CHAPTER 23

Prague

Elena and Eytan walked through Prague’s streets back to their hotel. A light rain was falling, and the pavement was wet. A group of teenagers emerged from beneath a canopy where they had taken shelter and dashed toward the two agents like a herd of wild colts. One of the boys bumped into Eytan. The giant didn’t budge, but the kid fell flat on his butt. Eytan cracked a smile and leaned down to give the young man a hand. Obviously perplexed by this odd bald man in a military getup, the teen hesitated before accepting the help. His friends, who had frozen and gone silent, eased up and started laughing again. The boy gave Eytan a thumbs up and joined the group, which stampeded off saying good night in German-laced English.

The whole incident baffled Elena. If the same thing had happened to her, she wouldn’t have helped the kid. And she certainly wouldn’t have given him a friendly smile. She wasn’t mean or hateful. It just wouldn’t have occurred to her. She didn’t waste time socializing with others. Playfulness and creativity had been trained out of her. She had given up her past, her parents (her father, in particular), and even her blond locks, which, as a child, she had spent hours brushing in her Brussels bedroom.

Over the years, she had carried the weight of the Consortium’s security operations on her shoulders. This job meant everything to her. It was her reason for living, a way to give back part of what had been given to her. And she was frightfully good at it.

Then one day, she heard a name, a name that spread throughout the secret organization like a mystical incantation, a name that became legendary: Eytan Morgenstern, Patient 302, the first subject to live through Professor Bleiberg’s genetic manipulations, a survivor who tracked fugitive Nazis around the globe.

From that point on, all the Consortium higher-ups became obsessed with recruiting 302 away from Mossad. If that were not possible, they’d do away with him. The idée fixe consumed even Bleiberg. Elena rarely got face time with the brilliant geneticist, but when she did, he would constantly talk about his guinea pig’s exploits. In the end, he—and therefore the others—began treating her like any other subordinate.

Patient 302 stripped her of her uniqueness and hijacked all the attention she had been getting from her new family—her real family. Elena channeled everything into reclaiming her position and status. But nothing worked. And without realizing it, she sank to the same cruel level as everyone else in the organization. Then one day she saw the solution. It was so clear, so pure, so simple.

She had to kill a legend to become one.

The opportunity presented itself at the BCI facility. Patient 302 had stood right in front of her, disarmed and more vulnerable than ever. All she had to do was pull the trigger, and the mythical monster would be fairy dust. She had wounded him twice—once in the shoulder and then in the thigh. But some unknown force had stopped her from firing a bullet into his head or heart. She had to summon up all her hatred toward this man, whom she didn’t even know, to fuel her discipline and finish him off once and for all. But she had missed her chance.

Tonight, she was walking alongside him in Prague. The more she watched him, the more she admired him, and the more her hatred grew. Eytan Morg represented the perfect nemesis. He was comfortable interacting with others, always effortlessly attentive, super professional. He reminded her of the famous poem by Rudyard Kipling, which she had read years ago:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise…

You’ll be a Man, my son!

Elena, locked inside her fortress of solitude and anger, had to admit the unbearable fact that under other circumstances, in another lifetime, the two of them…

A dull buzz interrupted her thoughts.

“Cell phone,” Eytan said. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

“We’ll call you from the hotel,” he told the caller.

“No more dawdling. Cypher has new information.”

And with that, their peaceful stroll came to an abrupt end. The two walked briskly the rest of the way.

Barely settled in their suite, Eytan once again pulled out his cell phone.

“Are you in your room?” Cypher asked, answering the call.

“Yes, but before we begin… You know the drill.”

“Of course, here’s your friend.”

Eli reassured Eytan that he was okay, and Eytan agreed to proceed.

“As a preface, getting information from former Soviet Bloc countries is complicated.

Goes with the territory, Eytan thought. Some habits die hard.

“Still, you’re a powerful man with influence,” he said.

“You get the idea,” Cypher said. “Your source on the victims of the village guessed right. Most of the residents worked in secret labs in the Pardubice region during the Cold War. As a reward for their service and to keep them from talking, the government provided them with homes and comfortable pensions.”

“What fields did these people work in?”

“Bacteriology, psychoactive substances, poisons, all Czech specialties.”

“Was their profile in any way similar to that of the Moscow metro subjects?” Elena asked.

“No. I’m afraid those were merely civilians without any obvious ties to the village residents. Their only connection appears to be the way they died.”

“It’s hard to find a motive that would give us any kind of lead,” Eytan said.

“Yes, the motive. Speaking of which, I have good news and bad news, Mr. Morg. Which one would you like to hear first?”

“I’m not a fan of these little games, but give me the good news first, for a change.”

“We’ve translated the characters.”

“And the bad news?

“We’ve translated the characters.”