The flash came from somewhere to the right of the window at the back of the church, the crash of the shot echoing in the confined space.
Two left.
Calvary launched himself through the space, using his left shoulder to roll and coming up on one knee. He was alongside a row of pews, his view of the back of the church obscured.
He crawled down the aisle on this side of the pews, risked a glance over the top. Blažek was there, Gaines slightly off to his side. Calvary took the shot, missed, heard the ricochet sing off something brass. Blažek fired back and Calvary dropped, feeling the slug pass above him.
One.
Calvary stood up. Blažek was behind the rearmost pew, Gaines clamped in front of him with his left arm. Calvary saw the awkwardness, the blood saturating Blažek’s shoulder. Once again the gun was jammed against Gaines’s head.
‘It’s over, Blažek. One bullet left. You shoot Gaines, or me, or yourself.’
The big man glared, his eyes swimming out of focus for an instant.
‘I’ll make it easier for you.’ Calvary tossed the Makarov to one side. Spread his hands. ‘Here I am. A sitting target.’
Blažek’s eyelid flickered in bewilderment. He moved the pistol, at first uncertainly and then with more resolve, so that it was aimed directly at Calvary’s face.
‘But first, you might want to have a look at this.’ Using his fingertips he drew the phone from his breast pocket. He found the picture, placed the phone on the floor and sent it spinning towards Blažek.
Blažek stopped it with his shoe, glanced at it. Keeping his eyes and the gun on Calvary, he stooped to pick it up, wincing.
Gaines blinked at Calvary, his face wary, as if he thought he might be expected to make a move. Calvary shook his head minutely.
Blažek looked at the picture.
*
He was the Kodiak. The king of the city.
The asshole kid had taken the picture from the back of the Hummer. It was a lucky shot, the angle perfect. In the picture, Bartos had his arm round the neck of the other guy, the gun against his head. Bartos’s face was clearly visible, and the camera had caught him clenching his teeth so it looked like he was grinning.
Bartos dropped the phone.
In front of him the Brit, Calvary, said, ‘Within the hour, every paper in the country will have that picture. Every TV broadcaster, every internet news site. You’re finished, Blažek.’
He wasn’t. The Brit was wrong.
‘One bullet. If you shoot Gaines, I’ll make it to my own gun before you can. If you shoot me, you’ll kill Gaines as well, but you’ll have nowhere to run. Your men are dead or scurrying around trying to cover their backsides. Your empire’s in ruins. Nobody’s scared of you any more.’ Calvary shrugged. ‘Though, I suppose you could always go on the rampage. Go down in a blaze of glory. Death by cop.’
He wasn’t finished. Because when a man controlled his destiny, he was very much still in charge.
Bartos put the muzzle of the gun under his chin.
In his native Czech – fuck all this Russian – he said, ‘I win.’
He squeezed the trigger.
THIRTY
The city chattered and echoed, sirens competing with shouted voices. The clocks said it was after three in the morning but the streets were ablaze with light, as though Prague was burning.
They were on some sort of foothill, the castle far above. Calvary kept up the pace, his arm under Gaines’s, heaving the older man upright every time he faltered. They kept as far as possible to back alleys, cringing into doorways whenever an emergency vehicle flashed past.
Parkland loomed ahead, sloping up the hill. Quickly Calvary marched them across the main road and through the nearest gate. The park was lit only by occasional lamps along its paths.
Outside the church, Calvary had examined the VW. Blažek had crashed it into a bollard and the front was too mangled for it to be of any use. He glanced inside, saw the rifle in the back seat. He pulled the door open and retrieved it. A Russian A-91. For a moment he debated, then took it, carrying it vertically by his side like a walking stick. It was conspicuous, but not as conspicuous as it would be if he strapped it across his back. Silhouettes counted for a lot.
They stumbled along the winding tracks until they were deep in the park. At last Calvary let Gaines sag on to a bench. He sprawled sideways, managed to pull himself into a sitting position with great effort. He sat with his eyes closed, the blood crusted around his mouth, his breath shallow.
Calvary crouched before him.
‘Are you hurt? Chest, abdomen?’
Gaines tried several times to speak, his lips drily sticky. ‘Just winded. And the face. Mustn’t grumble.’
Calvary liked him for that. He sat on the bench himself, propped the rifle, took out his phone.
Before dialling he said, ‘You understand that you’re going to have to disappear. From Prague, and you’ll certainly never be able to set foot in England again either.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you have any idea what you might do?’
He almost smiled. ‘You’re a resourceful man, Mr Calvary. But you’re not the only one. I have a little money squirreled away. I’ll manage.’ He coughed. ‘Just not quite what I was planning for my retirement, that’s all.’
Calvary thumbed in Llewellyn’s number.
He answered on the first ring, sounding startlingly clear. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Calvary. I have Gaines.’ Calvary turned up the volume, moved closer to Gaines on the bench, nodded, holding the handset to his face.
Gaines said, ‘This is Ivor Gaines.’
Calvary said, ‘Satisfied it’s him?’
‘Yes.’ Llewellyn sounded more than satisfied. Delighted, in fact. ‘But I would have believed you anyway, Martin.’ He paused a beat. ‘The news channels are going berserk. What on earth have you been up to? The whole of Prague seems to have gone mad.’
‘I’m not going to do it.’
‘Say again?’
Calvary drew a breath. ‘The hit. I’m not going to kill Gaines. And you know why. He’s innocent. He was never a suspected double agent.’
‘If that’s what he’s telling –’
‘You said he gave regular talks here in the city. He’s never given any. All you said about his being a well-known left-wing polemicist in Prague… it’s a lie. I checked. Nobody’s ever heard of him. He’s just a retired expat, keeping his head down.’
He waited, expecting bluster. Instead Llewellyn chuckled.
‘Very astute, Martin. All right. It’s a fair cop.’ The rustle of cigarette paper. ‘What else do you know about him?’
Calvary glanced at Gaines. ‘That he’s former SIS. That during his diplomatic service in Prague and Berlin and elsewhere, he was running networks of agents.’
‘Correct. Has he told you why he’s so special, though?’
In profile, Gaines looked hangdog. Calvary watched him as he said, ‘No. But you’re going to.’
‘Being a little demanding, aren’t you?’
‘I hold the cards, Llewellyn. Your blackmail threats don’t scare me any more. I’m never coming back, anyway.’
His ear rang with Llewellyn’s laughter, rich and heartfelt. ‘Oh, we never had any intention of shopping you to the press or the police, Martin. Think about it. The Chapel handing over one of its best operatives, with all his inside knowledge of our operations, risking exposure like that… it would be madness. Certainly worked as a bluff, though, didn’t it?’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll put you in the picture. But first, I need to know something. The Russian SVR woman? Krupina?’
‘She’s dead.’
There was a slow outlet of breath down the line, with the hint of a whistle.