CHAPTER 21

Eytan was asking the guy at the front desk about good restaurants that weren’t tourist traps and still open at this late hour. Elena was seeing a totally different Eytan—one who could be affable and even charming.

Eytan regaled the man at the reception desk with a couple of jokes, which Elena didn’t find particularly amusing. Then the man picked up the phone and made a reservation at a well-known brasserie. Who is this person I’ve been spending all this time with? Elena asked herself.

As they walked away, she heard Eytan say, “Thanks, Thomas.”

“No problem, Eytan,” the other replied.

A few minutes of conversation, and they were old pals. It irked every fiber of her being.

Following directions provided by Eytan’s new friend, they meandered the narrow cobblestone streets of Prague. Eytan took in the sights, admiring the city’s storied architecture, and especially the many towers and church spires that seemed to float above the red rooftops. The seemingly illogical mix of building styles—Gothic here, Baroque there, and functionally communist just around the corner—intrigued Elena. They gave the old city an almost Kafkaesque feel.

When they reached their destination, a waiter led them from one room to another through a maze of narrow hallways. They arrived in a small intimate space that was nothing like the noisy and busy setup at the front of the restaurant. He showed them to the only open table.

A hot spot for night owls, the restaurant provided a multilingual menu. While the main course options were limited, there were at least a dozen types of beer. Eytan decided on a caramel-flavored brew, which paired well with the daily special: honey-glazed roasted pork and vegetable soup in a bread bowl. Uninspired by the meat selections, all of which seemed to have some kind of sauce or glaze, she went for a plate of bramborák, potato pancakes flavored with oregano. They were a Prague specialty.

“Now you can enjoy the local delicacies and also add some meat to those bones,” he said.

“I’m not worried about my figure,” she retorted. “I was just suggesting that we get something to eat, not go off on some culinary romp in the city.”

Despite the waiter’s suggestions, she stuck with plain water. Eytan gave the waiter the menus, and the man walked away, leaving the two superagents alone.

“So you’re one of those weird people who eats only because it’s necessary for survival.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Does the concept of pleasure mean anything to you?”

Deeply offended by the comment, Elena looked around to make sure no one could hear before leaning toward her partner.

“Do you expect me to believe it has any more meaning in your life?” she taunted. “By the way, you eat pork?”

Seeing the waiter coming back, she stopped short. He was skillfully carrying a tray loaded with five beers and one glass of water. He served up Eytan’s brew and Elena’s water, then sauntered off to deliver the rest of the drinks to the other tables.

“I thought you knew everything about me,” Eytan replied.

“Just the important stuff.”

“In that case, you probably know that I’ve lived through hard times—deprivation, starvation, and worse. As a child in the Warsaw ghetto, I swore that I would never turn down any sort of food that was offered to me. Being held in Stutthof only reinforced that decision. Since then, I’ve allowed myself to indulge in life’s delights from time to time. And in response to the subtext of your question, I have a very personal relationship with God, but I eat whatever looks good to me.” He took a swig of his beer.

“That makes sense.”

Eytan took another swig and held out his glass to Elena. “It’s tasty. You should try it.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Your loss.”

A welcome silence fell as their dishes arrived.

Eytan dug into his meal, but Elena merely pushed the food from one spot on her plate to another. She was too distracted by her thoughts to enjoy the meal.

“It’s not true, what you said back in the forest,” she blurted out. She looked at Eytan with her dark eyes. “What’s our profession again? Oh yeah, we execute orders, and ipso facto, we execute people. Despite your insinuations, I don’t get off on killing. I take pleasure in doing it the right way and for the right reasons. I like leading successful missions. That’s my job, and I’m committed to it. So in that respect, I see no difference between the two of us.”

Eytan put down his fork, pushed aside his plate, and tried to read the fierce face in front of him. He couldn’t. Was this the hateful Elena whom he knew all too well, or were there other emotions that she had never dared to show? What had pushed this rigid character into defending herself so vehemently?

“We’re not the same, and here’s why,” he responded. “I take out the guilty, those who threaten the innocent. But you and your friends live by some philosophy that continues to elude me—you are the threat.”

He stopped himself. He didn’t want those at the surrounding tables to overhear. “Similar means, different ends,” he muttered, thinking back to their first encounter in the Sonian Forest.

“If I’m such a menace, why did you ask for my advice before the raid?” Elena pressed.

“Because I wanted your take on the situation. We’re a team at the moment. We may not like it, but that’s no reason to botch the mission. It makes more sense to rely on both of our skill sets.”

“I failed.”

It was hard to miss the dejection in her voice. At least his theory back at the hotel was right. She was in a bad mood because she couldn’t handle failure, especially her own.

“Only those who never try never fail. Our mistakes have dramatic consequences. It’s inherent in our line of work.”

“But you never mess up.”

Her naïve comment amused Eytan. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Don’t be so sure about that. I’ve made lots of mistakes, and I’ll make plenty more. You’re traumatized by failure. But for me, it’s like rocket fuel. It pushes me to be even better at my job.”

“Okay, I admit, I can be a little impatient at times,” Elena confessed.

Eytan joined his hands together like the Shaolin master in the nineteen seventies TV show Kung Fu, which he had watched on occasion. “Knowledge is only acquired with age, young grasshopper.”

Elena didn’t know what he was talking about, because she never watched television, but she relaxed a bit.

“I haven’t figured you out yet, but I am taking your promise on face value,” he began again. “The one you made to Cypher. I don’t know what you two are to each other, and to tell you the truth, I don’t care. But I believe you will keep your word.”

“Don’t waste your time trying to get to know me,” she responded coolly. “We’re working together today. Don’t get your hopes up, though. The time will come—”

“Since you insist so much on that, I’d like to make one request.”

“Shoot.”

“Wait until we’ve finished our mission.”

“Seems like a fair request. But you’ll always wonder if I play fair, won’t you?”

“What’s the point in seeing a movie when you already know the ending?”

Elena let out a genuine laugh, which Eytan had been hoping for since their arrival at the restaurant. The shadow of melancholy on her face disappeared, and her catlike eyes sparkled mischievously. Eytan appreciated her natural beauty, untouched by makeup. Under other circumstances…

“Does the world have to go mad for us to have a peaceful conversation?” she asked.

“You took the words right out of my mouth. But wouldn’t we be out of place in a sane world?”

“Touché! Anyway, you mentioned my relationship with Cypher. But what about you? How is it that the mythical Eytan Morg, a former master in the art of solo combat, would agree to work for an organization that he should be fighting with all his might? What made you sell your soul?”

Eytan brushed some stray crumbs from the bread bowl off the table. He looked at his hand as he answered. “You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but your boss kidnapped one of my closest friends to force me to collaborate with you. Anyone who has ever been important to me is already dead. Many of them died before my eyes, and some of those deaths were my fault. Eli is the only person left.”

“What exactly does this man mean to you? Sounds as if you love him like a father.”

“You have no idea.”