Calypso Directive (6 page)

Puzzle piece number two: The doctors told him they were using experimental treatments to eradicate a virus lurking in his system, but every
treatment
only made him feel worse. The scenario had always been the same: injection, followed by flu symptoms, then rapid recovery. This was why he stole the sample with the cloudy liquid. His intellect told him the injections were not treatments. Far from it. The vial of cloudy liquid had been the key to understanding this puzzle piece, but now that key was lost.

A hint of a smile crept across his face. Even though the vial of cloudy liquid was destroyed, remnants of the substance were coursing through his veins. What if someone could identify the foreign compound using a sample of his blood? He also still had the vial of the clear liquid, another puzzle piece in need of deciphering. To gain access to such analyses, he would need help from the one person in the world with whom he was not on speaking terms. Julie Ponte was an American molecular biologist working in Vienna and his only hope. The trick would be convincing her to listen. It had been ages since they last communicated, and it was he who had ended the romance between them.

He stood abruptly. His legs itched and tingled from sitting for so long. He rubbed the back of his thighs, trying to get the blood flowing. Then, he started to pace. From his front pants pocket, he retrieved a wad of crumpled bills: thirty-one euros. He had spent seven euros on a hot sandwich and a liter of bottled water at a café, his first real meal since breaking out of quarantine. He had spent another twelve on an inexpensive maroon scarf and grey wool cap from a second-hand store—not just for warmth, but also to conceal his face. If they were already casing youth hostels, then it was safe to assume they were looking for him in all obvious places where a half-naked man with no money might try to hide. Homeless shelters, park benches, under bridges—anywhere a vagabond might go. He needed to get out of Prague, away from the dragon's lair, but without a passport, booking a flight or a train ticket was out of the question. Complicating matters, he still had no idea who “they” were. The most logical assumption was that the people looking for him were the security personnel from the lab. The very guards he had outmaneuvered were now the ones trying to bring him in. Other operatives could also be on his trail. Bounty hunters? Government agents? What about the Czech police? Were they looking for him too? He had no idea how deep this conspiracy ran. Paranoia was the only reason he had not marched right up to the U.S. Embassy in Prague, knocked on the door, and said, “Please take me home.”

He had been quarantined, drugged, and smuggled out of the United States, without any intervention or investigation by the various agencies of the Department of Homeland Security. This told him that either the smuggling was sanctioned by DHS, or that the information surrounding his case never reached DHS. Either way, the conclusion was the same. Whoever did this to him had some very powerful people on their payroll.

To avoid capture, he needed to fly under the radar; to solve the puzzle, he needed help. These two goals were not mutually exclusive, but the latter did risk the former. His mind raced. How could he contact Julie covertly? Certainly not from sanctuary of this alley, he thought. Fuck it. He stepped into the daylight onto a crowded intersection in Old Town Prague and scanned both sides of the street for an Internet kiosk, a well-heeled café, or even a modern hotel where he could sneak some computer time. Thirty-one euros would buy him plenty of time online, even if it took hours to reach Julie.

He walked south, past Hlavní nádraží, the largest and busiest railway station in Prague. He crossed Jeruzalemska and R
ů
žová, but neither street had what he needed. When he reached Politickych veznu, he turned northwest on a whim and soon found himself in Wenceslas Square. At 700 meters long and sixty meters wide, Wenceslas was a Square in name only, and he found himself stopping for a moment to take it all in. He felt a charge of energy from the vibrant boulevard; its shops and sidewalks were bustling with life. The abundance of automobiles, asphalt, tourist shops, and window advertisements overwhelmed the Old World charm that flowed from the roofline architecture. He suspected that if one could magically wipe away all the commercialism, Wenceslas might be beautiful. But Wenceslas Square was no more or less beautiful at that moment than it had been more than six hundred years before, when King Charles IV founded the
Konskytrh
, or “Horse Market,” in a brainstorm of urban planning. It was never a panorama of grand buildings and cathedrals like the Old Town or Prague Castle. The Square was—and always had been—Prague's central market. It was not the showpiece. It was the
hub
.

Will looked toward the end of the Square, past the modest gardens dividing the wide tree-lined boulevard, all the way to the imposing National Museum, with its majestic cupola and brightly illuminated Neo-Renaissance facade. Positioned fifty meters in front, stood a statue of a knight atop a horse. Wenceslas immortalized.

His nervous stomach reminded him that he had work to do, and he strode off. Ten minutes later, he spied a small Internet café. A bilingual sign in the window read T
HREE
E
UROS
P
ER
H
OUR
in Czech and English. It was a better price than he had dared to hope for. After waiting forty-five minutes for a computer terminal in the back with a view of the entrance, Will took a seat. The room was amply heated, and he wanted desperately to strip off his winter garb. But he left the wool cap untouched upon his head and the maroon scarf wrapped snugly around his nose and mouth to hide his face.

As he logged into his email account, he was taken aback. The date stamp on his last sent message was over five months old. Five months! He felt the color rising in his cheeks as he thought about his imprisonment. No phone calls, no email, no letters, no walks outside, no contact with anyone.

He took a deep breath, calming himself so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

He sorted the email in his inbox by Sender. Hundreds of messages flooded the screen, but not a single one was from Julie. With the way they had left things, she probably didn't even know he was missing. Maybe no one did. He hadn't exchanged emails with Julie for over a year. To make matters worse, he couldn't remember where she worked. He knew she ran her own lab, but the details of her employment had never been a heated topic of conversation between them. Still, he had a starting point; he knew her instant messaging account name. If she had changed
that
, then he was in serious trouble.

He opened MSN Instant Messenger.

“C'mon Julie,” he said quietly. “Be there.” A blue task window popped up on the screen with a friendly chime:

Hello Will,
0
of your contacts are online.

Shit.

He clicked back over to his email account to compose a message, addressing it to Julie's personal email address:

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: Urgent! Need help.

Julie - I'm in trouble and need your help. I'll be logged onto IM for the next 24 hours. - W

He hit “send” and sank into his chair. In the past, Julie had checked her personal email periodically throughout the workday, but there was no telling how long he would have to wait today. For the next ninety minutes, he reacquainted himself with the world, scanning news sites for current events and checking his favorite blogs. It was a sobering experience. So much had happened while he had been locked away, and the more he read, the more alone he felt.

As he clicked from site to site, he kept one eye on the front desk and the people around him. It was a diverse crowd, but not a
dangerous
crowd.

Bing.

The sound seemed unnaturally loud, and Will was momentarily afraid that the computer had somehow betrayed him. He glanced around wildly, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. In fact, he could hear other people's computers making similar sounds.

It was an Instant Message alert.

Julie:

will? is this a joke?

His breath quickened, and his hands started to shake. He could barely type.

Will:

no joke. i'm in trouble and need your help.

Julie:

why me? what about your girlfriend?

Will:

we broke up

He waited . . . his stomach tied in knots. After what seemed like an eternity, the message window refreshed with new text.

Julie:

I'm pissed at you. you break up with her and don't bother to tell me? you're a jerk.

Will: