Calypso Directive (11 page)

Will zapped him in the back of the neck, this time depressing the trigger for a full five seconds. Gasps, cheers, and even laughter erupted from the crowd around them, as a dark, wet stain spread across the groin of the bounty hunter's blue jeans. Will ignored the commotion. He had to stay focused. He studied his fallen foe for a moment just to be sure. Udo was out; it was over. He stuffed the stun gun in his coat pocket, turned, and then plowed through the wall of spectators caging him in.

He had no idea where he was running, but it didn't matter. He needed to put distance and bodies between himself and Wenceslas Square. Law enforcement officers were no doubt already en route to the site of the scuffle; surely cell phone calls had been made. Dodging tourists and window-shoppers right and left, he barreled through the streets of Old Town Prague. He yanked the wool cap from his head, pulled the maroon scarf off of his neck, and shoved them into his bulky jacket pockets as he ran. Running was necessary, but it also attracted attention. He needed somewhere safe to bide time until two o'clock when he would meet Julie at the Orloj. His first thought was to hide in an alley, but that was too obvious. He needed somewhere public but private, if there was such a thing. His mind raced, generating options and then quickly rejecting them. He came to an intersection and turned right on instinct. After rounding in the corner, he slowed to a walk.

He needed to change his appearance. His barn jacket had a weathered tan canvas exterior and a plaid flannel inner liner. Technically, it was not reversible, but he was improvising. He shrugged the coat off, pulled both coat sleeves inside out, and then slipped it back on. When he was in college and needed a quiet place to study where nobody could find him, he would hole up in the campus library. A library. That was the perfect place to hide. He could get lost in rows and rows of books. Besides, thugs and books have a natural aversion to each other.

It took him only two attempts—stopping and soliciting helpful-looking pedestrians—to obtain directions to the “big library.” Ten minutes later, he was standing outside the grand Klementinum complex, which appeared to span two full city blocks. The ornate Baroque façade was crafted using decorative columns and alternating panels of contrasting beige and brown plaster. As he approached the entrance, he noticed an armed security guard walking a leisurely perimeter patrol. Inside his pocket, he fingering the stun gun nervously. In a post-9/11 world, metal detectors at museums and national landmarks were commonplace. He couldn't risk it. He waited until the guard was facing the opposite direction and dropped the stun gun into a trash receptacle.

Once inside, he approached a directory and considered three landmark attractions: the Mirror Chapel, the Astronomical Tower, and the Baroque Library Hall, which housed the National Library of the Czech Republic. He turned toward the National Library and followed the signs to the Baroque Hall.

After purchasing a single day pass for access to all the library reading rooms, he walked through the Baroque Library Hall. He marveled at the opulent marble works, dramatic frescoes painted by Jan Hiebl, and tiers and tiers of leather bound books. After exploring, he settled into a routine, splitting his time between the Reference Centre, the Main Hall, and comfortable chairs in the various reading rooms. He stayed in the library until closing time at ten o'clock. With his hands in his pockets, he smiled at the front desk attendant and strolled back out into the world.

It had rained while he was in the library and the wet cobblestones of the street glistened in the moonlight. He surveyed the immediate landscape, trying to decide which way to walk, when he spied a bald man wearing a leather coat. Panic erupted inside him. The man's back was turned, and he was standing alone, in the middle of the tiny parking lot at the entrance to the Klementinum. The fact that he had not seen Will's exit was a miracle. Will resisted the urge to sprint; instead, he turned and walked briskly away in the opposite direction. The sound of tires driving on cobblestones sent a shot of adrenaline into his bloodstream. Shit. Will glanced back over his shoulder expecting to see the two thugs in pursuit, but instead he saw the bald man embrace a blonde woman and get into the passenger seat of her BMW 135i. As the couple sped away, Will took several deep breaths, collected himself, and then set off walking.

He decided he would spend the remaining time hiding in a local pub. He wanted somewhere lively, crowded, and packed with tourists. Somewhere he could get lost in the herd and maybe even talk a happy drunk into swapping jackets. After ducking his head in several pubs, he finally found the perfect spot. Were he not running for his life, he would have happily capped off every night in Prague at a place like this. He milled about the bar until he saw a corner table open up. He slid into the booth from the right side at the same time a woman slid in from the left. They bumped hips, locked eyes, and burst into laughter. She was at least fifteen years his senior, hailed from Dublin, and was on vacation with her husband who was standing in line at the bar. He chatted happily with the couple, sharing the booth for the better part of two hours. While they entertained him with stories of their travels, he sipped on a glass of dark ale. It had been over five months since he'd had a beer, and every swallow was a sumptuous kiss to his palette. However, his body was so unaccustomed to alcohol that halfway through his first pint, Will was already buzzing. He resisted the temptation to order another; it was imperative he keep his wits about him. Eventually, the Irish couple excused themselves, and he was left alone.

His thoughts drifted to Julie. He imagined how the reunion might happen. Would she recognize him? Had the years been kind to her; was she still beautiful? What would it feel like to hug her? Would she let him embrace her? What would she think of him—drawn and unkempt as he was. Unexpectedly, he felt nervous as a wealth of memories and feelings he had suppressed for years came rushing over him.

The rowdy crowd in the tavern mellowed and thinned as the night wore on. During his time at the library, Will had printed Google maps depicting the streets between the Klementinum and the Astronomical Clock. The tavern was conveniently located only a few blocks from the Orloj, so he decided to stay put until the hands on the clock above the bar showed ten minutes until two o'clock. When it was finally time to go, Will paid his tab, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and set off to meet Julie. Within minutes, he was standing in front of Old Town Prague's most famous landmark.

The Astronomical Clock of Prague, or Orloj, features two vertically stacked and richly appointed dials—each colored predominantly in shades of blue with intricate gold detailing. It was crafted and installed in 1410 by the combined talents of a clockmaker and mathematician. Even to the untrained eye, it is obvious that the Orloj is much more than a traditional clock. The upper dial, in addition to keeping the local time, also displays the times for sunrise and sunset, ancient Czech time, and the celestial movements of the sun, moon, and zodiac constellations. The lower dial is a calendar with elaborate inset paintings representing each of the twelve months.

A cast of colorful wooden puppets comes alive every hour animating the clock's exterior: Vanity—forever admiring himself in a mirror; The Miser—shaking his bag of gold; Death—with his signaling bell; and the Turk—with his flute. Even more renown than the four animated figures is the Walk of the Apostles. Each hand-carved wooden apostle is as large as a man, dons a halo, and carries a unique symbol in hand. Every hour, on the hour, the twelve apostles parade in succession through two wooden doors that open above the upper clock dial—six apostles walking from the right, six from the left.

It took Will a moment of study before he could decipher the complicated clock dial. Eventually he ascertained the time: 1:57 AM. He looked from side to side, scanning the area for a five-foot-five, hardly inconspicuous blonde. Not finding her, he wandered over toward a darkened restaurant, Café Milena, which was directly opposite the Orloj. He took a seat at one of the many empty chairs left outside by the evening manager.

It was amazing. Even at the late hour, people still congregated, waiting to watch the Walk of the Apostles. So he sat, watching them watch the clock. After a few minutes of sitting, legs extended and comfortably crossed at the ankle, he began to relax.

It wouldn't be long now, he mused.

His eyelids suddenly felt heavy.

She should arrive any second.

His head began to bob.

He couldn't wait to see her.

And as the Orloj struck two, and the apostles began to march, he fell asleep.

New Brunswick, New Jersey

“
Y
ES, MS. MORLEY
, I did exactly as you instructed, but Mr. Zurn says that terminating his services is not an option. He says he wants to speak with you directly,” Meredith's executive assistant Cynthia reported nervously.

“First of all, there is no ‘me' to speak to. He is just trying to manipulate you. Second, the terms of Mr. Zurn's employment are not his decision to make. He and his brother failed miserably and now they're fired. It's that simple. Thank him for his efforts, tell him he may keep the first installment as severance, and reiterate that we no longer require his assistance. After you've hung up, terminate the VoIP account so he can longer contact us. And just to be safe, reformat the hard drive on the notebook computer you've been using,” Meredith said.

“Umm, Ms. Morley, he didn't call the VoIP number. He called the office directly. Mr. Zurn is holding on line one and he asked to speak to you by name.”

Meredith shifted her gaze to the Polycom phone on her desk. Her heartbeat quickened, falling into cadence with the rapidly blinking red LED light next to the line one button. Were she not battle-hardened, she would have gasped. Instead, she flashed Cynthia a glib smile and picked up the handset.

“Mr. Zurn, it seems your dossier needs to be updated. I had no idea you possessed such IT prowess.”

“No, no. I can't take credit for this. Hacking is a form of art, and an artist I'm not. But the true measure of a man's utility is not
what
he knows, but
who
he knows,” Raimond Zurn bantered.

“If you have such a vast talent pool to recruit from, then please explain to me how a man who is practically on his death bed, with no clothes, no money, and no resources not only outwits you, but also out-muscles you?”

“The intelligence you provided me with was wrong. He has clothes, and money. And he is far from on his deathbed. Foster is not a man to be underestimated. Your misrepresentation of the target's capabilities is to blame for the failure in our first encounter.”

“Excuses are for amateurs. I hired you because of your reputation for discretion and efficiency. A wrestling match in the middle of Old Town Prague is hardly what I had in mind. Let's cut through the bullshit, shall we? You had your chance, and you blew it. Your services are no longer required, Mr. Zurn.”

“Be careful not to confuse your world, with its lawyers and paper contracts, with mine. Our agreement was made in the underworld—think of it as a blood pact. You hired me, but you can't fire me. I never agreed to any time limit. Bounty hunting is not child's play; it is not paint by numbers. You
will
get your prize back, and you
will
pay the negotiated fee . . . in its entirety.”

Meredith swallowed, trying to maintain her composure. Zurn was willful, motivated, and nefarious. By circumventing her firewalls and piercing her veil of anonymity, he also demonstrated more prowess than she had given him credit for. She suspected that her personal safety would be at risk if she crossed him. Best to keep the viper's fangs pointed at somebody else. She cleared her throat.

“Everybody deserves a second chance, I suppose. What do you intend to do now?”

“I need to broaden the search radius. Europe is not like it used to be. Foster will be able to travel easily between countries if he stays inside the European Union. Once he is on the move, I may have to hire additional resources, and that means more money.”

“Under no circumstance can he leave the Czech Republic. With every passing hour, with each mile of ground he covers, the probability of locating him plummets. Your failure left me no choice but to make the Czech government aware of certain details of the situation. Official efforts are underway to locate and quarantine Foster. The Czech national police and INTERPOL are now involved. Border checkpoints are being set up on all the major roads. If he tries to board a train or airplane out of the country, he'll be detained,” she said.

“This complicates things considerably,” the bounty hunter said. “What if the Czechs apprehend Foster before I do?”

“Then you'll need to orchestrate a kidnapping and take him back.”

“If he is placed in military quarantine, that will be impossible.”