Three locks clicked open on the door, one after another. Long fingers reached through the narrow opening and disconnected the knee-high wire attached to the hand grenade pin. The thin line swung free as a tall frail man slipped through the door. He rested a shoulder against the frame in the dark room listening for footsteps outside; listening for breathing inside.

The door closed with a soft click. He turned each deadbolt knob three times. Lock. Unlock. Lock. He made certain the door handle was secure each time before moving down to the next deadbolt.

He didn’t know if this obsession was superstition or something more. He didn’t know when or why the habit ever started. He only knew he had to do it exactly this way. It was a matter of life or death.

The room remained dark. He didn’t bother with the light switch. It didn’t much matter. There were no bulbs in any of the sockets. Illumination was costly and hurt his eyes anyway. He was safe in the dark.

He waited for his vision to adjust before entering the room further. Soon, shapes in the shadows formed from the void as black separated from black and blacks faded to grays. Nothing was even close to images. More like wispy dreams.

But, it was enough to see what he needed to see. His feet moved deftly through the cluttered space like a practiced blind man until he found the trip wire stretching across the path. It was more by touch than sight.

On one knee he examined the taut thread twenty centimeters above the floor. Unhooking it, he carefully released the pressure on the swinging arm poised to propel a spike thigh-level through an unsuspecting visitor’s leg or other body part depending on which way his unwanted guest was turned. The slightest scratch from the poisoned tip would be fatal.

Now where was Elsa, he asked himself? He crawled to the warm boards near the radiator. It was her favorite spot. The venomous viper lay curled under the stream release. He grabbed her by the back of the head and gave her a loving kiss before easing the snake into her makeshift home inside a wooden crate.

She was a good watch dog; silent and deadly. One could never be too safe, or too paranoid, he thought.

A thin sliver of pale moonlight seeped in around the window frame. He adjusted the black-out curtain over the regular blind until no light intruded. He turned back to the comfort of his dark place.

He pushed the lid back on an oak roll-top desk revealing its contents. A stack of papers shifted with the movement and the pile toppled. He fumbled behind the loose documents until he found a small white box.

Reaching into a coat pocket the man pulled out a delicate ring. He brought it close to his face to admire the workmanship. The soft fragrance of her perfume filled his senses. A small reminder of her essence lingered with the ring.

He wanted the ring since he first saw her wearing it; gold, with a tiny ruby and diamond cluster. Perhaps an heirloom, he thought. She certainly could not have afforded such an expense on a waitress’s salary.

He cleaned the still wet blood from the new keepsake on his shirt and hesitated to drop the ring in the box with the others. His unwilling fingers finally released it. The ring fell into the nearly full box with a quiet clink. He shook the contents gently to make room for the new arrival.

The man placed the box in the pigeon hole above the desk’s writing surface positioning it just so, edge to edge and side to side. It was perfect. He smiled to himself.

The telephone’s ring pierced the silence.

The sound transported him backward in time. What a curious thing, he thought. Her telephone had rung just as he wiped a tear from her eye; just as he kissed her goodbye. Just as…

The telephone rang.

He closed his eyes and relived the night’s events in his mind. The taste of her lips was still fresh on his tongue. She was so beautiful. He heard her moan. He watched her beg. He felt the blade of the knife penetrate skin, muscle, bone, organ then the unyielding floor beneath her.

The telephone rang.

Her eyes were fixed on heaven with that lone tear dampening one cheek. What did she fear, he thought? She should be happy. He’d saved her from a cruel and disappointing life.

The telephone rang.

He brought that salvation to all of them. It was such a small sacrifice for the gift of everlasting life. He helped their souls into whatever hereafter they imagined. They could now be reborn in another time and a better place.

The telephone rang.

He looked at the receiver for the first time.

Certainly, each life he took made him stronger. That was his reward for doing some of their god’s work. The voices in his head told him it was so. Her energy was now his energy. She was now his.

The telephone rang.

He lifted the receiver and listened.

“Sílený?” asked the voice.

The man breathed into the mouthpiece.

“Let’s assume it’s you, shall we? I have another assignment for you. Same arrangement as always. You do this for me and I overlook your…peculiarities as always. I need you to find someone and confirm he is dead. If he isn’t, keep him alive long enough to determine who he is working with then kill them all.”

“And if he is dead?” asked Sílený.

“I don’t care. Find someone else and kill that one on your own time if it makes you feel better. But I need to know either way. I’ll send a packet to your flat by morning. Please, do not kill this messenger. I need him. Do you understand?”

Silence.

“Do. You. Understand?”

“Send your packet.”

The line went dead.

Surviving Prague Excerpt 3

The Hollow Man    |     The Hollow Man Series, International Espionage​

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