Chapter 11

Countryside of Stredocesky Kraj

Czech Republic

Dusk settled onto the forest stand, but the only thing Jack was aware of was the jolt of pain that shot up his leg with every step. He could see Irina in the half-light, leading the way. He was glad that she was, because he knew he was in no condition to navigate.

It had gone on for hours, one foot in front of the other. Long experience had taught him to push the pain aside, ignore it. But there came a time when he could no longer disassociate himself from it. Pride kept him going, though as time wore on he knew he was slowing her down. And pride would eventually fail.

Up ahead, Irina disappeared from view. Jack blinked, though the dim light conspired with his fatigue to blur his vision. Bemused, he continued to plod along, barely registering her absence.

A minute later, Irina came into his field of vision and strode confidently toward him. When they met, he stopped and waited silently for her explanation.

"There s a farm up ahead. It looks like they have a barn or a loft of some kind. I think we should stop. I don t want to risk wandering around in the dark. Can you make it?" She asked.

Jack nodded, then moved to step forward, but found his leg wouldn t support his weight. He caught himself, but his good leg shook with the exertion. He was at a crossroads; the exhaustion was overwhelming him. With effort, he swallowed his pride and ground out, "I could use some help."

Irina nodded, and was immediately at his side. She ducked under his arm so it lay across her shoulders. She then placed her own arm across his back. "All right?" she asked. When he nodded, they moved forward slowly, each step seeming like it took an eternity. After a few feet, Irina stopped. "I can t help you if you won t lean on me," she snapped. "Relax."

There was no alternative, Jack knew. So he let out a shuddering breath and leaned into her as she led them across the fields and into the barn. Once they stopped, he allowed himself to crumple onto a pile of hay. He arched his back and rolled over, his face contorted with pain. "You should go ahead," he said once he caught his breath.

Irina shook her head. "Not until I ve made sure you re all right. Let me check your leg."

Jack didn t argue, simply fumbled with the buckle of his belt and allowed her to pull his pants down to examine the wound. He felt ridiculous, but the pain and the urgency of the mission trumped his discomfort. "I m only slowing you down. It is imperative that you secure the package."

For a moment, he reflected on the additional absurdity of him handing a Rambaldi artifact over to Irina Derevko.

He felt her cool fingers probe the wound on his leg. A faint frown marred Irina s features but she said nothing. Returning her attention to Jack, she said. "Leave it as is. The wound needs to air out." She rose to her feet.

"If I m right, we re about ten miles from Beraun. I have an acquaintance there who might be able to help us. If I move quickly, I can make it there by dawn."

"Agreed," Jack said. He sighed and looked up to the worn wooden rafters of the barn. He briefly reflected on letting her go with the artifact; but the only logical course of action was for her to take it with her. "There s no question that our adventure on the train spawned a manhunt. If this farm is inside the police search perimeter," Jack said in measured tones. "Then don t come back."

Irina nodded. "Understood." She headed toward the door. "Try to get some rest. I ll be back by morning."

"For Sydney," Jack said. "It s for Sydney." He wasn t sure if he were reminding her or himself; but he felt the need to speak their daughter s name. To seal the agreement, to remind Irina what they were fighting for. In the end, he had to trust in Irina s love for Sydney to carry through the mission.

He closed his eyes and surrendered to the exhaustion and pain.

Beraun

Czech Republic

Nela balanced a full platter of food and precariously walked to a table in the center of the room. There were four teens and six adults, and she was glad to have at last been able to deliver their dinner. After distributing the plates, she took a moment and leaned against the corner wall to relieve her aching feet. She needed a cigarette, but given how busy the place was tonight, that wasn t going to happen anytime soon. The hijacked train story had created a hum of excitement

throughout the countryside, and everyone, it seemed, had wanted to come to the tavern and talk about it.

The door opened, admitting a blast of cool night air and a new patron. The woman was shabbily dressed in a skirt and peasant blouse, but there was something in her demeanor that made Nela pause. The newcomer seated herself at a rickety table in the corner. Nela grabbed a menu and headed in her direction. "Good evening, I get you something to drink?"

The woman smiled politely. "Moskovskaya. Straight up."

"Of course," Nela said. The woman was middle aged, pretty, and otherwise unremarkable. But she was a stranger, and her clothes were well-made, but wrinkled and worn. The hairs on the back of Nela s neck stood straight up. This was one for the old man, she thought. "Would you like a menu?"

"Yes, thank you. It looks like you have a full house tonight," the stranger commented. Nela handed her the menu and said, "Yes, it s all the excitement over the train. Everyone wants to talk about it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Quite the event, I take it?"

"Yes," Nela agreed. "Terrorists, in our countryside. Who would have believed it? And they are still looking for four of them."

"Well, I certainly hope the authorities find those responsible."

Nela nodded, "I do, too. But we cannot worry too much. Let me get your drink."

Nela turned away and headed towards the bar. The old man was there, pouring drinks. "Moskovskaya." she said curtly. "Straight up."

The proprietor s head snapped up. His gaze travelled to just beyond Nela s shoulder to where the new arrival sat, absorbed in her menu. He grunted and turned to get a fresh glass. A moment later, he handed the full glass to Nela, along with a napkin. Before she could leave, he stopped her.

"How long?" he asked.

Nela shrugged. "No more than five minutes."

He nodded again, and Nela left. She walked slowly back to the table, the old man had filled the glass to the brim and a few drops trickled down onto the napkin. She set it in front of the woman. "Are you ready to order, Madame?"

"Yes. I think I ll have the potato soup." The woman took a sip of her drink. She gave Nela a slight nod of appreciation. "Thank you."

Nela smiled, "That s the proprietor s speciality. He tends to the soup all day long, I m sure you ll like it." She took the menu and when she returned a few minutes later, she brought a generous bowl of soup with a side of dark bread and huge slab of butter. "Enjoy."

Irina leaned back in her chair and inhaled the rich scent of the soup. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn t eaten in over forty-eight hours. She dipped her spoon into the bowl, a twinge of guilt running through her as she imagined Jack waiting alone in the barn.

*Well, nothing can be done about it at the moment.* she thought. She glanced up from her meal to see that the bartender had disappeared. Irina checked her watch. *Perhaps an hour more.*

Time flowed by as she watched the tavern s patrons come and go. Her old friend had done well for himself here. The place had a lived-in feel that she liked. And yet, despite his advanced age, Gregor seemed as sharp as ever.

The shadows deepened and the last stragglers trickled out. Irina rose and followed them, but detached from the group to head around the back of the building.

"You re late." Gregor s voice floated toward her out of the darkness.

Irina squinted and was able to make out the orange glow of a lit cigar. She followed the light to its origin and found Gregor leaning against an old fence."I ve been waiting here for hours."

Irina grinned. "You exaggerate." She stepped forward and embraced him. "It s good to see you, old friend."

Gregor hugged her back. "It is good to see you as well, Ira. I would ask how you are doing, but I think the answer is obvious, no?" He pulled away, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"You worry too much."

Gregor snorted. "You come to me looking like this, in beggar s clothes, with five layers of dust on you, and you tell me not to worry. Who is the teacher, and who is the student, here, eh?"

Irina shook her head, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. "There s no use arguing with you, is there? We are in a bit of trouble at the moment."

Gregor s expression didn t change. He merely puffed on his cigar a few times. Irina had the strangest feeling that she was back in the sparring ring with him. He was looking at her now as he might have then, as someone who s weaknesses were all too obvious.

"We. Who is this we ?" he asked finally.

"A friend." She didn t flinch.

Gregor removed the cigar from his mouth and exhaled heavily. "Oh, Irina. Not again."

"This is not Kashmir," she replied tightly.

He dropped his cigar to the ground and ground it into the dirt. "No. But he is still dangerous for you."

"We are not discussing this. If you won t help me, I ll find someone else who can."

Gregor waved away her comment. "Don t be dense, Ira. You know I will help you. You would not have come here, otherwise."

He moved past her, toward the back door of the tavern. "Besides, who knows what kind of foolishness you will get yourself into?" Gregor heaved open the door and tromped inside, muttering about wayward students and idiot Americans.

Irina pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. *Perhaps this wasn t such a good idea*, she thought. *I feel a headache coming on.*

Wearily, she followed her old friend back inside the tavern.