The Prague Ultimatum Page 16

  “Sometimes it’s hard to think just how much the mood has changed in only three years; our reunification, the Czechs and Slovaks brought back together as family. It was supposed to be the start of something wonderful and instead…”

  She trailed off, as though her voice were fearful of breaking if it continued, an awkward and uncomfortable silence descending, contrasting with the elegance of the room the company sat in.

  “Striving to reach the gates of the Promised Land is difficult enough,” Černý opined, breaking the quiet with his gentle charm, “but it isn’t until one walks through them that the work really begins.”

  He continued to look out at his City, his people; the others mulling on his Presidential wisdom.

  “So many people fall into the trap of believing that the New Dawn itself is the goal; the objective we fight for, when in reality it is merely the beginning of the challenge. There are precious few who understand that even Utopias will die if their people fail to transpose the passion that built them into a passion to preserve them.”

  Černý’s eyes remained fixed on the glistening spires as he mulled the query aloud.

  “So many become transfixed with the glory of the ‘event’ that they begin to believe that in itself will solve their problems. And then they awake the next morning to the unpaid bill on the mat, to the sick child crying, to the senile parent and the empty bank account and all at once they lose their fight, their passion! They see only that the magic words they thought they believed in did not work, that the promises they thought they heard were broken and they give up their desire for cynicism; until history repeats again.”

  A telephone on Černý’s desk began to ring, saving the room from the descent of another awkward silence, the President lifting the receiver and listening intently to the speaker, before responding in quickly spoken Czech which Stone was unable to understand.

  “Excuse us,” he said to Stone and Abelard, gesturing for Svobodova to accompany him as he replaced the receiver. “Miroslava, perhaps we should initially take this call in the anteroom? Would you please both remain here?”

  The two politicians crossed the room and exited through a small door, leaving Stone feeling temporarily at least more relaxed, a sensation the Professor obviously shared, exhaling and pushing herself to her feet.

  “I’m sorry about Sergeant Hendry,” she said to him, her concern visible on her face, “I was with Svobodova when Rado phoned in; it can’t have been a pleasant job.”

  “It’s ok,” he reassured her quietly, “I barely knew the guy, I’d only met him once, it’s just… well he seemed a decent man, that’s all.”

  “And a soldier.”

  “Yeah,” nodded Stone, “and a soldier.”

  She sat again alongside him, reaching her arm across his shoulders in comfort.

  “This life,” she said, “the Army; it means the world to you, doesn’t it?”

  Stone smiled, reaching up to stroke the fingers she’d draped on his shoulder.

  “I told you, didn’t I, that my Dad was a soldier? An NCO in 4RTR in the Fifties and Sixties.”

  “The family business?”

  “Yes, if you like,” Stone laughed. “I’d just turned two when I met Dad for the first time. He was home on leave from the Regiment when he met my Mum and they hit it off straight away. I remember being at the front door, my big sister next to me, looking up at this giant man standing in front of me, he had these enormous hands like shovels, but his eyes were so kind… He knelt down and took my tiny palm in his huge one and shook it gently. ‘Hello’ he said, ‘I’m Tom.’”

  He smiled warmly at the memory and she squeezed his fingers tighter as he spoke.

  “He lost everything when he took us in,” he continued, his smile dropping now, “thank God these days most people wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but back then a white man marrying a black single mother? Everyone had to have their say.”

  “Not exactly society’s finest hour…” Natalie responded, almost whispering.

  “Quite,” Stone agreed. “It cost him family, friends… and you can imagine the things he was called and what used to come through the letterbox, cries of ‘Here come the Black and White Minstrels’ whenever we went for a walk together. But he never let any of that worry him, he had us and we had him and that was all we needed. When I grew up I decided that if the Army could make me half the man he was then it was a good way to start repaying him. He was my hero. And then, when the kid was born, there was a big part of me that thought I could be his hero too…”

  He looked up to see her eyes glistening and she quickly turned to blink it away just as the inner door opened and Svobodova leant out.

  “Professor, Captain; would you join us please?”

  They both stood and hurried to the room, emerging into a smaller, but still spacious conference room, in the centre of which stood an oblong oak table surrounded by high backed leather chairs, of which only one was occupied, by the wizened President Černý, who’s attention appeared focussed on an elaborate spider phone in the centre of the table. The three of them quickly took seats and joined the old man in his expectant stare at the device.

  “Thank you Rado,” Svobodova spoke in English, “if you could please say that again for the benefit of our guests.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” came the voice of the security officer through the speaker, “There’s been another attack.”

  “Oh, God,” Stone blasphemed, while the colour drained at once from Abelard’s face, as though a light had been turned off in her soul, “where?”

  “Old Town Square,” came the immediate response, “there’s been a mass demonstration there this morning; when it got out that police were arresting members of the Anti-Terror Squads, Myska held an impromptu rally in the middle of the square. A counter demonstration immediately started and riot police were called to contain the crowd. Two men in suicide belts tried to detonate themselves in the middle.”

  Stone looked over at Svobodova in deep concern. He didn’t need to vocalise what a disaster this was; not only another terrorist attack but one which would give Myska and his followers all the excuse they needed to start an all-out internal war. To his surprise, the Prime Minister remained motionless and he imagined that for a moment she had allowed herself to buckle under the momentous strain she was under; her grim determination uncharacteristically marginalised.

  Thinking to save her any embarrassment and to ensure the crisis was actioned, his leadership instincts kicked in and he leant closer to the spider phone.

  “Alright,” he said, “get down to the scene and liaise with emergency services and remember to comb the area for secondary devices. The Prime Minister will be en route to the hospital…”

  “No, Captain, it’s alright!”

  Rado’s voice was calmness itself, cutting Stone off in mid flow.

  “How is it alright, what do you mean?” The lines on his brow deepened as he furrowed it in confusion.

  “The devices didn’t explode,” Rado explained. “I’ve had operatives tailing the Myska appearances for days. They spotted these two on the fringes of the crowd and challenged them; one of them is dead, shot.”

  Blood slowly began to fill Abelard’s cheeks once more as the opiate of relief spread between the academic and the soldier, Svobodova muttering a not entirely inaudible prayer under her breath.

  “Not that I am not grateful,” the Prime Minister began, “but who authorised you to shadow Mr Myska’s events?”

  A brief silence came from the other end of the line before Rado spoke again.

  “It was Captain Stone’s suggestion,” he said, “after the concert attack he thought it prudent to monitor the crowds for regular faces, troublemakers. It worked.”

  Svobodova smiled gently across the table at him.

  “It seems I have you to thank again, Captain Stone.”

  “Never mind that,” Stone responded, eager to dispel any misplaced notions of excessive gratitude, “what about the other guy, the on
e who didn’t get shot?”

  “Well that’s the best news of all,” came Radoslav’s response, “we have him.”

  FIFTEEN

  THEY HAD HIM INDEED. Abdul Salam, a young man, almost a boy, who the media speedily determined had fled to Czechoslovakia from Syria, enrolled in a college at which he excelled in science, and who had no previously known deep religious conviction, was now sitting alone in a heavily guarded police cell somewhere in Prague.

  TV screens and social media were full of little else but the images of the two young men, two such young men, mingling with the band of protestors who jeered and mocked Myska’s speech, before calmly and deliberately dis-attaching themselves and disappearing from view, only to return moments later on the other side of Old Town Square at the edge of the politician’s crowd of admirers. CCTV had captured in glorious detail the moment sinking trepidation descended on the faces of the assemblage, as the first of the men had opened his unseasonably warm coat to reveal the explosives cradling his body in a cadaverous embrace. The ossified terror had grown quickly into blind panic as black-suited operatives appeared in an instant around him, weapons drawn and barking commands to raise his arms; commands which were quickly defied by the would-be killer’s move to trigger his device and the hail of bullets which sent him bloodied and sprawling to the floor. His comrade, hitherto unexposed, had then run deeper into the scattering crowd and reached the detonator of his own device which had steadfastly refused to ignite. Only the proximity of so many innocents had spared him the fate of his partner, two of the operatives hurling themselves upon him and dragging him down in a selfless act which both saved lives and earned the pair their own hashtag.

  But while catastrophe had been averted, storms of equal intensity had quickly brewed. Myska, as was to be expected had embarked upon an unfaltering tour of the TV studios from almost the moment his felled attacker was packed off to the morgue and his associate to his cell, defiantly asserting that the assault proved nothing but the validity of his message; a line with which the evening editions of most newspapers agreed, if some reluctantly. And with Myska himself targeted, some of the less savoury of his supporters grasped their opportunity to revenge themselves upon the weak, the scared and the different, with many a running battle being fought in the ancient cobbled streets until the police could contain the aftermath.

  It was everything the populist Leader could have wished for. An assassination attempt on himself and his followers from which all walked away unscathed, save for a few rattled nerves, committed by a Syrian Muslim ushered into Czechoslovakia by the excessively liberal regime of his rival. And it was precisely that convenience that had turned Svobodova’s initial relief at the lack of casualties and delight at the capture of the perpetrator into the swell of teeth grinding frustration growing within her, as she held the telephone receiver to her ear and struggled visibly to contain her temper.

  Stone observed her silently from his seat across her office and marvelled at the diplomatic restraint she showed before her patience finally wore thin and she interrupted the incessant tirade coming from the other end of the line.

  “Mr Ambassador,” she interjected tersely, “as I have expressed on many previous occasions, both I and Czechoslovakia have been and remain grateful both for the friendship of the United States and for her generous offer of assistance in our investigations. Suffice to say I have every faith in our own security services and every confidence they will extract any and all pertinent information from the suspect in custody without the need for us to take advantage of your said offer, and certainly not in the immediate future. Now, as I’m sure you appreciate, I have a great many things to attend to at this time, not least reassuring the people that it is safe to go about their daily business. That being the case I will wish you good day and I look forward to our next meeting.”

  She slammed the receiver down with more force than was perhaps appropriate and stood up behind her desk, inhaling deeply with her eyes clamped shut. When she finally moved over to where Stone and Abelard sat, she clutched the now familiar bottle in her hand; three shot glasses gripped tightly in the fingers of her other.

  “The Americans aren’t happy,” she said, clinking the glasses to the table and pouring a large shot into each.

  “Are they ever?” sniffed Stone.

  “Well even less so than usual,” she replied, acknowledging his sarcasm with the hint of a wry smile. “They want me to waive extradition proceedings and release the suspect to American custody immediately on charges of international terrorism, or at least be permitted to conduct an interrogation themselves.”

  “On what grounds?” frowned Abelard.

  “They’re claiming he’s linked to cells responsible for attacks on US troops.”

  “That’s supposition of the wildest kind,” the Professor protested, “how can they possibly back up such a claim?”

  “They can’t,” Stone said, picking up his glass from the table and knocking it back, his stomach slowly becoming accustomed to the severe taste, “it’s just a conjuring trick, an illusion for the electorate. Dragging a terrorist suspect in front of the TV screens for a show trial will be good for keeping any number of uncomfortable stories out of the press and for making the President look effective. It’s all just politics.”

  “Yes,” Svobodova sighed sadly, “politics…”

  Stone admonished himself for encouraging melancholy in the room and he pressed her for an action.

  “In any event,” he said, “you can’t give in to such a demand.”

  “Absolutely not,” echoed Abelard. “Politically that would play right into the image Myska wants to convey of you as a weak leader, bullied by so-called friends, and frankly morally speaking it’d just be plain wrong.”

  “I know, I know,” Svobodova asserted, holding her hands in the air. “Believe me, I have no intention of giving in; the prisoner is a resident of this country, arrested while attempting to attack this country’s citizens. He will be interrogated and tried here. But I find myself increasingly isolated in the matter. Germany, France, Belgium, Spain, even Britain since Jonathan’s departure, all have publically advised me to accept US help in completing the investigation.”

  Abelard inhaled deeply and quickly emptied her own glass, grimacing as it went down.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this,” she said, “but maybe Jonathan could help you? He may no longer be in government but he still has influence.”

  Svobodova offered the woman a small but sincere smile at the suggestion.

  “I’m afraid Jonathan has to keep a very low profile at present; I’m led to believe he is persona-non-grata at Parliament and having presently been dismissed as Foreign Secretary it is inadvisable he should be seen to be publicly interfering in foreign affairs.”

  “But he’s here, in the country,” the least he can do is get his hands dirty.”

  “No,” Stone interrupted, “if he comes out publicly then Myska proves you’re under the influence of foreign governments; it’s best to keep him out of sight. Sorry.” He turned to Abelard as he added the final word of apology, not wishing to appear unsupportive in a matter she was so personally involved in.

  “Agreed, Captain,” Svobodova nodded. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I am scheduled for interview and I want to be sure I get my side of the story out before the next Myska rally.”

  They all stood and Svobodova moved to leave, stopping only due to the audible ‘tutting’ noise made by Stone.

  He made no effort to disguise the disappointment on his face as she turned around at his display of petulance, her own offended expression matched by the look of surprise on Abelard.

  “I beg your pardon Captain Stone, what was that?”

  Knowing that etiquette and common courtesy demanded he bite his tongue, the resentment he had felt growing within him since even before his arrival in the city had matured within him and he realised that this was the time for the tasting, refusing to drop his eyes from the
politician’s.

  “You know, it’s funny,” he began, “I’ve only been in the country a few days but if there’s one thing I’m sick and tired of worrying about it’s the ‘next’ Myska rally. You’re supposed to be the Prime Minister of this country, but I don’t think I’ve heard you give one speech since I’ve been here that actually calls that fascistic bastard out on his horse shit.”

  “Lincoln!”

  He raised his palm, urging Natalie not to intercede, while resentment quickly grew in Svobodova’s own face.

  “Then I suggest, Captain, that you spend less time in the bars and clubs of the City and more time reviewing the current affairs discussion shows; I have been interviewed daily...”

  “Yeah, yeah, very interesting,” Stone interrupted with intentional rudeness, “for the forty-three people in the country that watch that crap. But the millions who don’t think you’ve got nothing to say. Now, I wasn’t here at the time but I’m told you were the People’s Heroine during reunification, that your rallies were legendary, that you could bring people together with just a few choice words, stood on a soapbox on a cobbled street. Where the hell is that Svobodova? Because I’ve never met her!”

  She opened her mouth to protest but before she could he had dived in again.

  “Where the hell was she the morning after the Rudolfinum blew up? At home in bed? Myska was there; oh, that guy wasn’t going to miss a chance to spread his poison but the woman with the antidote was nowhere to be found!”

  His could feel his anger grow with each word spoken and he relished the sensation it brought him; like charging into combat against a dozen enemy soldiers with only his rifle, his wits and his passion to aid him. He saw that anger mirrored in her own eyes; his apoplexy reigniting the passion behind her Prime Minsiterial smile.

  “I will not use the suffering of my people for political advantage!” she hollered loudly, her face reddening and her frown growing deeper with each word.

  “No-one was suggesting you should!” Stone shouted back with equal venom, “and while you dithered, that arsehole was paving the way for more of your people to suffer!”