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

by Mosimann, James E.

  She paused.

  “But Jeannine, there just has to be a connection!”

  ***

  In Corolla, North Carolina, Jim Harrigan and Peter Zeleny ascended the steps to the beach house. Mila met them at the door.

  “Where’s Anne?”

  Peter looked down. Jim responded.

  “The sheriff is holding her overnight as a material witness. He says she’s a flight risk.”

  Mila’s eyes flashed. She turned away from Jim.

  “Peter, I know this is hard for you. Come get something to eat. I have macaroni and cheese baking in the oven.”

  She led Peter to the kitchen, but her thoughts were of Jim Harrigan. She muttered under her breath.

  “I knew it. špatné policie, ‘Bad police’ ... The same everywhere. You can never trust them.”

  She served Peter. Jim had to wait.

  ***

  Dr. Lawrence Harold Hodges, “Larry,” Senior Administrator at the Food and Drug Administration, sat at his desk in the Parklawn Building in Rockville, Maryland. It was late. It was Friday. The staff was long gone. He yawned.

  There. He initialed the memo rejecting Hus-Kinetika’s Xolak report.

  That done, he frowned.

  This will satisfy that stubborn Dr. Ryan. Now maybe she’ll have lunch with me?

  An image of the shapely redhead flashed before him.

  He picked up the brown envelope addressed to his Chief. He was about to seal it when he heard footsteps. He looked up. A man stood before his desk. Larry spoke

  “You’re a half hour early.”

  The man shrugged and moved behind the desk. He wore Latex gloves and held an odd-shaped pen. He touched it to the back of Larry’s wrist. Larry started.

  “What? ... ”

  The words stopped. His pupils shrank to pin points. No air, no air. He gasped and clutched his throat. At least he tried to, but his arms did not respond. He slumped forward. His head struck the desk. In only seconds, he was dead.

  The visitor removed Larry’s memo from the envelope. He inserted another that was identical except that Hus-Kinetika’s report was accepted. Its initials were identical to Larry’s. He dropped it into the “Out” box.

  Larry’s memo he stuffed in his pocket. Then he studied the corpse. There was no lesion where his “pen” had touched the skin, nothing, a simple case of Cardiac Arrest.

  He smiled. Even if performed, tests for the usual nerve agents would reveal nothing.

  He switched the lights off and left.

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 26

  Friday, November 26

  In Namur, Gustav Slavik paced back and forth in his room. He paused and looked out the window. The traffic on the rue de Bruxelles was at a standstill.

  He smashed his hands together. The American’s call was overdue. What’s his name, “Hamm.” Hamm, where the hell are you?

  Something was wrong! Ivana, what happened?

  ***

  Not that far from Gustav’s room, the rue de Borgnet enters the place Leopold. Rush hour traffic jammed the juncture. The motionless cars would have looked like a parking lot, but for the fact that they were jammed in random directions, rather than in orderly lines.

  The VW Passat, caught in the midst of this impasse, was squeezed far to the right of its destination. The driver, Josef Hrubec, cursed and hammered the horn in frustration.

  In the back seat, Ivana huddled in fear against the driver-side door. Next to her sat Hans. The smile was gone. His cheek had three red streaks, a memento of her struggle. He pressed a tissue to his face, it came away smeared with blood.

  Hans glared. Ivana pushed harder against the door. It did not yield.

  Hans’ smile became a grimace, truly ugly. He balled his fist and cocked his arm for a smashing blow. Ivana shrank away.

  Hrubec intervened.

  “Damn it Hans, stop! What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? Karel said not to touch her. If he finds a bruise on her, he’ll kill you. He alone will ‘deal’ with her.”

  Hans continued to glare, his fist still balled.

  “So?”

  “So trust me. Do not cross Karel. You’ve never met him. When you do, you’ll thank me. I just saved your life.”

  Hans looked away. He lowered his arm and relaxed his fingers.

  Hrubec studied Hans in the rear mirror. He spoke over his shoulder.

  “That’s better! We’ll both be rewarded for this. Mr. Moravec is very generous when he gets his way.”

  He spied an opening and pulled in front of a Mercedes truck. One more lane and he would be on the N91, headed for E411, the main route to Brussels.

  Hans withdrew to his side of the car. His retreat was little comfort to Ivana. She sat trembling.

  Hrubec understood her fear.

  No one quits Karel. He alone must be the one to terminate a relationship.

  He drove on.

  For this girl, the “termination” would be permanent.

  ***

  Bill Hamm was desperate. He had blown his assignment, but he was not thinking of his own career.

  Now he was certain that Karel Moravec had Ivana.

  He thought of that old assassin, Gustav Slavik, who was waiting for his call. He had read Slavik’s dossier. Years ago Gustav had supplied arms to a communist cell in this very town. Now Bill must ally himself with this man to deal with Moravec and his enforcers.

  An alliance with a monster? Hamm, this can’t work.

  He smiled ruefully.

  If it doesn’t, I’ll be dead soon anyway!

  At that cheerful thought, He punched Gustav’s number in his phone.

  He needed to talk with the monster.

  “Brrring, Brrring, Brrring, Brrring, ...”

  ***

  Hrubec drove the VW north on the E411 towards Brussels. The Passat rode smoothly, absorbing the vibrations of the roadway.

  The comfortable ride meant nothing to the two riders in the back seat. They sat spaced as far apart as the car’s interior permitted. Neither spoke.

  Hans sat erect, muscles taut. He glared at Ivana

  Ivana slumped sideways, eyes down. She stared at the floor mat under her sneakers. Incongruously she noted that it smelled new. She coughed and her shoulders began to shake.

  The cultivated fields on either side of the highway were gray and lifeless, devoid of snow. Far to the right, a long line of trees, branches bare, marked the horizon.

  Hrubec slowed the VW and exited the throughway.

  Ivana rolled with the turning car. She saw a sign “Chaussée de Charleroi,” but there was no town, no house, only dry dead fields awaiting next Spring’s planting.

  Hrubec laughed and turned to Hans.

  “The Americans will think we went to Brussels. They’ll never find us. There’s a farm ahead. We’ll stay there and wait for Karel’s instructions.”

  Hans bristled at Ivana. Just wait bitch, I’m not done with you yet.

  ***

  In Namur, Bill Hamm, a camera slung on his shoulder, stood across from the train station. Like any other tourist, an open map was in his hand. In reality, he surveyed the Gaufres-de-Liège stand across the way. Gustav would come there. He would sport a dark blue baseball cap for recognition.

  Bill waited. A cab stopped at the entrance to the train station. A man got out. Maybe? No, he was hatless.

  Bill felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see an older man, beardless but with gray stubble on his cheeks. He wore a dark blue cap. The man spoke.

  “Mr. Hamm, when you do surveillance in Belgium, keep your hands out of your pockets. It’s so American.”

  Bill looked down. His left hand was in his pocket.

  “And don’t pose as a tourist. You must have known I would look for an ‘American.’”

  The last word was pronounced with a sneer. Bill bristled, but Gustav was not finished.

  “No wonder you lost Ivana.”

  At that jibe, Bill’s hand sli
d into his jacket. His hand found the 9 mm M9 in his shoulder holster. Gustav stepped back, hands open in front of him.

  “No wait. I’m unarmed. Your American airport security was too much. I had to leave my Makarov in New York.”

  His hands dropped.

  “Besides, you stopped Moravec’s assassins from killing the girl. That was not easy. I respect that and I thank you for it.”

  Bill’s hand left his jacket.

  “Please Mr. Hamm, I accept your offer. I will do anything to help you find her.”

  Gustav held out his hand. Bill ignored it and spoke.

  “All right. I have descriptions of the two men who took her. One was young, good looking with fair skin, tall, with a Flemish accent. He had a red Kawasaki, a 250 cc. He abandoned it when they took Ivana.”

  Gustav shook his head negatively.

  “This man I do not know. He would be a local hire.”

  “The other man drove a VW Passat, black.”

  Gustav showed a faint smile. Bill continued.

  “He was short, stocky and slightly bald, with a narrow face and sharp nose. He wore a well-pressed suit. Apparently he was the boss of the two.”

  Gustav’s smile disappeared.

  “That one is Josef Hrubec. He likes German cars. He is one of Moravec’s top men. He’s short and looks mild, you underestimate him and you die. He’s very dangerous. Even I avoided him when I was in Prague.”

  Gustav paused. He looked away and spoke, as if to himself.

  “Hrubec! Damn, that is bad news.”

  ***

  The house was not far from the little town of Malèves, Belgium. Built of stone, its style was typical of old Belgian farms. Half of the elongate building had been a barn for livestock. The other half had been the living area. The halves were joined together in a single structure to conserve heat during the winter.

  At present, the former barn was split into a garage plus a windowless room that extended the living area. Thick oaken doors guarded the only exterior opening to the garage. Looking from the outside, there was no telling what might be hidden behind those closed portals.

  From the front of the house, a mile-long lane ran through barren fields to the paved road. To the back, bushes and scattered trees lined a small creek.

  Josef Hrubec waited in the Passat while Hans got out and swung the garage doors wide. There was ample room for the car inside. Hrubec signaled Hans not to close the doors, then he spoke to the rear seat.

  “Bitte Fräulein, open your eyes, we are here.”

  Hrubec waited. Ivana, stirred and sat up.

  “Bitte Fräulein, I cannot wait. Get out of the car, now.”

  She stepped out. From the garage a single door led to the living quarters. Hrubec gripped her arm and led her through it into a room with no windows. The walls were painted a glaring white. There was a lone bed in the corner. Above it, a bare bulb hung from the ceiling. The door opposite opened onto a hallway.

  “Fräulein ‘Irma,’ this is your room. Please do not leave it except to use the ‘WC,’ the bathroom.”

  He pointed to the hallway.

  “The first door on the left. Now I must leave. Hans will care for you in my absence.”

  Hrubec went back into the garage, got into the Passat, and drove away fast.

  ***

  Hans watched the Passat disappear down the lane. Then he pulled the garage doors shut and went into Ivana’s room. She lay on the bed, her face buried in the pillow.

  Hungry, he went to the kitchen. He had not eaten at the Arsenal while Ivana had munched her Croque Monsieur. That did it. He made himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

  Hans touched his sore cheek. The girl must pay for that. He would fix her face. Forget this “Karel,” whoever he was.

  There was plenty of time. Hrubec would not return for several hours.

  ***

  The rented Renault sedan headed from Namur towards highway E411. Bill Hamm drove. Gustav sat in the passenger seat. His eyes were closed. He was either asleep or planning his next move. Bill suspected the latter. He spoke.

  “Why don’t you think they took her to Brussels.”

  “There are too many of your people there. Hrubec will avoid Brussels if he can.”

  “Then why are we taking the E411?”

  “The E411 was highway A4 when I was here last. There was no European Union then.”

  Bill snorted.

  “Answer the damn question. What’s the plan? Why Route E411?”

  “We Czechs had two safe houses near here. I think Moravec kept them after your corrupt friends took over my country. Hrubec used one of them in the old days, me too. We take E411 to the Chausée de Charleroi.”

  Gustav’s forehead furrowed. His shoulders drooped. His voice became a whisper.

  “I have no God, Hamm, but if you do, pray for my Ivana. If Karel gets hold of her ...”

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 27

  Friday, November 26

  Bill Hamm guided the Renault north on E411. In the passenger seat, Gustav, head slumped, sat silent. He had not spoken since his comment on prayer.

  Bill did not relax. His passenger appeared to sleep, but relying on appearances with a dangerous individual like Gustav could be fatal.

  They were twenty kilometers from their exit when Gustav sat up. There was no sleep in his eyes or hesitation in his voice.

  “Hamm, you cannot deal with Hrubec alone. I need a weapon.”

  Bill kept his eyes on the road.

  “Hamm, listen to me. I know you have a spare. I know your procedures.”

  Bill smiled. Procedures? My group is total chaos. He kept his focus on the traffic ahead. After a moment he spoke.

  “Tell me about Josef Hrubec. Why do you fear him?”

  “It was in the pink prison on Bartolomejska Street. I assisted him in an interrogation.”

  “But you were senior to him.”

  “Only in age, not in Party rank. Anyway, he was in charge. I watched. It was too much, even for me. I found an excuse to leave the room. I went to the toilet and threw up. When I got back, the subject was dead. Useless too. Hrubec did not get the information.”

  “I don’t believe you. I read your file. You ran hundreds of interrogations, and some died.”

  “This was different. The boy was 18. The body, face were completely mutilated. He begged for death over and over. I almost shot him myself. Hrubec enjoyed it. He did not want answers. He wanted it to last. I don’t believe in angels, but Hrubec almost convinced me they are real. In that room, that day, there was pure evil, Satan himself. The air was rank. I couldn’t breathe, my arms felt paralyzed.”

  “Finally, Hrubec put down the power tool, an American brand. I remember that, a ‘Milwaukee.’ At that moment, I escaped to the toilet.”

  “When I got back, Hrubec stared at me. His eyes were black. He saw my fear and knew I could never challenge him. He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, and pointed to the remains on the floor.”

  “I was whipped. My legs were jelly. I gathered the boy up, blood everywhere, on my hands, clothes, unavoidable. I put him on the cart and pushed him away.”

  Bill shuddered at the term “gathered.” His eyes turned back to the road.

  Gustav fell silent again.

  ***

  In the stone farmhouse, Ivana sat up on the bed and surveyed her surroundings. Except for the bed, the room was bare. There was nothing to use as a weapon.

  Ivana’s fear of Hans was replaced by anger at herself. Her juvenile escapade had been stupid. Ivana, you know better. What were you thinking?

  She had not succeeded as top assistant to Karel Moravec by sex alone. Rather her success had preceded her seduction. Ivana was intelligent and resourceful, her carefully prepared flight from Karel had proved that.

  She scanned the windowless walls once more. Nothing. She turned to the door to the garage. Locked. Her only choice was the corridor with the WC.

  Ivana heard th
e sound of something frying in the kitchen. Hans must be there.

  She stepped into the WC and closed the door. It had no lock.

  The toilet was against the wall. To the right was the shower. A flimsy semicircular curtain separated it from the rest of the “closet.” It offered little shelter from leering eyes, and no protection from assault.

  She turned on the fixture. The overhead spout was detachable, fed by a flexible metallic tube that allowed its use as a hand spray.

  There was hot water. She turned it on, but drew back her hand quickly. Evidently the thermostat was set high.

  Footsteps sounded from the kitchen. Ivana jumped.

  Hans had finished eating.

  The footsteps approached.

  ***

  Bill Hamm pushed the Renault to its limit, but larger cars, Mercedes and others passed him with ease. A large sign appeared on the right.

  Sortie Chausée de Charleroi, 1 km.

  Bill glanced sideways. Gustav nodded.

  “This is it. This is where we get off.”

  Bill slowed. They quit the autoroute.

  ***

  At the farmhouse, Hans stood at the door. Ivana was on the bed. She looked up and smiled.

  “Hans, forgive me. I should not have scratched you. I was scared of that man, the driver. He frightened me. I’m sorry. You know I like you. The ride on your moto, remember?”

  Hans eyebrows lifted. He fingered the scratches on his cheeks. Ivana spoke again.

  “No, I mean it. I’m sorry. You’re a real man. I can see that.”

  She stood up and smoothed the jeans on her hips.

  “You’re a man. I know you like what you see. You can have whatever you want. I promise I won’t fight you.”

  He seized her shoulders, and pushed his lips against hers. After a moment she pulled back. She licked her lips.