The Kingfisher Secret by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2018-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

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She decided to walk back to her apartment. It wasn’t far. With one turn she would reach the pedestrian street that led to the Charles Bridge. Before she reached it, just as she passed from the light of a streetlamp into a pond of shadow, she heard, “Stop.” It was not the way an English speaker would say stop.

She turned and the two men in black from the embassy plaza jogged through the shadows. Heavy items on their belts rattled as they made their way over the cobblestones. For an instant, while they remained in darkness, she thought these men were here to help her, to call what had happened in the foyer a travesty and to escort her into leather chairs, soft lamps, whiskey, whispers.

But only for an instant.

When they entered the yellow streetlight, she recognized them. She turned and ran, but they were faster than her. She had removed the knife from her bag, for airport security, and as she ran she could not find her keys.

They reached her and shouted in her face, shoved her onto her knees and then onto her chest. One of the men yanked her bag away. The other pulled her hands behind her back and it hurt so much she thought her arms would snap. Her head fell forward and she scraped her chin on the stone.

She tried to scream, “Help,” but it was too hard to take in a deep enough breath.

In the distance she saw some people walking past. She tried to scream for help again and they turned to look but did not come to her aid.

“Please!” She sobbed. “Help me!”

There was a knee on her back now. She was certain she would die, that she would never speak to her mother or her friends again. They would kill her like they had killed Katka and Coach Vacek.

She thought of Jason—lovely, kind Jason. Why had she not wanted to have kids with him? Now she was going to die alone, with gravel in her mouth and a knee on her back, in the shadows of a street in Prague.

“Let me go. I’ll do whatever you say. Please.”

Rough hands reached around and under her, into all of her pockets. Breath mints, tissues, a dogshit bag from walking Manon’s Yorkshire terrier.

Then they were off her, allowing her to turn so she could see them again. The bow-legged one was lighting a cigarette. His partner with the pretty eyes and the bulbous nose pulled the printouts from her notebook and stuffed them into his pants pocket. Then he played with her iPhone.

“What is the password, Grace?” He was a bit breathless, from running and fighting her. “Your password, and we go. Otherwise…” He mimed a kick with his big black boot.

“I’m calling the police!”

The bow-legged man laughed.

“Password, Grace.”

They liked saying her name. “Fuck you,” she spat.

A moment later the one with her phone and the notebook stepped forward and kicked her to the ground again, with his heavy boot. He

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