“We’re almost to Bratislava,” Jake said.
The Grand Master sat up straighter and rubbed his hands across his face and through his hair. Part of Jake wanted to simply drop the guy off somewhere — a gasthaus perhaps in some tiny village — and pick the guy up in a few days. Once Jake had a chance to figure out who had it in for Albrecht. But he thought, for now, it would be better to keep the guy close to him. At least Jake would provide some protection. It would also put Jake’s life at risk, but he was used to that. Didn’t like it. But he was familiar with the prospect at least.
A short while later they reached the main Bratislava train station, and walked five blocks to St. Michael’s Cathedral. Albrecht knew the parish priest there and guessed he might have information about the Order priest who had been killed. The two priests had been ordained at the same time almost thirty years ago.
The cathedral had been built in the fifteenth century. It was cold and dank with a constant breeze that seemed to tickle the hairs on the back of Jake’s neck. He had put his leather holster over his sweater inside his wind breaker, so at least he could draw his 9mm without catching the barrel sight on his pants pocket. He unzipped his coat open and felt the comfort of his gun with his left arm.
Something wasn’t right. Jake was sure of it. He watched Albrecht, a few steps ahead of him down the main aisle, pause at the front row of pews, kneel, and then cross himself, just as he had when he first entered the church. Jake rushed forward and grabbed Albrecht by the shoulder. Then, a finger to his mouth, Jake drew his gun and quietly clicked the hammer back, his CZ-75 leading the way to the right of the altar toward a back room, where a dim sliver of light pointed out to them.
Jake could feel the breeze stronger on his face. They reached the edge of the door, which was wide open, the wind sucking through like that of a mountain tunnel.
Sniffing the air, Jake could smell it now. The iron of blood. Feces and urine, a natural response to death.
Albrecht bumped into Jake. “What’s the matter?” he whispered.
“Shhh.”
With one swift motion, Jake rushed into the room, his gun shifting from left to right and then pointing down at the stone floor. Laying face down in a puddle of blood was a priest in a black robe.
“My God,” Albrecht mumbled from the door, his hand on his mouth.
Jake turned for a moment and then hurried to the head of the priest, but he already knew the man was dead. The blood was too dry for life. He checked for a pulse. The priest was still warm but dead.
The killer could still be there, Jake thought. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. He shoved them on as he rose to his feet. “Is that your friend?” Jake asked Albrecht.
The Grand Master was frozen in time, his eyes wide with horror.
“Is this the priest you know?” Jake said abruptly.
Albrecht nodded.
“Let’s go. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
“We can’t leave him like this,” Albrecht pleaded.
“We have no choice,” Jake said, his hand on Albrecht’s arm. “We’ll call it in to the police once we get outside.”
Finally, Albrecht nodded approval and the two of them hurried toward the front door. Half way down the side aisle, the Gothic pillars to one side, the front door burst open and men starting moving down the main aisle, guns drawn.
Jake stopped. They couldn’t talk their way out of this. Nor could Jake explain his gun. Jake pulled on Albrecht to reverse course. The two of them quietly made their way in the shadows toward the back of the cathedral. They passed the room with the dead priest and continued through the darkness.
Now Albrecht pulled on Jake to follow. He had to know another way out. Moments later Albrecht shoved through a large wooden door and they pushed out onto a back stoop.
A light clicked on. A flashlight. Then a man screamed in what Jake knew must have been Slovak, but he didn’t speak the language.
Two men with guns. Standing in front of a Skoda police car.
Albrecht said something to the men as he moved toward the two cops. They clicked the hammers of their guns. The man on the left yelled at them again.
Albrecht stopped. They were now just feet away from the two Slovak police.
“What’d you say to them?” Jake asked.
“I said I am a priest,” Albrecht said.
“And?”
“Basically? He said bullshit.”
One cop said something to the other one and the cop put his gun away and pulled his cuffs from his belt.
Damn it, Jake thought. He couldn’t allow this. They’ll be stuck in jail for months trying to answer questions. Slowly, Jake moved forward and turned his hands behind his back, as if allowing the man to cuff him.
As the cop reached down to Jake’s arm, Jake spun to his right, grasped the cop’s right hand, pulled his arm toward Jake, and simultaneously chopped the man in the throat with his left hand. Then he kicked the man in the face, dropping him instantly. Swiveling to his left, Jake’s roundhouse kick hit the wrist of the second cop, sending his gun flying into the air. Now Jake snapped the cop’s knee, stepped in closer and elbowed the man in the jaw, crumpling him down to the cobblestones. The sailing gun finally stopped clanking across the alley.
“Let’s go,” Jake said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Without thinking, Albrecht ran to the passenger side and got in.
Slowly Jake. Take it nice and easy.
He drove down the alley and hoped like hell these guys were as clueless as the last two and didn’t think about closing off the alleys on all sides. Jake was right. Dumb fucks.
He cruised out to a side street, glanced down to his left at two police cars closing off the road in front of the cathedral, and turned right. He would have to dump the car in a hurry. If the Bratislava cops had any clue at all, the car would have a GPS tracker. He doubted they did, but he didn’t want to take a chance.
Jake drove toward the Danube River in an industrial part of the city.
Suddenly, a frantic voice came across the radio, followed by an equally distressed response.
“What was that?” Jake asked.
“Not good. They’re looking for us.”
Checking the rearview mirror, Jake saw two cars round the corner a few blocks back. More words on the radio.
“Shit,” Jake yelled. He shoved down on the gas and the car revved forward until he smashed it into fourth gear. They were now on a four-lane divided street that dissected the old town from the new town.
Blue and red lights came on the cop cars behind them as they closed on Jake. He glanced at the dash and found the toggles for the lights and siren, switching both on.
“What are you doing?” Albrecht demanded desperately.
“Hang on,” Jake yelled as he cranked the wheel, downshifted, and then exited onto a street that headed back toward the old downtown, the tires squealing and the front end shaking with his drastic maneuver.
Albrecht gasped, his right hand grasping a handle above the window and his left holding onto the seatbelt.
Jake slammed the stick back to fourth and the car responded instantly. A sign indicated the Austrian border was just across the river, but Jake hit the brakes hard before entering the bridge, the back end sliding to the left. He ground the stick into second and hit the gas, the tires spinning and then digging into the cobbled street.
Looking into the mirror, Jake saw that one cop car had turned sideways and the second had t-boned the first. But they were both still operating and taking up the chase.
“Switch through the frequencies,” Jake said to Albrecht.
The Grand Master was in shock, his face white and his eyes wide.
“I said, check the damn frequencies,” Jake yelled. “They must have switched off their normal channel.”