The Shiro Project

by David Khara

  The newspaper offices were in a part of town devoid of tourists, and the street was virtually deserted this afternoon. Branislav scoped out the scene in search of a stakeout car or any suspicious-looking characters. He saw no one but a woman leaning against a bus-stop sign. Even if she had been in a crowd, she would have caught his attention. This woman was eye candy. Black pants and a tapered leather jacket accentuated her thin—but not scrawny—figure. Her body language, however, was enough to put off all but the most daring flirt. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her expression was nothing short of prickly.

  Seeing no immediate danger, he crossed the street.

  Branislav took a deep breath before entering the bistro. Colleagues would pick up their morning coffee here before heading to the office. They would stop in for lunch and meet after work for drinks. In the middle of the morning or afternoon, one could usually find a reporter conducting an interview or using his laptop at one of the tables. If the paper ever relocated, bistro owner Venceslas would certainly lose the bulk of his business and be forced to close.

  Venceslas was in his fifties and welcomed all patrons, regulars or not, with infectious enthusiasm. No matter the season, the former rock guitarist could always be seen sporting a short-sleeved polo, which allowed him to show off his tattoo sleeves and rippling muscles.

  Photos of Venceslas’s idol, Henry Rollins, adorned the walls, alongside posters from the music legend’s LPs. This thematic décor choice was a startling contrast to the classically styled furniture: booth seats upholstered in sumptuous purple velvet and marble-topped tables with cast-iron legs.

  “Hey there, champ,” Venceslas shouted as he filled a half-pint of brown ale to the brim.

  Branislav responded with less energy than usual.

  “Your date is waiting for you in the back. Go have a seat. I’ll bring you some liquid fuel in a couple of minutes. Hey, what sport does this guy play? Those guns on him are hard-core!”

  Branislav replied with a raised eyebrow and crossed the main room, acknowledging various colleagues with a simple nod. With each step, his heart pounded a little harder. He passed the small bar leading to the backroom and located the man whose face was etched in his mind.

  The tank truck was sitting coolly, his arms stretched along the top of the backrest in a booth on the far wall. His nonchalance only reinforced Branislav’s anxiety. He could feel the knot in his throat getting bigger.

  With a wave and a huge smile, the giant invited Branislav to join him.

  Don’t let him see your fear, Branislav was thinking as he approached the man who had saved his life twenty-four hours earlier.

  “I took the liberty of ordering your favorite drink. Venceslas is also bringing us a plate of Prague ham. I figured I’d take advantage of my forced vacation to taste the local cuisine. And, uh, chill out, would you? You look pathetic.”

  Branislav glanced at the mirror next to the bathroom door. Staring back was a gaunt face. Under his eyes were dark circles and bulging veins. He was a walking poster child for clinical insomnia, thanks to a cocktail of stress, adrenaline, and nights spent on the futon.

  The young man removed his raincoat and folded it over the back of his chair. He sat down, placing his camera and plastic folder on the table, just as Venceslas showed up, tray in hand. Once the order was served, and the two men had the room to themselves again, Eytan pushed the plate of smoked ham in Branislav’s direction, never taking his eyes off his guest.

  Branislav was starving, and he figured it wasn’t a good idea to get on the guy’s bad side by refusing to eat what he had ordered. So he picked up a slice of ham with his fork and put it on his plate, as Eytan, an amused look on his face, looked on.

  “How…” he stammered. “How did you find me?”

  “Your wallet.”

  “Why did you contact me?”

  “You know very well why.” He nodded at the folder.

  “How did you know I’d be doing my own investigation?”

  “You’re a reporter. Need I say more?”

  Branislav laughed and adjusted himself in his chair. The guy was terse, but he was on point.

  “You got that right, but—”

  “Yes?”

  “I have more questions to ask before…”

  “No time now. Later, we’ll see.”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice?”

  “I had a similar conversation in a slightly tenser setting a couple of days ago,” the giant said. “We always have a choice. We just have to accept the consequences.”

  Having seen this man dispatch the three guys from special forces, Branislav understood the truth of his statement. If the man had wanted to take his life, he would have done it already. Branislav knew this. But he still wanted some assurance, even if it meant getting no more than a hypothetical response.

  “Just tell me what role you play in this story and if I have reason to be afraid of you.”

  “I’m here to figure out what happened and to prevent those responsible from doing any more harm. As for your second question, well, I love watching my future victims devour a plate of meat. It’s so thrilling.”

  Branislav practically choked on his ham. But when he looked up, he saw the playful smirk on the giant’s face and relaxed a bit. He managed to swallow the food lodged in his throat and spoke up again.

  “I see. All right, I’m warning you, though. I’m working more on speculation than foolproof facts.”

  “All investigations start out that way. Let’s hear it.”

  “Okay. What did we see yesterday? Dead people and guys in protective suits—that implies a nuclear, biological, or chemical problem.”

  “We can forget nuclear. That doesn’t match with the deaths or the state of the village.”

  “I agree. What else do we have? Excessive military measures and commandos prepared to take out witnesses, which proves that the problem is supersensitive.”

  “They’re saying it’s a fire,” Eytan said. “They’re hiding the real incident from the public and the media. Do you think it might have been a botched military operation?”

  “That’s possible, but I doubt it.”

  “Why?

  “What I saw yesterday looked more like a response to an emergency situation.”

  “I agree.”

  “Based on this information, I followed your advice to lie low,” Branislav said. “Instead of probing army, police, or government officials, I focused on the village. I thought I might find a motive there.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Thanks. First, I got hold of a list of registered voters. Then I got my hands on some tax information to find out more about the villagers.”

  “Sneaky,” Eytan said.

  Branislav was flattered. He took out the records and pushed them across the table.

  “Check them out. Just about all of the residents were retired. The odd thing is that I couldn’t trace work histories for most of them. In fact, that was true for everyone over sixty-five.”

  “Go on.”

  “These people worked and paid taxes—some of them paid huge amounts. But it’s impossible to determine what they did for a living. I have no idea what this means, but it’s troubling. And I found something else. A former colleague and friend of my father’s lived in that village. I called him Uncle Ivan when I was a kid. I didn’t know he lived so close to my parents. I hope he wasn’t one of the victims. Actually, I haven’t seen him since my father left Paramo. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

  “Your father worked at Paramo?”

  “Um, yeah. Why?”

  Eytan sat up and grabbed his overstuffed army bag. “Get your things. We’ll take care of the photo I asked you to print later. Is your car nearby?”

  “Yeah, but—

  “I have a sudden urge to meet your folks. Let’s go. Chop-chop!”

  And just like that, before even realizing it, Branislav was on Eytan’s heels. Once outside, he pointed out his Skoda.
/>   “Do you think my parents are in danger?” he asked on the way to the car.

  “That’s exactly what I want to prevent. But you should still call. It’ll make you feel better. Don’t mention my name. Their phones might’ve been tapped. Okay?”

  “Got it.”

  The call was quick and the conversation casual enough not to raise his parents’ suspicions. Branislav was relieved to know that his mother and father were all right. He cheerfully told Eytan that the firefighters had returned to his parents’ home earlier in the afternoon to tell them that they were safe.

  Seeing Eytan’s grave reaction, Branislav became alarmed.

  They got to the car without exchanging a word. Branislav slid behind the wheel. Eytan got in and adjusted his seat all the way back to keep his knees clear of the glove compartment. As he was struggling to find a semi-comfortable position, the back door opened. Branislav jumped in his seat and let out a high-pitched yelp. In his rearview mirror, he saw the stunning woman who had been loitering at the bus stop half an hour earlier.

  “Don’t freak out. She’s with me,” Eytan muttered as he fought with the seatbelt.

  “Elena,” she said.

  “Branislav,” the reporter responded, trying to sound suave.

  She gave him a smile. Branislav could tell the facial gesture was painfully difficult for the woman. With the completion of the smiling exercise, she seemed to lose interest in any small courtesies. “Can you tell me why I’m stuck in the backseat?” she asked.

  Eytan’s response made it clear that these two weren’t exactly amiable travel buddies. “Because I’m bigger. That’s why! Damn, you’re getting on my nerves.”

  Branislav decided to stay out of the way. Without delaying any longer, he turned on the ignition. This was going to be a fun ride.

  CHAPTER 14

  Less than half a mile into the trip to Pardubice, Eytan asked Branislav to stop the car.

  “All right, I won’t subject you or me to this any longer. I’m getting out of your clown car made for dwarves and away from Ms. Elena’s crosshairs. Our motorcycles are parked across the street. We’ll follow you the rest of the way.”

  Branislav thought he saw the woman crack a smile at the giant’s frustration. He wished he owned a bigger, more comfortable car. But then again, he didn’t usually serve as taxi driver for grumpy goliaths.

  With his passengers gone, Branislav turned on the radio. He wouldn’t have dared to listen to KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Shake Your Booty” with those two strangers in the car. He turned up the volume all the way. One disco hit after another filled the Skoda. The music temporarily washed away his anxiety. He allowed himself to daydream. He was doing his own investigative piece, and if he played his cards right, he’d soon be working elbow-to-elbow with the paper’s news reporters.

  Every so often he checked for the two bikers in his rearview mirror. He wasn’t sure why, but he was actually proud to be accompanying them. Admittedly, Eytan inspired more confidence than cold-eyed Elena, who looked as though she would cut him at any moment.

  Following Eytan’s suggestion—really, his demand—Branislav took the southern route to his parents’ home. Eytan thought the main road would still be blocked, and discretion was key.

  The strange procession got off the highway. They took secondary arteries and then poorly paved roads that were more difficult to navigate. Two hours after leaving Prague, the trio arrived in a parking area next to an artificial beach on the edge of a lake. Branislav parked his car. Eytan pulled his motorcycle up to Branislav’s right, and Elena stopped hers to his left. They all kept their headlights on to illuminate the small sandy stretch of land. Lead-colored rain clouds filled the sky, but they could make out a large wooden hut and two pontoons, which confirmed that this was a small water sports club.

  Despite himself, Branislav ogled Elena as she removed her helmet. Eytan opened the trunk and took out his bag without saying a word.

  “You’re sure your dad’s coming to get us?” the giant asked as he looked around.

  “Yep, he’s already answered the text I just sent. He’s on his way. It’s crazy. Everything’s so quiet here. It seems like the past two days were just a bad dream.”

  “Your cushy little life is collapsing, my dear. And unfortunately, you are in a bad dream. It’s one you may never wake up from.” Elena spoke without even glancing in his direction. Her raspy voice and the eerie phrasing gave Branislav the unnerving feeling that he had just heard a prophecy. The woman headed toward the beach and scanned the lake.

  Branislav shuddered and walked over to Eytan, who was shaking his head.

  “Jesus, that colleague of yours is a delight.”

  Eytan gave him a look. There wasn’t much he could do about Elena’s attitude.

  “You know, this is where I covered my very first story.”

  “Oh yeah?” Eytan said, sounding more polite than interested. He rummaged through his bag.

  “Yeah, I was doing a portrait on a rowing champ who trained here. I don’t remember his name. The headline was ‘Song of the Paddle.’”

  “Rowers use oars, not paddles.” Elena corrected him without taking her eyes off the water.

  Branislav muttered under his breath and kicked the sand. “The copy desk didn’t think ‘Song of the Oar’ had the same kind of poetry.”

  In the distance, the three of them heard an engine. A small boat maneuvered by an enormous figure appeared about a nautical mile from the bank. The skiff drew alongside the pontoon. Eytan flicked off the headlights and joined Elena and Branislav, who were already climbing aboard. Branislav exchanged a few words with his father and then sat down with his travel companions. No one made a peep during the ten-minute journey across the lake.

  As they approached the shore, a large house loomed on the horizon. It was impressive enough that the young Czech’s father owned a boat, Eytan thought as he stared at the villa. But the boat was a dinky inflatable pool toy compared with this imposing structure. Built on a hill, the two-story house with white stucco walls and red roof clearly offered a stunning view of the magnificent landscape. Its many balconies were covered with pots of geraniums. Eytan had the fleeting feeling that he was in Bavaria.

  The agent was already familiar with Bohemia. Reinhard Heydrich, one of Heinrich Himmler’s henchmen, had cracked down so hard on the territory, he had been called the Butcher of Prague. But this lake showed Eytan all the beauty that the region had to offer. Nature had the ability to purge the planet of humanity’s vilest sins and served as a reminder that mortals were transient, alive one day and dead the next. These mountainous landscapes would survive much longer than the human race.

  Branislav’s father got out of the boat first and tied it up. The man had a round face, bald head, and big nose. His solid build was accentuated by a barrel chest that made him look strong rather than overweight. His chinos and shawl-collar cardigan over a classic polo gave him the look of a country gentleman, despite his muscular stature. He wasn’t a talkative fellow, and he had remained loyal to his reserved nature by revealing no sign of surprise at seeing his son with two perfect strangers, both of them a good foot taller than he was. Having reached his home turf, he abandoned his reticence and offered Elena a hand as she started to climb out of the pontoon.

  True to form, she coldly declined the offer and jumped out herself, causing the boat to rock. Branislav was nearly swept overboard, but Eytan caught the hood of his raincoat just in time.

  All of them were standing on the front porch two minutes later. Through the elegant glass entry doors, they could make out a lavishly decorated living room. And before Branislav’s father could even take the doorknob, a stylish woman with a full head of white hair came rushing toward them. She opened the door and, ignoring the others, rushed up to Branislav. She took her son in her arms and looked at him with a face full of love. They chatted softly.

  “Mom,” Branislav said, taking his mother’s hand and turning to his companions. “I would l
ike you to meet Eytan and Elena.”

  The two guests nodded. Eytan smiled as he did this. Elena didn’t bother.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Branislav’s mom,” she babbled, still clinging to her son.

  His father introduced himself next.

  “Vladek Poborsky. Come in. Let me fix you drinks, and we can talk. That is, unless anyone’s hungry?” His English was impeccable.

  “I’m fine with just a drink,” Eytan replied, heading into the living room.

  Everyone else followed suit. They sat down, and Branislav’s father poured each of them a glass of chilled herbal liqueur. His mother brought in dishes filled with small appetizers. Eytan was tempted to slump into the couch, but he was afraid that getting too comfortable would upset his formal hosts. Elena, sitting with one foot over the thigh of her other leg, let out a big yawn.

  Eytan was grateful. At least she wasn’t thinking about killing him at the moment.

  Stuck between his mother and father, Branislav didn’t look like a worldly reporter. He looked like a child.

  As Eytan stared at Branislav and his sixtyish father, he tried to find the hereditary connection between them. It was impossible. The two didn’t seem to share a single trait, either in appearance or in behavior. Branislav seemed like a nice guy—the quiet, intelligent type who preferred to do his own thing without offending anyone. He also seemed to take a lot of pride in his profession. Vladek on the other hand, personified the kind of overbearing father who left an indelible imprint. Eytan surmised that any act of resistance was quickly quashed. Vladek did have inquisitive blue eyes that gave him a bit of approachability, but Branislav bore a closer resemblance to his more genteel and affable mother.

  When the questions died down, Eytan decided it was an opportune time to cut to the chase.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Poborsky. Unfortunately, we’re not here for a friendly visit.”

  The father leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his chest. He looked the two strangers in the eye and made it a point to stare at the bag for a few seconds. He leaned over to his wife, and whispered something in her ear. Smiling, she got up and left the room.