They exited the station and his father pressed him further. “How’d you do it?”
He knows. Mother must know, too. Viktor had no idea how to explain it. “With my mind. Something else I have to keep secret.”
“Whatever you did, it affected me, too.”
“Atención! Atención!” The announcement was repeated.
“What do we do now,” asked Magda. “We’ll miss our flight.”
Viktor heard someone mention bomb, but he didn’t hear any explosion. He pulled out his phone and searched for news. “Holy shit!” He looked up at his parents’ concerned faces. “Bombs exploded on trains all over Madrid. They hit Atocha Station. A lot of people died… dozens.”
“Atocha Station?” said his father. “That was our stop! We would have been there if we hadn’t missed our train.”
****
Eduard sat in front of a desk in their hotel. “If you can’t get me two rooms, one will do. Just get us some place to stay for the night.” All trains and flights were cancelled, and there was no telling how soon travel restrictions would lift.
“Yes, Mr. Prazsky.” The hotel concierge nodded and picked up his phone.
Magda tugged on Eduard’s arm. She pointed toward the bar. “The TV… uh… look at it.”
A large crowd gathered around the bar, staring at the news report on the large screen. The banner on the newscast read Terrorist Attack in Madrid. Eduard couldn’t hear the announcer, but he saw videos of destruction in the background. Train cars with gaping holes. Torn metal, all kinds of debris, and what appeared to be bodies were scattered everywhere.
All three of them rushed toward the bar, struggling to get close to the TV. As they approached, Eduard heard the news report.
Ten bombs exploded simultaneously on four commuter trains in Madrid during morning rush hour today. Officials report at least one hundred people died and hundreds more were injured. This is the deadliest terrorist attack in Spanish history.
Authorities blamed the Spanish separatist group ETA, but our sources say it was the work of Muslim—
Eduard strained to hear every detail. If not for Viktor—his special ability—the three of us would be dead.
Béziers, France
Over six hundred kilometers north of Alcalá, a man stood in a richly appointed room next to an immense stone fireplace. His neatly trimmed beard revealed a hint of gray, and his stern expression conveyed the arrogance and authority you’d expect from the grand master of a secret international society. When he had been selected to lead Arcadian Spear, he chose the moniker Perseus.
His attention was riveted to the same newscast the Prazskys were watching in Spain.
… separatist group ETA, but our sources say it was the work of Muslim terrorists.
Spanish Prime Minister José María Aznar said, ‘March 11 now has its place in the history of infamy.’ The government declared a three-day mourning period, all parties have called off their campaign events, but the general election will proceed Sunday as scheduled.
A man was apprehended in Alcalá station carrying an explosive device, which police neutralized.
Perseus looked at his aide. “Excellent work, Brother Girard. Other than the bomber they stopped in Alcalá, the Madrid attack was a success.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Girard, a muscular man in his late forties with closely cropped hair, nearly two meters in height, was the personal assistant to the grand master, a man fifteen years his senior.
Perseus grasped the body of a carved ivory dragon mounted on the handle of his antique Greek cane and raised it in the air toward five large computer screens hanging on the walls. Each screen showed graphs of selected investments, updated in real-time. “The stock market is plummeting, as we planned, but our security and defense investments will move up.” He looked up at Girard. “Our partners are pleased.”
Girard bowed slightly. “Several groups are organizing protests. I’m not sure which party will benefit in the election.”
“I don’t give a damn about Spanish politics. It’s the rest of Europe and America that matter.”
“Every Western government has made public statements of support,” said Gerard. “I’m sure they intend to increase spending on security.”
“As they should. But, we can’t leave it to chance. Make sure Germany immediately calls for a European Union security meeting while tempers remain high. Make sure our man Huber is engaged.”
“I’ve spoken to Huber. He expects the chancellor to be receptive.”
“Good. But we need to keep up the pressure.”
“Yes, Your Grace. We have everything in place for the attack on the high-speed line—three weeks from today.”
About the Author
After living most of my life in Pennsylvania working in technology, my wife and I moved to sunny Florida. I’ve always been interested in science, world issues and beer. In 1971, Uncle Sam sent me to Tonkin Gulf on the USS Midway. I programmed my first computer in 1966, then worked in the computer industry for my entire civilian career.
Nowadays, my wife and I love to travel. I’ve been to 44 of the 50 states, and 35 countries on five continents, visiting breweries and brewpubs along the way.
Copyright
Author website: www.pryorpatch.com
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Cover design by:
Mark Pryor: www.pryorpatch.com
Katherine Schumm: www.schummwords.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.
Copyright © 2018
Mark A Pryor