Free Covert One 6 - The Moscow Vector by Robert Ludlum Page A

never have asked him to step so far out of the safety of the shadows. Be fair, Jon, his mind coldly reminded him. This guv probably knows that a hit team has already tried to kill you once and that it may try again.
    He sighed. Hell, he was feeling pretty tw itchy himself. He stared out the window, seeking calm in the neatly manicured gardens visible on either side.
    The roof of the Belvedere, a lovely royal summerhouse built during the Renaissance, rose above the surrounding trees, sheathed in blue-green copper.
    Minutes after heading downhill again just north of the Castle, the Skoda Curved three-quarters of the way around a busy traffic circle and came out heading west on a wide boulevard. Smith sat up straighter. They were on Evropska, a modern thoroughfare that ran straight to the airport. Off to their left, he could make out a sprawling patchwork of suburban houses, schools, and small industrial parks. On the right, a chain of three hills crowned with evergreens, oaks, and beeches climbed steeply above more rows of detached houses and shops. These forested heights stretched away to the north and east, reaching toward the river behind them.
    Masek accelerated, pushing the taxi up to and then beyond the posted speed limit. Signs sliding past overhead indicated that the airport was only a few kilometers away.
    Soon Jon caught fleeting glimpses of a narrow artificial lake through the bare branches of the trees lining the north side of the boulevard. Beyond the lake, the ground fell away into a rugged, broken landscape of dark woods and gray limestone cliffs.
    “That is the Divoka a Ticha Sarka, the valley of the Wild and Still Sarka, a place of legend and violence,” the taxi driver explained grandly, nodding his massive head toward the shadowed gorge visible on the other side of the stretch of gray-green water. “Some say men and women fought a cruel and blood)’ war there long ago, before the dawn of history. It was a war waged for absolute power and dominion. According to the stories, a beautiful young maiden named Sarka lured the chief warrior of the men into that forest.
    There, she made love to him, plied him with strong drink, and then murdered him in his sleep.”
    Smith grinned. “Not exactly a cheerful place, I guess.”
    Masek shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, actually, it is a nature preserve now. Many people from Prague swim and camp there in the summer, when it is hot. We Czechs may be romantic, but we are also very practical.”
    Suddenly, brake lights glowed red as the cars in front of them began slowing down. A line of orange cones angled across the boulevard, closing off the fast lanes heading west. By the side of the road, a portable electronic sign blinked on and off, repeatedly flashing a warning message in Czech.
    “Shit,” Masek muttered. He took his foot off the accelerator and stomped down hard on the Skoda’s brakes. The taxi decelerated sharplv. Frowning and grumbling under his breath, he swung into the suddenly crowded right lane, forcing his way into the narrowing gap between an old Volvo and a brand-new Audi. Horns blared behind them in protest.
    Smith leaned forward. “Road construction?” he asked quietly. “Or an accident?”
    “Neither,” the big man replied, nervously chewing at his lower lip. “That sign says the police have set up a special traffic checkpoint and that we must be prepared to stop.”
    “What are they looking for?” Jon heard himself ask.
    Masek shook his head irritably. “I do not know. Drunk drivers? Drugs?
    Stolen goods? Or maybe only bald tires and broken taillights.” His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It could be any of those things. The authorities greatly enjoy handing out tickets and collecting special fees.”
    Smith peered through the windshield as the taxi inched slowly ahead.
    They were roughly one hundred meters from the exit marked Divoka Sarka. It fed onto a much narrower side road that veered off