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.’
56
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.’