1
Prague
Present Day
Valentin Svoboda’s nerves gnawed at his mind. His heart raced faster than the buildings flying by outside the window as his driver sped down the avenue toward their destination—a safe house apartment Svoboda kept in the city.
He chewed his fingers as he watched the buildings zoom by, places at which he’d eaten, drunk, cavorted for years without regard. Now, these ordinary façades brought back memories he wished he could taste one more time. Soon, he knew, these streets would be filled with death, rage, and destruction, leaving only shells of their current state.
The driver slammed his foot on the brake pedal. The tires scraped to a stop on the wet pavement, jolting Svoboda forward until the seatbelt halted his momentum. He grunted at the sudden pressure across his lap and chest, but he didn’t complain. Under normal circumstances, on an ordinary day, he would have lashed the driver with a chastising barrage of curses. But today was no ordinary day.
“Wait here, Augustus,” Svoboda ordered. He stepped out of the Rolls Royce’s opulent interior and slammed the door shut with the same lack of care he would have shown a beaten up thirty-year-old Ford.
Raindrops splattered on the wet street around him. The pattering sound against the shell of his car did nothing to distract him. Neither did the spitting precipitation against his skin. His thick black hair was already slicked to one side, so the rain would not affect it. Not that he cared. At that moment, appearance was the last thing on Svoboda’s mind.
He glanced up and down the mostly empty street. A few cars parked along the sidewalk in both directions, a couple in their mid-twenties walking hand in hand immune to the weather, and a man leaning up against the corner of a bar a block away were the only signs of life at this hour.
Svoboda checked his watch for the hundredth time since leaving his palatial mansion on the other side of town.
Several blocks away, the spires of the world famous Tyn Cathedral—also known as The Church of Our Lady before Tyn—towered over the homes, shops, bars, and cafés that stretched along the streets.
Satisfied no one recognized him, Svoboda scurried around the front of the car, his last step splashing in a deep puddle with the last step before he leaped onto the sidewalk. The murky water probably ruined his light brown leather shoes, but that was a concern for another time. He was one of the wealthiest men in Europe, he could always buy another pair of shoes, though these were exceedingly rare. The cobbler only made one pair like these a year, and when he did, the village rang church bells at the completion of each project.
Valentin Svoboda didn’t care much for such sentiments, but he liked to have the rarest of the rare, the most expensive, the most opulent. That said, he kept this low-key apartment near a touristy district of the city to keep a low profile for one of his most prized possessions.
He stopped short of the red door and glanced around one more time. The man leaning against the wall down the street flicked his fingers and a cigarette lighter flamed to life. He touched the yellow-orange tongue to the cigarette, then the flame went out, leaving nothing but a bright orange dot where the tip burned. The man took a long drag, then blew out a plume of smoke, turning his head the other direction.
Svoboda took a deep breath and straightened his untucked, white button-up shirt. The bottom of the garment hung over his potbelly, making his belt invisible to his eyes.
He pressed the call button next to the door and waited for several seconds after the buzzer sounded. When there was no answer, he pushed the button again. The annoying raindrops continued to splatter on and around him. Their inconsistency almost annoyed him more than the irritation of getting wet.
A light switched on inside the apartment. Slight movement followed in the form of a dim silhouette. Then he heard the footsteps draw close to the door. In the momentary pause, he sensed her looking through the peephole before the two locks clicked and the latch turned. The door cracked open and the woman inside peeked out.
“Valentin?” Her voice expressed confusion. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with your wife tonight?”
He didn’t answer immediately, instead pushing the door open so he could step inside. Once through, he immediately shut and locked it.
Svoboda’s mistress stared at him with foggy blue eyes. Her tangled blonde hair told that she’d been in bed, and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed that she’d been asleep.
“What’s going on?” she asked, concern mounting in her tone. “You look worried.”
Svoboda didn’t answer right away. He scanned the room, like a jealous lover searching for the guilty party hiding under the bed or in the closet.
“Is anyone else here?” Svoboda asked. The intensity of his question stabbed her, and her confusion deepened.
“What? No. Of course not. You’re the only one, baby.” She slid closer to him, reaching out her hand to touch his shoulder, as if that simple act would reassure him.
He withdrew, twisting his shoulders from her fingertip.
“Not right now, Hana. You need to get out of here.”
Her smooth, tanned forehead wrinkled. “What are you talking about? It’s two in the morning.” She tried to draw near him again, a seductive look in her eyes.
He put up his hands and grabbed her by the waist, stopping her inches from him. “You don’t understand, and I can’t tell you everything. Something bad is about to happen. I can’t stop it. No one can.”
“Valentin, calm down. This is me you’re talking to. What’s going on? What do you mean, something bad is about to happen? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Valentin Svoboda was the founder of Penetech, one of the most powerful computer supply companies in the world. Penetech was worth billions and constantly faced scrutiny from the public regarding various manufacturing practices. But he’d never come under fire for anything illegal under any international laws, merely ethical questions and issues with quality control.
“No. I’m fine, but you are not safe, and you need to leave the city immediately.”
“Leave? Why would I leave? Are you…breaking up with me? Did your wife find out about us?” There was an odd sense of hope in her voice, as if the truth being wrought would somehow give her what she wanted—a public relationship with the billionaire.
“No, nothing like that.”
Hana suddenly looked hurt. Her lower lip jutted out as she pouted. “Then why do I have to go? And where am I going?”
“You can go to my chalet in the mountains. It should be safe there until things blow over.” A lie bubbled on the surface of his words, but she didn’t detect it.
“I don’t understand. Your wife doesn’t know. You’re not leaving me. What is this bad thing that’s about to happen?”
His round face hardened and flushed red with frustration. “I wish I could tell you. I really do, but I can’t. In fact, I’m taking a huge risk even coming here to warn you.”
“Warn me of what, Vally?” She stepped close, and her left hand wandered up to his right.
Her scent wafted into his nostrils, the smell of roses and vanilla from the soap he knew she used in the shower. She was beautiful, even after being awakened at such a ridiculous hour. Wearing only a pair of black panties and a tank top, his carnal instincts pulled strings that could have distracted the most pious man.
Survival, however, was paramount.
He sighed, again wishing things could return to the past, even days ago when he was last in this apartment. He longed for things to be different, for he and his unfaithful, unbearable wife to be divorced, or at the very least, separated. He knew that wasn’t possible. Well, it was, but not for the price he’d have to pay financially. Give up half of everything? Not a chance. And then there was the issue of how they would view things, which side they would take. His ambitious wife might be more pliable than he, which would make Valentin expendable.
It was they who’d given him the signal, the warning that only a select few around the world would receive. He knew the second he saw the coded message that things had been set in motion. At first, he couldn’t believe it. His father had told him that one day he may receive a call, and when he did, they would begin making preparations to head for a rendezvous point.
The younger version of Valentin wondered at his father’s strange comments, and only when the older Svoboda passed did Valentin learn the truth.
The details were laid out in the old man’s will, and not even the attorneys were permitted to see them.
“I need you to trust me.” Valentin grabbed Hana’s shoulders and squeezed. He stared deep into her eyes. “If you don’t leave, you will die. Do you understand? They will kill you.”
“Who are they?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What are you talking about? What have you done?”
“Nothing,” he admitted. “I have done nothing. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. Not yet. Soon,” he lied. Valentin had no way of knowing if he would ever see her again, if sending her off to his corporate-owned chalet would even be enough.
It would, he thought, be better than leaving her here in the city. The cities would be the first to descend into chaos. Eventually, the destruction would seep into the countryside and the suburbs, leaving death in its wake. Billions would die, he knew. But there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was protect himself and his family. He cared for his children, both a boy and a girl nearing their teenage years. His wife, on the other hand, could fall off a cliff. He should be so lucky. Maybe then, they would allow him to bring Hana as a substitute.
He doubted that. They had rules, strict guidelines that never wavered. It was a fool’s hope to think such things.
“When? When will I see you? Will you tell me then? How long do I have to stay up there?”
“Not long. I promise. It will all be over soon, then we can be together again.” He pulled her close and kissed her wetly. It probably would have disgusted most women, but she wasn’t exactly discerning—except for financial purposes.
He pulled back and nodded at her bedroom. “Get your things. Enough clothes for a week or two. You can wash your things in the laundry there. And there is enough food in the pantry to last a month.”
She frowned at the orders, but slowly nodded. “Okay, Vally. I trust you.”
Hana managed to collect her things and pack her luggage within fifteen minutes. The sense of urgency Svoboda projected may have helped speed things along.
When she was done, he grabbed two suitcases, while she picked up a backpack and a pair of totes. They headed to the door without saying a word. Svoboda felt like it was the last time he’d be in this apartment, with her or otherwise. Soon it would be a pile of rubble or charred walls and burned floors. The property likely wouldn’t survive.
He pulled the door open and held it wide for her to walk through. A muffled pop came from just beyond the threshold. Svoboda looked up in time to see a pink haze spray from the back of Hana’s skull. Her body tipped backward and then fell to the floor, the back of her head hitting the surface with a sickening smack.
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