*
There’d been a lot of sitting about in the cellar. Calvary had asked if he might stretch his legs and he’d been permitted to. At once he’d regretted it, each step sending a spike of pain through his head. But he persisted. There’d be running later, and he needed to acclimatise to the discomfort.
Krupina and Arkady appeared and disappeared, only Lev remaining with him at all times. Habit made Calvary size up the man, looking for weak points, but he knew there’d be no point in trying to jump him. The man was too professional, and Calvary too weakened at the moment. Instead he forced himself to breathe in to the pain and the nausea, accepting them as part of his being.
Once, when Krupina returned, Calvary said, ‘Any news on the location?’ They were conversing exclusively in Russian now.
‘Yes, we have identified one.’
‘And?’
‘You’ll be apprised of it in good time.’
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ Giddiness made him sway. ‘You don’t have to be so cagey. You might as well tell me. This swap will work best if I know as much about the environment as possible. Otherwise Blažek might just pick me off before you even get close to him.’
‘All right.’ She called for Arkady. He came down the cellar steps with a laptop computer. Krupina opened it on the table beside Calvary’s chair. He sat down, grateful for the excuse.
It was a panoramic, Google Earth view outside some sort of battlement wall.
Krupina said, ‘Vysehrad Park. The birthplace of Prague, according to legend. It contains the remains of the city’s second castle. Have a look round.’
He advanced the view, passing through an arched gateway. Roamed paved and cobbled paths, noted trees, manicured lawns, assorted sculptures and statues.
She stopped him. ‘Here. The Devil’s Stone. This is where the exchange is set to take place. Deep enough in the park to be away from the entrance. It’ll give my people an opportunity to cut off the exit points.’
‘How many are there?’
‘Two. Tabor Gate in the southeast corner, the Brick Gate in the north.’
‘I meant how many of your men are there?’
Again the pause, as if on principle the truth ought to be withheld.
‘Twelve.’
Calvary breathed out slowly. ‘You’ll be outnumbered. Count on it.’
‘We have the advantage when it comes to quality.’
He poked around the site, ranging through the park. Noting the perimeter.
‘What time is it?’
She indicated the screen. ‘That clock’s accurate.’
Nine twenty p.m. He’d been in the cellar for close on eleven hours, most of those spent unconscious. He wondered where Nikola was. Whether she’d made it out of the hospital.
‘When’s the exchange?’
‘One a.m., provisionally. I’m waiting for my men to scout the location and get in place. And for the item you requested to arrive. Once we’re there, you notify Blažek.’
He gazed back at the screen. On the western aspect of the castle complex, beyond the perimeter wall, lay the river.
*
The man emerged from the shadows without warning, as though part of the scenery had suddenly detached itself. He was short, whip-lean, his face all hard planes and angles. His left eye socket was covered with a patch. He extended a hand.
‘Voronin.’
Krupina had read the brief biography she’d been sent. He was former Spetsnaz, special forces. A captain. Distinguished service in Chechnya. He was in charge of the reinforcement detail.
His eyes took in Calvary. If he was doubtful about the Englishman’s ability to play his part in what was to come, doubtful of his ability even to stay conscious for long enough, he didn’t show it.
They stood on the cobblestones before the Tabor Gate, Krupina and Calvary and Arkady and Lev, and the new man. A couple out for a late-night stroll glanced over incuriously as they passed. Voronin moved so that his back was to the couple and brought his hand out of the pocket of his greatcoat. He handed the object to Calvary.
To Krupina he said, ‘He knows how to use it?’
‘Yes.’
Lev remained with her. She watched the three of them pass through the gate, Calvary flanked by Voronin and Arkady. She didn’t know what Calvary had planned, but she doubted he’d make a run for it now. Not with a man on either side of him, not with the park crawling with concealed agents.
Krupina looked at her watch. Eleven fifty.
In ten minutes Calvary would make the call to Blažek, set up the rendezvous for one o’clock. He’d arrive early, of course, believing himself to be clever.
*
A light skein of rain hung from the sky. The path was lamplit and sodden with leaves. A jogger pounded past, not giving them a second look. Ahead loomed a second gate, a Gothic construction, and they passed beneath it.
His eyes roved, taking in the landscape, trying to match it to what he’d seen on the laptop. In the distance, lit up against the night sky, Calvary could see the twin spires of St Peter’s and St Paul’s Church. Looming to the right was St Martin’s Rotunda. They turned left and headed towards the western wall, beyond which the hill dropped steeply towards the river.
The two men on either side of him were silent, Arkady and the new one with the eye patch. Calvary recognised in him the bearing and physique of a special forces soldier. He recalled what Krupina had said, about the quality of her men being a match for Blažek’s superiority in numbers.
Krupina had given him a clean jacket, a little big for him. Into the pocket he’d put the object the soldier had handed him. It weighed heavily against his hip. Earlier Calvary had asked for a gun. The look Krupina gave him had been his answer. It was worth a try, anyway.
They drew nearer to the church. In the middle of a flat stretch of lawn dotted with trees sat an odd construction, three tubular rocks piled up against each other. The Devil’s Stone.
They stopped. Arkady handed him a phone.
‘Make the call.’
*
They came in from the other side, through the Brick Gate. Calvary was propped against the rock structure, bouncing a little on his toes, trying to keep his limbs from seizing up. More than once the burning in his forehead threatened to drop him to the ground and he had to clench his teeth against it, turn it into a tiny bead of agony to be filed away for later.
His watch told him it was forty minutes since he’d made the call. He was alone, and yet not alone: all around, in the darkness beyond the splashes of light from the lamps, he could feel the presence of men skilled in staying hidden for long periods.
There were six, approaching form the direction of the church. It was difficult to make out their features but none of them looked to Calvary like Blažek.
He stood and faced them. They stopped. He saw their heads moving as they glanced about. As though they didn’t believe it would be this easy, Calvary on his own.
He brought his right hand out of his pocket, held up what he had there.
‘You see this?’ he called out in Russian.
Even if they couldn’t quite see it, they would quickly work out what it was.
‘I want to see my friends.’
None of them moved. Slowly, very obviously, Calvary pulled the pin from the grenade and hooked his thumb over the safety lever. He took a few steps forward.
One of the men muttered something over his shoulder. Ten seconds later two stumbling figures were shoved forward. Their hands were fastened behind their backs, and from the sounds they were making Calvary realised they were gagged.
Max and Jakub.
Calvary put a finger to his ear and muttered quietly, nothing that made sense but he wanted to create the impression he was communicating on a hands-free mobile phone. He called, ‘Listen carefully. My friends are going to walk over here to me while you stay where you are. I’m going to untie them. Then they’re going to walk away. Once I get the signal they’re clear, I’ll put the pin back in this thing and you can have me. If you try to obstruct or harm them in any way, I’ll let go of the safety lever and you’ve lost me forever.’