I landed on my back with Bill on top of me. The impact blasted most of the air from my lungs; the cold took care of the rest. Then I made the mistake of breathing. I didn’t mean to; I knew that I was under water, that breathing was not a good idea. But I couldn’t help it. It must have been the shock of the freezing water.
A flood of freezing Vltava hit my throat, tried to force its way down into my lungs. I resisted, coughed, retched; I was still a long way from the surface. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see much: dark shapes, some far-away light. Bill was pinning me down. I kicked clear of him, grabbed a handful of clothing, surged for the surface.
Air. I tried to suck a lungful, but there was still water in my mouth, waiting for the opportunity to choke me. Coughing paroxysms wracked me; I let go of Bill. He drifted away. I wasn’t aware of the gunmen, didn’t even think of them. They could have shot me and I wouldn’t have cared. I was coughing for a hernia, trying to stay afloat, trying not to swallow any more water. I didn’t even notice the boat come up alongside me. I did feel callous hands lift me from the water, fought like a Marlin with much the same result.
Bill landed next to me in the scuppers, the boat accelerated. ‘’Eh roastbeef, you okay?’ Denis began slapping me on the back, trying to rid me of the Vltava.
‘I will be,’ I spluttered. ‘How’s Bill?’
‘Not good.’
He’d been pulled to one side, laid out flat. Three men worked on him, checking for vitals, cutting his pants away, stanching the blood. One began chest compressions: not a good sign.
‘Where did you get the boat?’ I asked.
I was surprised to hear another voice, a familiar voice, Bob Grunter’s voice. ‘You didn’t think we let you hang out to dry, did you?’
‘Christ Bob, you could have got there a little sooner.’ The coughing had stopped. I pulled myself up on to a seat. Bob wrapped a blanket around me. I began to shiver.
‘Yes. But it wouldn’t be kosher if we got into a gun battle with our allies.’
‘How did you know we were there?’ I asked.
‘That’s a company Blackberry you were using.’ He said. ‘Now the NSA just wouldn’t be doing their jobs properly if they didn’t know where that was. It was a bit of a rush to organise a boat though.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
I looked across at Bill. The men in black were still working on him, breathing for him, but it looked like a lost cause. They were going through the motions.
‘He had a gun.’ I said.
‘Yes. He was with MI6 for years. Retired to Prague.’
‘You knew he was British Intelligence?’
‘Was… Sure.’
‘But he wasn’t informing Mossad?’
‘No. Although we didn’t know that ‘till this afternoon.’
‘Radka?’
‘Yup. The little Mata Hari’s been passing everything on.’
‘She didn’t strike me as a Mossad agent.’
‘She wasn’t.’ Bob replied. ‘Not really. Just an informant. They recruited her years ago. Her mother’s Jewish.’
‘How did you…?’
‘She’s at the embassy. She wants to emigrate.’
‘Bitch.’
The men who were working on Bill stopped, checked his carotid, closed his eyes, gently laid a blanket over him.
The boat pulled up at a small jetty further down the river. Bob and Denis each grabbed an arm, helped me out. There were two black Tahoes parked nearby. They led me to the second one. Before I got in Bob asked, ‘You still have the phone?’
I went through my pockets, was surprised to find the revolver was still there, and the phone.
‘I’ll take those,’ Bob said. He handed them to one of the black-clad men, helped me into the Tahoe, climbed in after me. Denis sat in the front next to the driver. We pulled away into the evening traffic, shielded from the outside by ink windows.
‘Where to now?’ I asked.
‘This town’s too hot for you two. We’re taking you away for a while.’
‘What about Martina?’
‘What about her?’
‘I’m not leaving her behind.’
Bob looked at me quizzically. ‘Do you really care that much?’
‘I’m not going without her.’ I reached for the door handle.
Bob shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess there’s room for one more. Where is she?’
‘I don’t know. At work?’
‘I hope so. We don’t have a lot of time.’ The Tahoes shouldered their way forward. I was frozen, wet, pulled the blanket tight around me, tried vainly to stop shivering. The Tahoe stopped. I tried to open the door; Bob stopped me, ‘You hang tight. We’ll fetch her.’
I sat hunched in the back, too cold to consider the effect that it would have on Martina when she found me alive, or even if she wanted to come with me. There was no mistaking her voice when they brought her to the car. ‘Leave me. Where you are taking me? I Czech citizen. You not kidnap me, is not possible.’ She was writhing, biting, scratching, hair flying everywhere like an enraged harpy.
‘Ahoj kočka.’ That shut her up. She went white, stood transfixed for a moment. Then she went harpy again; but I was the target. A stream of unintelligible Czech spewed from her lips as she leapt into the vehicle, slapped, punched, vented at me.
It didn’t last long. Her strength soon left her and she began to cry. ‘What happen? I think you dead.’
I put my arms around her, drew her to me, wrapped the blanket around her. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Where we go?’
A good question. I had no idea. I raised my eyebrows at Bob, who was sitting on the other side of Martina.
He shrugged, ‘Surprise.’
Martina forgot the destination for a moment, ‘You wet.’
‘I jumped in the river.’
„Proč?’
‘Mossad were shooting at me.’
Her eyes widened,‘Ti vola!’ She pulled my jacket aside, checked to see if I was bleeding.
The Tahoes drove in convoy for a while through the streets of Prague, sometimes backtracking, obviously looking for followers. When they were satisfied that we were alone, they headed north-west, left the city on V Holešovičkách, headed to the countryside. After about an hour we slowed, entered what looked like an abandoned military base.
Denis had fallen asleep in the front, Martina was dozing on my shoulder, but I was still trying to work out what the CIA had in store. ‘Where are we?’
‘Milovice.’
‘The old Russian air base?’
Bob nodded. We drove onto the apron; in the headlights it looked the worse for wear: tufts of grass struggled out of cracks in the concrete. Despite the obvious neglect it was still a working airport: the Gulfstream parked on the other side of the apron the proof. We pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. I roused Martina while Bob fetched Denis. The plane smelled familiar inside, like some place I had been to before. I glanced at Bob, ‘Isn’t this…?
He grinned.
We were all too exhausted to do anything but meekly strap ourselves in for the journey.
Once we were on our way, Bob organised some dry clothes for me. I changed into them, gathered the others, confronted Bob. ‘Where are we going?’
‘The only place we can keep you safe for a while.’
‘Afghanistan?’
He laughed; almost looked embarrassed, ‘No, Langley. They want to debrief you… and me.’
‘Why not Afghanistan this time?’
‘Last time we thought you’d done a Judas.’
‘And now?’ I asked.
‘You’re both in the clear.’
‘And ‘er?’ Denis asked the question for me. Martina winced.
Bob looked at Martina, paused for a moment, addressed her directly, ‘You remember that time at the Marriott, when we first met?’
‘Ano’
‘You scared the shit out of me. And there’s not many peo
ple that can do that.’
Martina beamed. ‘You were not nice man.’
‘Yes. Anyway, I reckon you’re wasted as a waitress.’ He turned to me. ‘You’ve got something special there.’
‘I know.’
‘What happened to Jahangir and Doctor Awan?’ I asked.
Bill smiled, looked out the window.
I persisted, ‘They in the Bargam Hilton?’
He looked back at me, ‘They…’ For a moment I thought he might actually tell me, but his face changed, went grim; I knew I was going to get the official response. ‘They’re in good hands.’
‘Yeah right.’
Denis had had enough of the small talk, ‘Does this thing ‘ave a coffee machine?’
While Bob went to get Denis his caffeine fix, I took Martina’s hand, led her to the back of the cabin where there were two empty seats next to each other. I sat next to the window; she curled up next to me. She took my hand in both of hers, gripped it, stared at me.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Nic.’
‘Why are you staring at me?’ I was beginning to feel unsettled.
‘I thought you dead. I am happy you not; not want forget.’
I smiled stroked her hair. ‘It’s good to be back… to have you back.’ It really was; I leaned to her, breathed in her scent, kissed her. I wanted to savour the moment, preserve it forever, but I was exhausted, fell asleep.
When I woke it was dark outside. The lights inside the cabin were dim; everyone was asleep. Everyone except Martina. She had draped a blanket over me, was still snuggled next to me, wide awake, watching me.
‘Get some sleep,’ I said. ‘We’ve probably got a long day ahead once we get there.’
‘I not sleep. I wait.’
‘What for?’
‘I want hear what happen to you. I want you tell me everything.’
I spread the blanket over both of us, and she sat there rapt as I told the story… most of it.
Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller Page 33
