“And she knows who the Wolf is, what he looks like? Is that it?”
“We don’t know what Klára knows. She won’t talk to us. She might talk to you, though.”
I sat back, shook my head. “Why me? I met her only once.”
Mortenson shrugged, then he gave a half smile. “She says her husband trusted you. You believe that? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why would she trust you, if you met her only once?”
Unfortunately, I had no idea.
Chapter 113
WHAT REMAINED OF the Lodge family was being kept under wraps in a small town called Shepton Mallet, which was about 120 miles west of London. Rolling valleys, lots of green countryside, perfect for hiding them, at least temporarily.
The Lodges were staying in a converted farmhouse on a “no through” road outside of town. The land was fairly flat there, and anything approaching could be seen for miles. Besides, this was an armed compound, heavily armed.
I arrived at about six that evening. The inside of the farmhouse was pleasant, with lots of antique furniture, but I had dinner with the family in a cramped bunker that was located belowground.
Klára didn’t cook the meal as she had in London, and I wondered if she approved of the fare. I doubted it. The food was dreadful, worse than airplane fare. “No míchaná vejce on the menu,” I finally tried as a joke for her.
“You remember our breakfast in Battersea, even the correct pronunciation. That’s good, Alex,” Klára said. “You’re very observant. Martin said you were a good agent.”
When the meal was over, the children—Hana, Daniela, Jozef—were sent to their room to do homework. Klára sat with me and smoked a cigarette. She took long puffs and inhaled deeply.
“Homework?” I asked. “Here? Tonight?”
“It’s good to have discipline, habits to fall back on. I think it is. So you were with Martin? When he died?” she asked. “What did he say to you? Please tell me.”
I considered my response. What did Klára want to hear? And what should I tell her?
“He said that he wasn’t the Wolf. Is that true, Klára?”
“Anything else? What else did he tell you?”
I thought about telling Klára he’d talked about her and the children, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to lie to her. Probably I couldn’t. “No, Klára. That’s all it was. There wasn’t much time. Only a few seconds. He didn’t suffer too long. He didn’t seem to be in pain. I think he was in shock.”
She nodded. “Martin thought I could trust you. He said it was your flaw, actually. He would never say anything sentimental, not even with his dying breath.”
I stared into Klára’s deep brown eyes, which seemed surprisingly alert.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
She laughed. “It’s why I loved him.”
She had things to tell me that night in the English countryside. A negotiation was begun between the two of us. Or rather, I got to listen to her demands.
“I want safe passage out of England for myself and the children. New identities, and we get to keep some savings to live on. I’ll tell you where we want to live, but not right now. That will come a little later.”
“Prague?” I asked. It was a small joke.
“No, definitely not Prague, Alex. And not Russia, either. Or anywhere in America, for that matter. I’ll tell you where, when the time comes. But first, let’s decide on what I have to give you to guarantee our safe passage out of England.”
“Oh, that’s easy. You have to give us a lot,” I said. “You have to give up the Wolf. But can you do that, Klára? What do you know? Who is he? Where is he? What did Martin tell you?”
Finally she smiled. “Oh, he told me everything. Martin adored me.”
Chapter 114
THE WOLF FLEW his own plane into Teterboro Airport in the northern corner of New Jersey. A black Range Rover was waiting there for him, and he took it into New York City, a city he’d always despised. The traffic was bad, as usual, and it took him as long to get from Teterboro to Manhattan as it had to fly to the metropolitan area from New Hampshire.