10
In the morning, the room still somewhat dark from the Rolladens being pulled part way, Jake first heard a quiet sound and then saw movement from the corner of his eye. He thought about going for his gun, but then realized that Anna Schult probably wouldn’t look too kindly to him shooting her cat. The black figure nosed its way toward Jake, who was now leaning up on his elbow. The cat sniffed his hand and then started purring. He must have passed inspection.
Jake sat up on the couch and the cat weaved its way between his legs. He had never owned a cat before, not having the time to train one, if that’s what one did, nor did he really know what to do with one. He simply rubbed the cat behind its ear.
“You’re going to spoil her, Jake,” Anna said, entering from her bedroom. “She’ll never leave you alone now.” She went to the kitchen and clicked on a small light. Then started to make coffee. “You like coffee?”
“I’d die without it,” he said.
She smiled and then moved about the living room opening the Rolladens and letting in more light. She was wearing a pair of Adidas workout pants and a T-shirt that read Austrian Olympic Team. Nothing else. She wore no make-up and needed none.
Coffee brewing in the background, Anna took a seat across from him. He had slept in his pants and T-shirt and felt pretty grubby.
“Would you like a shower?” she asked.
“That would be great.”
She got him a towel and showed him to the bathroom.
When he was done, Anna was at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee, a plate of bread, meats and cheeses in front of her.
“Cups are there,” she said. “Self serve here.”
Great. That’s the way he liked it. He poured himself coffee and glanced to the coffee table in the living room. He had purposely left the Order day planner, without the diary, at a forty-five degree angle to the edge of the table. Now it was parallel to the edge. He took a seat across the table from her and started eating meat and cheese. Her eyes seemed a brighter blue than the night before, he thought. Buttering some bread, he kept his eyes on her. She was something.
“What time are they expecting you at the office today?” Jake asked her.
“They’re not,” she said. “I’m to be on the road all day.” When Jake didn’t say anything, she continued, “I have to speak with Gustav Albrecht in Steyr.”
He swallowed deeply and then took a sip of coffee. She had caught him off-guard, and he was afraid he had not hid his surprise.
“Yes, I know you stashed him there. You and Kurt Lamar, your Agency friend.”
“How old are you?” he asked. He knew it was stupid to ask a woman that question, but he needed to change the subject.
Finishing her coffee, she then said, “Thirty-two. Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m jealous that you’re so good at your age.”
Smiling, she said, “Are you trying to flatter me, Jake?”
“Either that or trying like hell to figure out how I could screw up so profoundly.”
“What do you Americans say? Don’t knock yourself up?”
He laughed at her. “Something like that.”
She went for more coffee and then topped off Jake’s cup before sitting down again. “Would you like to drive with me to talk with Herr Albrecht?”
“Didn’t you find what you wanted in the papers over there?” he said, shifting his head toward the living room.
Her mouth held back a smile. “You broke into the Teutonic Order warehouse and only came out with those?”
“I had a key and the security code,” Jake reminded her, if she didn’t already know.
“That’s right. But still… ”
“I got enough.” He left it at that. He wasn’t sure if he could trust her yet. A good judge of character normally, Jake found himself in unfamiliar territory — wondering how she knew as much as she did, and even more perplexed over her mission with Interpol.
She nibbled on a piece of cheese and then rolled a piece of salami and bit half and chewed, her eyes not leaving Jake’s. Shoving the other half into her mouth, she licked her fingers and then wiped them on a napkin.
Jake thought about the diary of the priest and all he had read the night before. Normally, he liked to have more time to build a relationship, and this was starting to seem more like an interrogation, or at least a one-way data flow. Could he trust her? “We don’t need to talk with Albrecht,” he finally said. “I know everything he knows.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She seemed to be in deep thought. “Good. I hear it might snow again today. I wasn’t looking forward to the drive. So, I guess we need to find Miko Krupjak.”
“Who?”
“A man who used to be a Brother of the Order,” she said, picking up the leftover meat and cheese and putting them in the refrigerator. “We think he’s involved with the murders in Bratislava and the shooting at the Donau Bar.” She left and went to her bedroom. When she returned she had a laptop computer with a file opened showing a man in his mid forties, a scar above his eye and another on the edge of his left jaw line. “That’s Miko Krupjak.”
Jake shook his head. “That’s not the Donau Bar shooter. Nothing like him.”
Looking at the screen, she clicked a key on the keyboard and a second man’s face appeared. It was the bartender — or at least the man who had played the part before blasting the two bodyguards all to hell with the shotgun.
“That’s the guy,” Jake said.
“Rada Grago. A known associate of Krupjak. The two of them played hockey together in their youth. Krupjak went on to the old Czechoslovakian national team before he was injured. He played in the nineteen-eighty Olympics. Of course, the Americans won that year. Anyway, we understand that Krupjak tried to defect while in Lake Placid, New York. He was sent back to Prague and they broke his left knee. His dream was to play in the NHL, but at that time.” She broke off and shrugged her shoulders.
“He was no longer welcome on the national team or even in the East European leagues.”
“Right. He ended up working in a Skoda factory in his home town, Mlada Boleslav, in the Czech Republic.” She scrolled back to Krupjak’s file. “Left factory work to join the Teutonic Order as a Brother.”
“He didn’t have to be a priest?” Jake asked.
“No. Brothers come from all walks of life. They can be priests, but most are not. They must take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, though.”
Jake went for the computer and his hand touched hers. She looked at him and then slowly moved her hand aside. He scrolled back down to Grago.
“This guy also played hockey?” Jake asked her.
“Yeah, not as well as Krupjak. Grago made the junior team with Krupjak, and that’s where they met, but he never made the senior national team. They call Grago the Butcher of Prague.”
“Why?”
“He’s a butcher…and he’s from Prague.” She tried not to smile. “Also, he’s quite brutal. Uses knives. Intel says he was an enforcer for the old KGB in Prague. Then, there’s this guy.” She scrolled to another page on her computer, which showed a man who had been seriously hit with an ugly stick. “Jiri Sikora. He’s Slovak. From Bratislava.”
Jake said, “Let me guess…also played hockey.”
“Right. Czechoslovak junior national team with Miko and Grago. Like Grago, though, he didn’t make the Olympic team. I think he was the set-up man in Bratislava.”
“You mean the man who originally spilled his guts to the Order priest in confession,” Jake said.
“Ja. We think he mentioned his confession to his friends Miko and Grago and they killed the Order priest. Sikora isn’t as strong and hardened as the other two.”
“Might be a place to start.”