“What’s going on here?” said a male voice in Czech. She ducked back down behind the statue’s robe.
“Just admiring the monument,” Dodger replied in English with just a touch of a slur. “He started to sing the carol a bit loud. She couldn’t help but laugh softly.
Apparently, the officer was also amused. She could hear it in his voice. “It’s getting late. You should move along.”
“Sure enough, Officer.”
She waited until she was sure the policeman had left, then she started to climb down.
“I’ll take that,” a male voice said, but as she landed and he reached for her, she elbowed him, turned, and punched him in the face, then pushed him off the edge. He fell to the ground and Dodger finished him off.
“Jump. I got you.”
She flung herself off the concrete and landed in his open arms. He released her to the ground, and they took off across the street and to the car.
“Did you find anything?”
“Yes,” she said, pulling the iPad out. “It wasn’t a wild goose chase, and we’re not the only players.”
She sat down at the computer in the command center and did some searching. Something was going on, and she intended to find out what. She didn’t want any of this to blow up in her face.
She worked the keyboard until she found that someone had accessed the satellite and police files. He was damn good, but she was better. She followed the trail, and bingo.
She pulled up the satellite clip and frowned. Hmmm. She enhanced it to find it was Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham, and he had looked like he was heading back to HQ until he changed direction. She followed his line of sight and saw a woman…a prostitute from the look of the back end of her heading for the Evzen Hotel.
That was interesting. A man had been murdered there tonight. It was on the news. She saw that whoever had accessed the files also found a report of an altercation in an alleyway not far from the hotel right before the guy had been whacked. There was also a satellite clip, but all that had been illuminated was the woman.
She copied everything to her phone. She would get to the bottom of this. Dodger didn’t look like he was on emergency leave.
He looked like he was on a mission of life and death.
6
Dodger looked over at the iPad in her hand. “Bloody hell. This is going to be a race.” He drove for a bit, then pulled over. “What’s the next part of the clue?”
Anna picked up her phone. “Spans healing and prophecy.”
“Bridges span?”
“Right, but there are hundreds of bridges in Prague.”
“Your best guess. We’re on a timetable here.”
“Charles Bridge. It was commissioned by King Charles, one of the most famous in Prague, and it’s the closest to Prague Castle.”
“That sounds like a good guess, but what about the “healing and prophecy” part?”
She brought up a search engine and put in the information. “There’s a statue on the bridge for Saint Lutgardis. She was considered to have gifts of healing and prophecy. The Saint thing fits with Miller’s MO. The iPad I found was under the hem of Saint Agnes’s robe.”
“We need to find that statue on the bridge. Look it up.”
She worked her phone and then said, “It’s the twelfth one on the left starting from the Old Town Bridge Tower, and it’s actually a sculptural group.”
“What side of the bridge are we on?” Dodger asked, looking across the river.
“The wrong side. We need to cross over so we’ll be closer to the statue. It’ll take too much time to run across from this side.”
“It’s a walking bridge?”
“Yep, open only to foot traffic. It’s a nine-minute walk from the Old Town Square. Park there.”
“Bloody hell.” He put the car into gear and navigated to the other side of the river and they left the car at the square at a run. They reached the bridge in half that time and stepped onto the sandstone bricks flaring out in neat rows, washed by moonlight and the light farther down the span.
“Looks like we’re the first ones here,” Anna said.
Dodger looked around and felt a moment of relief. He had no desire to engage in a gun battle on the streets of Prague. He’d only brought a nine-millimeter. It was tucked into the waistband of his pants. And his knife, of course. He never went anywhere sketchy without his knife. He’d been lucky the cop hadn’t found him intimidating enough to search him. That’s why he sang the carol at the top of his lungs like a drunken fool. It had stopped the cop in his tracks.
They moved onto the bridge and Anna started counting. When she got to the twelfth statue, she headed toward it, but Dodger had forgotten she said it was on the left side of the bridge and he’d moved toward the right.
He was a dozen steps away from her when she exclaimed, “I found it.”
He turned in time to see a man emerge from the shadows and grab her just as she slipped her hand through the strap of the waterproof case. He recognized him as the Lebanese man from the hotel. To his horror, their battle went very close to the edge of the bridge. Anna struggled with him as Dodger sprinted toward her, but he was too late. The man punched her, and, still grasping the iPad, she flew over the railing and disappeared from sight.
With an anguished cry, Dodger shouted, “Anna!” He leapt into the air and came down with all his might to throat punch the guy, who gurgled and staggered away, landing on his back on the stone. Then Dodger went immediately into a swan dive, arrowing off the span, the dark water below rushing up at him.
He hit the water, only noting it was cold as hell. He’d been in colder water, but with the blow to her face, he worried that Anna was unconscious and drowning. He went deep, then immediately started swimming for the surface. The current was strong, but adrenaline pumping through him propelled him forward. In the dark water, he couldn’t see a thing. Then he saw something white and swam toward it. It was the iPad still encircling Anna’s wrist. The woman was a marvel. He grabbed it, then found the delicate bones of her wrist and latched around it. He dragged her to him, covering her mouth and giving her his air. Then, holding onto her, he power-kicked to the surface, dragging her with him.
He felt the surge of the current and his lungs clamored for air, which only made him clamp down harder. He could hold his breath a long time. Kicking relentlessly, he broke the surface.
She wasn’t moving, and her eyes were closed in her pale face. Bullets pierced the water to his right, barely missing Anna. A stinging sensation slashed his arm as he pulled out his nine, treaded water and sent several rounds toward the bridge where a man was standing. There was a muffled cry, and the night was silent except for the sound of the wind on the water.
He got her into a swimmer’s hold and started kicking toward shore as fast as he could move. He pulled her onto the bank, laying her flat. He began CPR.
Don’t you die, Anna. Don’t you bloody well die on me, he thought, breathing for her. His heart pounded like a sledgehammer. He’d never felt so helpless.
He counted, pressing on her chest. He breathed for her and kept it up when he wanted to shout, “Don’t leave me.” He put his ear to her chest, then pumped her chest and breathed for her again.