The Einstein Pursuit (35 page)

Jones held up a finger, letting him know that Raskin was still working his magic. ‘Sorry, Jon. He couldn’t complete the trace. The call was way too short, and the caller bounced the signal around the globe before he routed it to your cell.’

Payne signaled for Jones to hand over the phone. ‘Did you get anything at all?’

‘Jon? Is that you? Sorry, man, I don’t have much. This guy is really good. About the only thing I know for sure is the manufacturer of the cell phone. It wasn’t made in America.’

‘Big shock there.’

‘Or Japan.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

‘It was actually made in the Czech Republic. The company is headquartered in the Mala Strana district of Prague. This particular brand of phone has a distinct signature.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive. Also, the caller signed off with
Na shledanou
. That translates to “goodbye” or “see you soon” in Czech.’

Payne grunted in surprise. Typically, the last thing he expected from men like the kidnapper was honesty. Then again, why call him out of the blue and risk getting caught? After all, he had made a clean getaway with Sahlberg.

‘Randy, what do you have for transportation?’

‘Is tomorrow too late?’

‘No, that will work.’

Raskin worked his magic, cross-referencing the data that appeared on his various monitors. ‘If you can get to Washington before noon, I can get you a ride with the 87th Airborne to Ramstein in Germany. We can work on the rest of the trip while you’re en route.’

‘That works. I’ll be in touch.’ Payne disconnected the call.

‘What works?’ Jones asked.

‘Pack your shit. We’re going to Prague.’

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.’

Masseri grinned at Payne and slid a folder across the table. ‘Thirty miles to the east, you will find a facility – a laboratory – in the woodlands near Rakovnik. It was once a military stronghold, a structure that passed through the hands of the various occupiers of what was then Czechoslovakia. The Nazis. The Soviets. And so on. Trust me when I tell you that it has seen its fair share of atrocities. It has been retrofitted to meet the needs of today’s modern science.’

Payne ignored the folder. ‘What are they studying there?’

‘The experiments are not important,’ Masseri countered. ‘At least not to me. What is important are the men supervising the facility.’

‘You owe them?’

‘Quite the contrary: they are the ones who owe me. In exchange for the delivery of your Dr Sahlberg, they have agreed to pay me a rather exorbitant sum.’

‘You have Mattias. Why not collect your money?’

‘I received a better offer – one that pays more and allows your friend to keep his life. I believe that is what you Americans refer to as a “win-win”.’

‘They’re planning to kill him?’

Masseri smiled. ‘I see no other alternative. Once they’ve obtained the information they seek, there’s no need to keep him around. The risk is too great. And the death of an elderly man can be easily explained – not that they’re worried about that sort of thing.’

‘What is it that Mattias knows?’

‘That doesn’t concern me. All that matters is that someone is willing to pay more to keep him alive.’

‘Who?’

Masseri smiled. ‘In due time, Jonathon, in due time. Tell me, what of the facility?’

‘What do you mean?’

He pointed at the unopened folder. ‘I want to know the likelihood that you can raid the compound and kill those in control of it, of course.’

‘You want them dead?’

‘It seems like the cleanest way to accomplish the goal.’

‘Just like Stockholm,’ Payne stated.

Masseri scoffed at the notion. ‘I assure you I had nothing to do with Stockholm. In fact, by eliminating this facility, you will have your retribution against those responsible for the destruction of the Stockholm laboratory.’

‘You mean, the men supervising this lab—’

‘Yes! They are the same men that deemed the Stockholm facility a liability.’ Masseri paused, letting the information sink in. ‘Don’t worry: you’re not being sent to kill everyone, only the men with their fingers on the trigger. Their deaths will restore the balance. An eye for an eye, as they say.’

‘I don’t kill for revenge,’ Payne said.

Masseri laughed. ‘Your past actions would prove otherwise. Or can you justify every special forces killing as a necessary pre-emptive strike?’

Payne kept his cool and refused to take the bait. He would have liked nothing more than to explain the difference between revenge and justice in painful, bone-cracking detail, but it would have to wait. Right now, as much as he hated to admit it, this man was the best lead he had.

He opened the folder and glanced at the photos inside. ‘Why kill them? Why not blow the whistle and let the local police handle the dirty work?’

Masseri shook his head. ‘You must understand, the first rule of a double-cross is to ensure that those you are about to betray are not left standing. Contrary to your righteous claim, revenge is a powerful motivator for most. If I don’t eliminate these men, then I am forced to live in fear of their reprisal. And I have neither the time nor the desire to do that. Once this act is completed, I can walk away for good. Free and clear to spend the rest of my days as I see fit. I’ve done terrible things, but that time has passed. You can facilitate my retirement, Jonathon.’

Payne smirked. ‘I can do that right now … with a bullet.’

‘But you won’t. And do you know why you won’t? Because my death means Sahlberg’s death too. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Why use me? Why not do this yourself?’

Masseri leaned back in his chair. ‘The second rule of a double-cross is to make sure you’re as insulated from the front line as possible. Normally, this rule would be superseded by my need to make sure that the job was done effectively, but in this instance I’ve been granted a reprieve. I have you.’

‘In other words, you’re a pussy.’

‘No,’ Masseri said, ‘my particular talent involves the apprehension or termination of a single objective. I creep into their lives and pounce when they least expect it. Your skill set, on the other hand, is eliminating multiple targets in a hostile environment. Overwhelm the opponent with brute force. I have every confidence that your abilities will serve you well in this situation.’