SEVERANCE KILL by Tim Stevens Page B

the other two following, and Blažek himself appeared and tried to grab you. Whoever you were, we could not let them take you.’
    ‘What she means,’ said the kid, ‘is that it gave us great satisfaction to stick it up Blažek’s ass.’
    Nikola: ‘What happened to this man? Pavel?’
    ‘I put him down,’ said Calvary.
    Both of them were looking at him with new expressions.
    ‘For good?’ said Max.
    ‘No.’ He accepted the hot mug Nikola passed him. Black coffee, and sugared. He grimaced but sipped anyway. ‘Why were you following him?’
    Nikola leant back against the kitchenette counter, bounced lightly on her heels. ‘We are four, in this office. Jakub you will meet shortly. The other man, Kaspar, has disappeared. He was investigating Pavel Kral’s involvement in an armed robbery. An involvement that is suspected but unproven.’
    ‘Dumb asshole thought he was some kind of master pickpocket.’ Max shook his head. ‘He was going to steal Kral’s bank cards, hack his accounts, link him to the purchase of a getaway car. Crazy stuff. We told him it’d never work.’
    ‘He disappeared this morning. Left the office and did not return. Does not answer his phone,’ she said. ‘We believe Kral has taken him.’
     
    *
     
    ‘How long have you been doing this work?’
    Calvary had accepted the offer of a chair in the end.
    ‘The newsletter has been running for three years, now,’ she said. ‘Jakub and I started it, then Max and Kaspar came on board. We publish irregularly. Sometimes monthly, sometimes every three months. It depends on the activity of Blažek’s organisation.’
    ‘It’s guerrilla activism,’ Max piped up. ‘We print an edition, distribute it ourselves to stations, street corners. Quick and dirty. Then we go to ground again. Every scrap of a link between Blažek and some new or old crime gets reported.’
    ‘Has it made any difference?’
    ‘No,’ said Nikola, quickly, staring at him. Daring him to laugh. ‘Not yet. We do not even know if Blažek is aware of our existence.’
    ‘He is now.’
    She nodded.
    ‘You said you had weapons.’
    She glanced at Max. ‘We have a gun.’
    ‘A gun. Singular.’
    ‘Yes.’
    He raised his eyebrows. Max went over to a drawer, unlocked it.
    By the way he carried the piece Calvary could see he wasn’t used to handling it. He took it. A Browning Hi-Power. Chambered for nine millimetre parabellum rounds. He jacked the magazine. It was full.
    A good piece. But there was no smell of oil, and the mechanism didn’t feel slick.
    He began stripping it. ‘Needs a clean.’
    Nikola and Max hovered, unsure. Calvary said, ‘Have either of you ever fired this?’
    Glances. If they’d been standing they would have shuffled their feet. ‘No. But Jakub has had some practice.’
    ‘Shooting tin cans?’ He reassembled it, sighted down it, straight armed. It would have to do.
    ‘So. Mr Calvary.’ Max tried to lighten the mood. ‘Can I call you Cal?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Right. So, like… What’re you doing here?’
    He’d been waiting for the question, had had time to work out the best response. He said, ‘Turn on the TV. To the news.’
    Nikola shrugged, did so. Found one of the American 24-hour channels. They waited a couple of minutes until the economic news was over. Then the background switched to a jarringly familiar scene. The site of the tram hijacking just outside the Old Town.
    A breathless local reporter summarised the known facts. Three, perhaps four masked and armed men had boarded the tram shortly after noon and had shot dead a Russian national, seemingly randomly. They had taken captive an unidentified man but had come under attack from another passenger armed with what appeared to be an umbrella. The other passenger had disappeared. Police were appealing for the mysterious hero to come forward and give his version of events, as he might be able to shed light on the attackers’ identities. Police had also released an identikit picture