mind. Vaclav is on the second floor. Follow me. I have the key.”

She entered through the front porch. Peter followed.

They took the stairs to the second floor. The wood creaked under Peter’s weight. They reached the upstairs hallway.

No sound came from Vaclav’s room.

She turned the key.

“Vaclav, It’s me. I’m back.”

She opened the door.

The bed was empty, its mattress upended and slit. The drawers of the dresser lay upside down, empty. The closet door was open, hanging by a single hinge. In the bathroom, the lid of the commode lay on the floor.

A piece of paper was taped to the bedpost.

Simek, We have your friend. You have the papers. We’ll trade. Stand outside chapel at Whalebone Junction, tomorrow noon. Alone, No cops or else.

Anne handed the note to Peter. He stared at her.

“What do they mean? What papers? What are they talking about?”

She shook her head.

“I have no idea about any papers or records, but Vaclav wanted to discuss some documents with you. You must know what about.”

“They must be records or reports from Hus-Kinetika’s files. That’s probably what he wanted to show me. He knows that I think Hus-Kinetika’s drug, Xolak, is dangerous, and that their inaccurate report conceals that fact.”

“But I don’t have any papers. And when I brought Vaclav here there was nothing with him.”

“OK, let’s back up. It was Mila that arranged your meeting with Vaclav, right?”

She nodded affirmatively. He started to speak, but she continued.

“Look, I’m studying religious Philosophy. My thesis contrasts von Hildebrand with Kant and Thomas Aquinas, and emphasizes von Hildebrand’s stand against the Nazis. I’m no longer in medicine. I never heard of Xolak or fraud or any of this.”

She kept on.

“All I know is that after Vaclav was shot, I brought him here to the bed and breakfast. He was sure Hus-Kinetika was behind the shooting, but to me he wanted to talk about his father, to know if his father really had tried to have sex with me in exchange for grades in medical school. I told him yes. He understood, I mean we understood each other. He knows how his father was with women.”

She looked straight at Peter. Her face reddened.

But his focus was now.

“So the only people who saw Vaclav were you and your cousin, Mila.”

“That’s right, who else is there?”

“And you don’t have the papers.”

“I told you that!”

“Exactly. That means you have to talk to Mila.”