Free Run for Home by Dan Latus Page B

were quiet. As midnight approached, the city was drifting off to sleep.
    The old house where Babička had lived all her married life was a detached, two-storey building that had long been divided into two apartments, one up, one down. It was shabby, run-down even, but spacious and still pleasant. Better to live there than in a modern tower block, he had always thought. The surrounding garden, with its mature shrubs and trees, added to the house’s character. Lisa had been fortunate to live in such a place, as had her mother been before her.
    Lenka stopped at the end of the road, near the exhibition ground containing the Bruselsky Pavilion, which he knew had something to do with the 1958 Brussels World Fair. They considered how best to approach the house. It was possible, likely even, that it was being watched by somebody.
    ‘Perhaps you could get in at the back, through the garden?’ Lenka suggested.
    He shook his head. ‘Not in the dark. It’s jungle down there. Fifty years’ worth.’
    ‘But if you approach the house directly, from the front, you might just as well give yourself up.’
    He grimaced, knowing she was right. ‘You’re going to have to go instead, Lenka.’
    ‘Yes, but how do we persuade her to trust me?’
    ‘Just tell her Mr Harry needs to speak to her. That’s what she usually calls me. Say he doesn’t trust the phone, and is waiting in the exhibition ground. And tell her Marika was your friend. Keep it simple,’ he added. ‘We don’t want to risk confusing her.’
    ‘Where exactly shall we meet in the exhibition ground? It is a big place.’
    ‘Don’t worry about that. Just get there. I’ll come to you.’
    He left the car and slipped into the shadow cast by a high hedge. He waited until Lenka drove away. Then he turned and walked back to the exhibition ground.
     
    The place was empty, deserted. Not entirely dark, but lit only by occasional and feeble street lamps. He walked across the vast parking area near the entrance, empty acres of tarmac stretching away before him. In the near distance, there were buildings that could have been part of a funfair, and beyond them he could see the outline of the main conference hall against the night sky. All was in darkness now.
    The night was bitterly cold. He shivered, pulled up the hood of his jacket and headed for the shadowy buildings around the edge of the parking area. He slipped, recovered his balance; realized a veneer of ice had formed on the wet surface of the tarmac.
    Looking for shelter, he moved into the doorway of a lapidarium, a museum for stones and gems, and stood there to wait. They wouldn’t be long. Either Babička would come instantly, or not at all. If she was there, he didn’t think she would take much persuading.
    A breeze stirred, catching something loose at the corner of the building, making it rattle. Guttering, perhaps. A few bits of white fluff floated into the doorway. Then more came. He glanced up and saw the stars disappearing. It looked as if the forecast was right, and the warnings justified. The snow was arriving a little early this year. He shivered again and wriggled his shoulders. It was cold. He was cold.
    Ten minutes later, a car turned into the entrance. He tensed. It could be Lenka’s Skoda, but he needed to be sure. The headlights swept across the empty tarmac, reflectingoff patches of ice and gleaming pools of winter rain. The car crept slowly into the centre of the open space, circled, and drew to a halt outside a kiosk that was shuttered up for the winter. Zmrzlina ice-cream: a giant white cone, with red and yellow swirls spiralling down it. And snowflakes, drifting down more heavily now, just before Lenka cut the lights.
    He waited a little longer. But no other vehicle came through the entrance. It looked as if they had not been followed. Either the watchers had been taken by surprise, or they were just short-handed, and had no one available to follow when Babička left the house unexpectedly at