The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3) (5 page)

It was late afternoon in Elizabeth City, North Carolina. Half the tables of the Albemarle Diner were filled with early dinner arrivals. Peter Zeleny waited in a corner booth. He was uncomfortable. He was a long way from Chicago, his bowl of chili was cold, and a second cup of coffee was lukewarm.

The moment she entered the diner he recognized her. She was still attractive. She had not changed since those years in Prague at the Motol Teaching Hospital where she had ruined the career of his mentor.

He signaled. Anne Simek came to the booth and sat opposite.

“Dr. Zeleny, Vaclav thanks you for coming. He wasn’t sure you would.”

“Miss Simek, I came but I’m not sure why. It’s a long way here. Why did Vaclav tell you to call me?”

“He needs to see you. There’s no other doctor he can turn to.”

“Why me? He works for Hus-Kinetika. I’m the enemy.”

“You worked under his father at Motol Hospital. Vaclav thinks you are honorable and he knows that you respect his father.”

“Miss Simek, did you respect his father when you testified against him at the Motol?”

Anne stared down at the cold chili. She spoke softly.

“That’s none of your business. Vaclav respects me. He knows his father used women, but he loves his father anyway.”

“Vaclav works for Hus-Kinetika. His father can’t like that!”

Anne’s eyes flashed.

“Look, are you going to help us or not? I told him this wouldn’t work.”

It was Peter’s turn to look down. He collected his thoughts.

“All right. Where is he?”

“He’s safe, not far away, but he’s hurt. He’s been shot.”

“Shot! Why didn’t he go to a hospital, and to the police?”

“He couldn’t. You can guess why. He doesn’t want ‘them’ to know where he is. You of all people must understand that.”

“‘I thought Vaclav was on ‘their’ side, you too. Am I wrong?”

“It appears that you are, but we’re wasting time. He’s hurt. He needs help.”

“I’m no surgeon and I haven’t treated a gunshot wound since Prague.”

“It’s a clean wound, through the shoulder. No vital organ was touched. The bullet passed right through. The exit wound is not that large.”

“Then why do you need me? You studied medicine.”

“Not enough, and I can’t write prescriptions. You can. We need something to fight the infection in his wound, but mostly, Vaclav wants to talk to you about some papers he took from Hus-Kinetika. He trusts you. I don’t know why.”

“I don’t know about any papers.”

“He sent something to you in Maryland.”

“Why Maryland? I never got anything.”

“So you say.”

She looked at him in disbelief and rose from the booth.

“I’m going to the bathroom. When I come out, I’m walking straight to my car. Will you come?”

“But why are they after Vaclav?”

“He’ll have to tell you that. He trusts you. I don’t.”

Anne frowned and continued.

“My car is the red Focus. If you are coming, follow me in yours.”

Nearby a couple stood waiting for their booth to be cleaned. Anne pushed by them and went to the rest room.

Frowning, Peter fingered his cell phone. He had not charged it since Chicago and the battery was low. He tossed several bills on the table and went to a phone hanging on the wall. He made a quick call to Maryland before Anne appeared from the rest room. She left the diner without looking back.

He rushed outside to follow her. Her red Focus was parked across the lot. She was already behind the wheel.

As Peter Zeleny left the diner, Gustav Slavik took a last sip of coffee and slipped off the counter stool. He stepped to the door of the diner and watched Peter run to his car. Nearby, Anne waited in her Focus. Gustav ground his teeth.

So Pokorny survived.
Damn you Simek!

Gustav hurried to his minivan. Seated behind the wheel, he reached down and felt the cold metal of the Makarov pistol under the seat. He was comfortable with this weapon, a “GDR” Makarov, made in the cold war German Democratic Republic. It was in excellent condition due to his constant care.

The round went straight through Pokorny. I should have used the Makarov instead of the CZ-52. He would be dead now.

He put the Makarov on the seat and drove out of the lot. He took his place in line behind Peter, but far back. Gustav was in no hurry. His “work” was best done under cover of darkness. He drove slowly, staying well behind Anne’s two-car caravan.

At the junction of Route 158 with Route 168, the caravan turned south. Gustav smiled. His task was simple now. This road was bordered by the Currituck Sound to the East, and a branch of the Albemarle Sound to the West. Anne Simek’s destination was the Outer Banks.

He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his Petra cigarettes. He lit a king-sized, inhaled deeply, and glanced at the Makarov on the seat.

This time Pokorny, you will die
.

Gustav grimaced.

And you two, Simek and Zeleny, if you get in my way!

In Bethesda, Aileen Harris sat in the office of Ryan Associates. The phone rang and she answered.

“Ryan Associates.”

“Aileen, it’s me, Jeannine. I saw Larry Hodges this morning at the FDA. Then I went to the Israeli Embassy. I’m on my way back. Did you find Dr. Zeleny?”

“The Chicago Clinic still hasn’t heard from him. What did Hodges say? Will he recommend that the FDA reject the report?”

“He wants to approve Hus-Kinetika’s report, but the fake data have slowed him down. He’s stalling. He says he wants to talk to Zeleny again. We can’t depend on Hodges.”

Aileen hung up.

Damn it,
Hodges, what will it take to make you listen?

She started. Someone was at the office door.

Who is it this late?

Aileen looked through the peephole. It was a man, unshaven with a grizzled beard. He spoke with an accent.

“Please, Dr. Harris, open the door. I need to talk to you. My son trusts you.”

“Who are you? What do you mean your son?”

“My son, Peter, ... Dr. Zeleny. I’m his father. My name is Johan. I know no one in your country. I just arrived, please.”

“All right, come in. But what does Peter want? He barely knows me.”

Johan entered. He smiled at Aileen.

“Peter thinks you are a smart, attractive, honest woman. I can confirm the ‘attractive’ part. Very nice.”

Aileen glared, but Johan continued.

“Peter called me. He wants to know if someone named ‘Pokorny’ called you, maybe talked about some papers he had?”

Aileen gauged the man before her. He was old and posed no physical threat. She could handle him.

“I’ve never heard of a Mr. Pokorny and I don’t know why Peter would think he would call me. Now you tell me how I can reach Peter. He needs to know that we can prove the Xolak data from Hus-Kinetika are fake.”

“Hus-Kinetika! Warped Capitalists. They ruin my country. And now they ruin my son!”

He took a seat, his left leg vibrating.

“They are fools, traitors, lackeys of Washington.”

He ranted on. Aileen stopped listening.

Mercifully, minutes later Jeannine returned to the office.

Together, they convinced Mr. Zeleny to go back to his motel. Aileen agreed to drive him.

The sun had disappeared in the West as Peter Zeleny drove after Anne Simek’s Ford Focus. He was confused. He was alone in North Carolina, a state new to him, and on a strange road following a woman he barely knew, a woman who had ruined his mentor’s career.

Why does Vaclav want to see me? Who shot him? Why? He works for Hus-Kinetika. What am I doing?

Peter’s father had always disparaged Anne’s father, Havel: He was a weakling, a traitor to socialism, an ingrate who had refused to accept correct ideas while detained by the State for his own good, a sneak who had fled his homeland.

His father’s views did not disturb Peter. They were archaic, and boring. The past was the past.

What disturbed Peter was not his father, but Anne. During their shared time at the Motol Teaching Hospital in Prague, he had seen her only on formal occasions. But at the diner in Elizabeth City, something changed. Sitting with Anne in the booth, he had found her most appealing, like Aileen Harris.

And like Aileen Harris, she had shown a marked distaste for Peter! He was used to being pursued, not disdained. And both these women had the upper hand on his feelings. Upset by two women in two days! And now blindly following one of them.

He shook himself.

Do I want to impress Anne Simek? Is that why I follow her?

Ahead of him, the red Focus grew smaller. Peter pressed the accelerator to catch up.

Dusk fell and Anne Simek turned on her headlights. Behind her, Peter Zeleny switched on the lights of his rental Accord. Anne memorized their spacing. Once in traffic she would need to know if the car behind her was Peter’s. In the distance, behind Peter, she spied a minivan. Its lights were on. They were more widely spaced than Peter’s. Anne mentally recorded that difference.

Once across the bridge to the Outer Banks, Route 158 runs into Route 12 at a right angle. To the north, Route 12 leads to Southern Shores, Duck and Corolla, to the south, Kitty Hawk and Nags Head. Anne turned south towards Nags Head. She had sequestered Vaclav at a bed and breakfast in Wanchese on the southern portion of Roanoke Island. To reach Vaclav she needed to go to Route 64 and cross the bridge to that island.

She looked in her mirror. The familiar lights of Peter’s Accord had turned after her. Minutes later, as she drove through Kitty Hawk, another set of lights appeared behind Peter’s.

Anne gasped. The pattern and spacing of the lights were those of the minivan that she had noted before.

Now Anne was truly disturbed. She wished she was back in Corolla, at peace, lost in her studies.

But her world had changed.

She relived that stormy night two days ago.

She awoke. A gun shot? Out on the deck.

She stepped outside. A hooded figure grappled with a man. Vaclav! He fell. The hooded man raised a gun.

No time! She rushed and shoved the shooter.

The gun flew away. The man toppled over the railing and landed head first. Stunned, he lay still.

She turned to Vaclav. All that blood. Help!

They stumbled down to his van.

She pushed him in and ran to the driver’s side.

The keys? There, in the ignition.

She drove on the flooded roadway. Sheets of water flowed down the windshield.

The van slid sideways into the sand. Stuck!

She grabbed Vaclav and pulled. He slid from the vehicle. She helped him to stand. They abandoned the van and, feet wet, splashed away on foot.

The rain and wind-borne sand stung and blinded them. They moved forward and stopped. Where? A gully, the beach!

Vaclav tripped into the channel that churned at the foot of the dunes.

She grabbed his jacket, but it ripped off. She stepped into the knee-deep water and pulled him out.

She led him through the dunes back to the road.

His weakened limbs gave out. He slumped to the ground. She could not lift him.

Her car was at the house. She ran back through the dunes. She stopped to scan the side of the house.

The attacker was gone.

She drove her Focus back, somehow not getting stuck.

Vaclav was as she had left him.

He sat up and she got him into the car. She headed for the hospital in Elizabeth City.

He protested, eyes filled with fear.

“No, no hospital, hide me.”

“But Vaclav?”

“No!”

She gave in and drove him to a place near Wanchese where they knew her. She hid him in the car and took the room.

He was incoherent as she guided him up the stairs and onto the bed. She bandaged him as best she could.

Finally his fever broke and he asked for Peter Zeleny.

A nightmare? No, it was real.

Anne shook her thoughts back to the ever-following minivan with widely spaced lights.

I’ll be at the intersection with Highway 64 soon. I have to get rid of that van before then.

She could not let it see her turn towards Roanoke Island and Wanchese.

She shook with fear.

What am I doing?