Chapter 14

Beraun

Czech Republic

Well after closing time, Gregor had chased the last of his patrons away, leaving the common room empty. Jack gravitated to it, drawn by the heavy wooden beams and roaring fire. He poured himself a cognac leaving the exact tab at the register and sank into an overstuffed chair. He hefted his feet onto an ottoman and stared into the fire.

In the months following Sydney's 'death' he had not allowed himself room for quiet contemplation. But here and now he felt secure enough to indulge himself, if only for a few minutes. He approved of Gregor's bartending skills the cognac was of exceptional quality. He exhaled deeply and allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease.

He had polished off one glass of cognac and poured himself another when Irina entered the room. She wore a too-large flannel robe and carried the satchel that carried the Rambaldi item.

Irina nodded in greeting, and, after a brief hesitation, dropped the briefcase on the loveseat opposite Jack. She disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later her voice floated out to him: "I thought we'd take a look at that, see what we have to bargain with."

She reappeared again, a glass of Merlot in her hand. She sat down on the loveseat.

Jack eyed the briefcase, and then Irina. He had not failed to notice the slight tremor of excitement in her voice, though she fought to control it. A frisson of worry coursed through him he never cared to ask where he or Sydney ranked on her list of priorities in comparison to Rambaldi. He took a deep breath and answered her. "It would be prudent," he agreed.

"Do you want to open it, or should I?" She asked, her head tilted regally, her expression that of a dare.

"I'm not an expert," Jack demurred.

She nodded sharply, and pulled back the flap on the briefcase. Reaching in, she pulled out a black velvet drawstring bag, about half the size of the case itself. Jack saw her run her fingers over the bag; frowning at what she felt. Irina slid to the floor and shook the contents out on the hardwood.

Pieces of carved oak lay before them, the rich gold color startling in the lamplight. Irina picked up a bead and squinted at it. "I can't make out the inscription," she murmured. Placing the bead back down reverently, she turned her attention to a set of long, thick wooden rods made out of the same oak. These were of varying lengths, and held the same flowing script as the beads. The words were dyed in red.

Jack leaned forward in his chair, watching her. "Is it broken?"

Irina ran one finger down the side of a rod and shook her head. "I don't think so. It isn't splintered, do you see?" She handed the piece to Jack, and picked up a second bead, rolling it around in her fingers.

Jack took the rod from her and inspected it. "May I?" he held out his hand for the bead she held.

There was the smallest hesitation before she handed it over for inspection.

Jack noted her reluctance, but did not comment. He tested the edges of the rod and ran his fingers over the engravings. "I think I had a set of these when I was a kid."

"A set of wooden rods?" She blinked in surprise.

"Tinkertoys," Jack said. "I used to play with them for hours, constructing ferris wheels and cranes." He handed the pieces back to her.

Irina gazed up at him, and her lips twitched. Then she burst out laughing. "Somehow, I don't think these are tinkertoys," she said.

Jack smirked. "The concept is similar. The question is do we want to assemble it?"

She tensed, and something sparked in her eyes. "I don't see how we can afford not to."

"Surely it's valuable enough as a bargaining chip, even in pieces," Jack pointed out.

Irina leaned back against the loveseat and crossed her arms over her chest. "True. But think how much more valuable it would be assembled. This artifact could give us clues to Sloane's endgame. Don't you think it's worth it, to be one step ahead of him?" Her gaze was intense in the lamplight.

"It's a clue," Jack said. "That will lead to another clue. To another piece of a puzzle that has no solution." He shrugged, "I don't see a point to it."

Irina gritted her teeth. "You wouldn't. You've never believed in Rambaldi. But Sloane *does*."

"As do you."

"My beliefs aren't under discussion," she said sharply, a spark of anger in her voice. She mastered it and continued, "I am merely saying more information is always preferable to less."

Jack drew a long breath. His eyes glinted like flint. "In the interests of research."

"Fine. We're agreed." Irina began picking up the pieces of wood and sliding them back into the velvet bag. "I suggest we both get some sleep. We have a lot to do in the morning."

"Yes," Jack said. "Agreed." He didn't stand, simply sat back in his chair and rested his feet on the ottoman.

Irina picked up her empty wine glass and the velvet bag. "Good night," she said simply, and headed up the stairs.

"Goodnight," Jack echoed. He nursed his cognac and stared into the fire, long after she was gone.

Prague

Irina shivered and pulled her threadbare coat closer as she scanned the streets around her. Despite the late hour, Prague was still bustling with activity. Her eyes narrowed. *There's something wrong here.* She noticed a thin man leaning against a street sign across from them. He was smoking a cigarette. Irina frowned. "You see him?" she whispered to Jack.

Jack shuffled behind her and grunted in acknowledgement. "Tight security."

Irina nodded. "I count four undercover constables on this street alone."

"We may have to change our configuration." Jack pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it, neatly obscuring his face as he did so. "Find out exactly what they're looking for." He indicated a newsstand across the street.

Irina nodded and darted across the street. Moments later she was back, a newspaper in hand. "The descriptions are unclear, but accurate enough to cause a problem." She indicated the headline splashed across the front page: "Terror on the Railways!" A hastily drawn sketch of them both accompanied the article.

"The police will have a better description than this," Jack said as he perused the paper. "Our disguises won't stand up to scrutiny. We should split up."

"I disagree. Your leg "

"Will give you away," Jack completed her sentence and glared at her for good measure. "Take the item and go. We'll meet later."

Irina was silent for a long moment, her mouth set in a stubborn line. "You remember the directions to the safe house?" She asked sharply.

Jack did not respond, merely twitched his eyebrow.

She crossed her arms. "I don't like it."

"And what is your plausible alternative?"

Her lips thinned in irritation. She hated to admit it, but he was right. They were too visible together, and at least one of them stood a chance of getting out of this police chokehold if they separated. And yet "Take the back roads. And don't you dare get captured."

"I'll meet you at seven, on the terrace in Riegrovy Sady park." Jack gave her a curt nod, and then shuffled across the street.

Irina didn't watch him go; instead, she slung her pack over one shoulder and turned away. A moment later, she had melted into the crowd and was gone.

Prague

Riegrovy Sady Park

Irina paused at the terrace steps. They were eroding from disuse and ill repair, the mortar and stone crumbling underfoot. A few late-night visitors meandered through the dusty pathways. Uneasiness raced up her spine. She saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head to the left. She could just barely make out Jack, limping toward her. Irina bit her lip. *His injury's showing.* Which meant he was exhausted. She stepped off the path into the grass.

Jack noted Irina's approach, and eyed the other inhabitants of the park. Satisfied that they were as unobserved as possible, he looked towards Irina and tipped his hat to her. He then turned towards a side street, expecting her to follow.

She waited a moment before joining him. "No difficulties, I take it?"

"Nothing significant. And you?"

"No. Luckily, the local police are rather obvious in their attempts at a search."

Jack gave the barest hints of a smile. "I noticed. I overheard the military intends to set up checkpoints within the city. We should find your safe house and stay there for several days."

They started walking. "Hopefully, this will die down after a while."

"It will remain at the forefront of the public consciousness for a few days. Then new headlines will capture attention and we'll have less to worry about from concerned citizens."

The two fell silent as they left the park and moved into an old neighborhood of the city. The streets were narrow, and the upper stories of apartments and businesses crowded out the night sky above them.

They continued down ever more narrow cobbled streets. "The fastest way is through the breezeway up ahead," Irina said. "We can pass through this block and onto the next " She froze, motioning for Jack to stop. *A slight sound, the crunch of gravel *

Suddenly, the alley was illuminated by a blast of light. Irina stumbled backwards, disoriented.

And then she heard an engine roar to life. *Oh, God * Irina reached out blindly for Jack, shoving him hard against the wall, away from the glare of the light and the squealing tires.

Jack heard it, too, but his tired body did not respond as quickly as Irina. He felt himself shoved to the side, and his head banged against the bottom of a fire escape ladder. He hauled himself up and reached down for Irina.

The car a police cruiser, Jack noted rammed its fender into the building below him. He nearly lost his grip as the entire structure shook. Plaster crumbled and roof tiles rained down. Irina sprinted toward the mouth of the alley, and safety. The car recklessly backed away from the wall and sped towards her.

Jack pulled out his firearm and unloaded several shots into the vehicle, and noted it swerve slightly in its path.

Unfortunately, the swerve didn't give Irina any leeway. The driver levelled out the car and gunned the engine. Up ahead, the street was blocked by a large dumpster. Irina attempted to dodge around it, but she was a second too slow. Faced with being caught between the dumpster and the car, Irina opted to roll over the hood. She crashed onto the pavement, unmoving, and the car continued down the alley.

Jack dropped to the ground and rolled, unloading the rest of the magazine into the car. The driver sped away and turned onto the next street, clipping the side of the building and several parked cars as he did so.

Heedless of his leg, Jack knelt beside her. "Irina?" he called out, then again. "Irina?" He placed his fingers on her lips. *Still breathing*, he noted with relief. Rapidly, he ran his hands over her body, searching for obvious injuries. Some blood, from her back and shoulder, seeped onto his fingertips. Satisfied for the moment, he turned her over gently.

"Irina!" he said sharply. He heard the shocked voices of local residents draw near.

Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. There was no other response.

"Irina," Jack repeated, his voice caught with worry and frustration. Carefully, he checked her neck again, and determined it was safer to move her than not. He holstered his gun and, with a grunt of effort, pulled her up to a sitting position and gathered her in his arms.

He swayed a moment, gaining his balance and compensating for his leg, then began walking haltingly down the street to the safe house.