The Einstein Pursuit

55

For more than a thousand years, the narrow streets of Prague had seen conflict and celebration, great wars and prosperity. The history of the region was rich with stories of everything from the Holy Roman Empire to the suppression of the communist movement. Today, its heritage was recognized throughout the world, and the city had become a heralded tourist destination.

Payne took a deep breath as he approached the Charles Bridge.

It was currently filled with tourists.

If everything went well, no one — apart from those directly involved — would ever know about their rendezvous. But if things went badly, he knew his adversary would not hesitate to add his personal touch to the violent history of the city.

Payne stepped on to the stone bridge and readied himself for anything. He knew Jones was somewhere nearby, poised in a makeshift sniper’s nest. Even though he trusted his friend’s ability to come to his aid from five hundred yards away with one expertly placed shot, he also understood the reality of the situation: the bridge was virtually indefensible. It was a wide-open space with nowhere to run or hide. If things went badly, Payne’s best option would be to jump from the bridge into the waters of the Vltava river.

After that, he’d be a sitting — make that swimming — duck.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Payne knew that if need be, Dial could bring the vast resources of local law enforcement with a single phone call. They could blanket the area with police officers, shutting off the mercenary’s escape routes as they methodically tightened their grip on the area. Unfortunately, he also knew that taking such action most likely meant they would never see Sahlberg again. The man who held him, whoever he was, was not new to the game. He would certainly see to it that Sahlberg paid for Payne’s betrayal.

It was a risk he was unwilling to take.

Of course, it took some effort to convince Dial to stay out of things. Payne reminded him that Interpol had no authority to investigate this matter, and that any action on Dial’s part would have to be explained and defended long after his return to Lyon. By then, there was no telling what might become of the suspect, since he would be subject to Czech law.

You don’t want red tape. You want results.

And I want Sahlberg.

Stay out of my way, and we’ll both get what we want.

Payne walked to the center of the bridge and stood with his back to the railing. He scanned the vendors, who were still setting up shop for the day. He took note of the artists attempting to capture the beauty of the early morning sky, painters and photographers focusing on the banks of the river as the sun illuminated the buildings of the Old Town. He studied everyone nearby, burning their faces into his memory while searching for trouble.

Deep inside, he knew he was the one in trouble.

One false move, and he was dead.

If given his preference, he would have chosen somewhere far from civilization. He was accustomed to the confines of thick jungles and the burned-out remnants of villages, places where he could duck and weave to safety. Here, he felt thrown into a different world: a Cold War game of dead drops and clandestine exchanges of information.

He was a soldier, not a spy.

His radar was on high alert when a young boy on a bicycle parked beside him on the bridge. The boy clumsily dismounted the bike, which was far too big for him to handle. It would be a few years before his feet would be able to reach the ground while sitting on the seat. Yet it didn’t seem to bother him. He smiled excitedly as Payne eyed the bunches of wrapped flowers in the oversized basket between the front handlebars.

‘Sorry, kid, I don’t need any flowers,’ Payne explained.

The boy nodded at the mention of flowers, the only word he understood. Before Payne could stop him, he had carefully selected a particular bundle and handed them over with the same joyous look that most children reserved for Christmas morning.

Payne reached into his pocket for a few koruna, realizing it would be easier to simply pay the boy than to argue over unwanted flowers.

The boy held up his hand and shook his head wildly. No matter how much Payne insisted, the boy refused his offering. Instead, he mounted his oversized bike again — nearly falling twice as he did — and waved as he sped off in the opposite direction.

It took Payne a moment to realize that this wasn’t merely a random act of kindness. The boy was actually a messenger. Wrapped around the collection of stems was a note. Payne unfurled the paper and saw a map with arrows leading him across the bridge and ending at the Old Town Square. Underneath was scribbled a single line: Bring the flowers.

Payne studied the map to get his bearings. He wondered how many people besides Jones were currently staring at him through a sniper’s scope.

He covered his mouth and said, ‘Old Town Square.’

The message was picked up by his radio mic, which was tucked discreetly into his ear, and transmitted to Jones in his sniper nest.

‘Copy that,’ Jones said as he unscrewed the sound suppressor on his rifle. ‘Walk slow. I’ll need some time to get into position.’

The Charles Bridge connected the Lesser Quarter of Prague with the more picturesque Old Town. As Payne walked, several elaborate statues cast their gaze upon him and the other tourists that filled the streets. He passed through the arch of the Charles Bridge Tower, signaling an end to the bridge and the start of the Old Town, and followed the twisting path laid out on the map, stepping through the shadows of structures built upon ancient ruins, traveling routes once used by knights sworn to protect the land, passing the remnants of what had once been spectacular gothic architecture.

Finally, after a short jaunt made longer by his deliberate pace, he reached the Old Town Square. Sitting at a round table underneath a wide umbrella was the man Payne had come to find. The same man he had seen outside the incline station in Pittsburgh.

They stared at each other across the square. Payne glared, his body tense, while Masseri raised a water glass in a toast, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

Payne dropped the flowers and cautiously made his approach. Reaching the table, he stood opposite Masseri. ‘I got your message.’

‘I see that you did. Perhaps you would enjoy something to drink?’

Payne wanted to strangle him. ‘Can we cut the crap?’

Masseri nodded with a slight chuckle. ‘Please, sit down. We have many things to discuss. Tell me, is this your first visit to Prague?’

‘How could that possibly be important?’

‘It took me a great number of years to allow myself any form of pleasure while on assignment,’ Masseri said, paying no attention to Payne’s response, ‘but I quickly discovered what I had been missing. Time is an important commodity, more valuable than any metal or precious stone. To waste it is a sin more heinous than all the others.’

He pointed to the empty chair across from him.

Payne reluctantly took a seat.

Masseri smiled. ‘Look around you. Take it all in.’ He drew a long breath to punctuate his point. ‘The mishmash of styles, all telling the story of this square. Church after church after church. Look at them all. Romanesque abbeys. Gothic cathedrals. How many souls do you think have passed through these monuments?’

On any other day, with any other company, Payne would have gladly discussed Prague and its architectural beauty. Though not a historian, he could see why millions of people visited the city every year. Charming, vibrant facades enveloped them in all directions. Church spires rose mightily into the sky. In the distance, the Prague Orloj — the oldest functioning astronomical clock in the world — was mounted on the southern wall of the Old Town City Hall.

Today, he simply wanted Masseri to get to the point.

‘Right now,’ he said, ‘the only souls I care about are Dr Sahlberg’s and my own. We can talk about the rest when I’m sure he’s safe … and out of your reach.’