The Doer

CHAPTER ONE

PRAGUE

It was dark when Dr. Jarolslav Havlicek stepped off the tram at the Staromestska Station in the Jewish Quarter of Prague. As one of the wealthiest men in the Czech Republic, he could easily afford to take a taxicab to his home across the Vltava River in Mala Strana. He was a man of strong beliefs and habits not easily broken. One of them was to pay homage to his ancestors, many of whom had been dragged from their homes by the Nazis shortly after they marched into Prague in 1939. Havlicek, then twelve years old, had been dragged along with them.

As he walked along Krizovnicka toward Karluv Most, he said his nightly prayer for his father and mother. Both had been killed at the Terecin concentration camp in Czechoslovakia where Havlicek had worked for five years carrying dead bodies for the Nazis to the mass graves, until, at the age of 18, he was released when the Allied Forces captured Terecin in 1945.

Generally regarded as the most brilliant financial mind in the Czech Republic, he was often called the Alan Greenspan of Eastern Europe. The first time he’d heard that, he had jokingly told the reporter that he thought of Greenspan as the Jarolslav Havlicek of America.

He turned onto Karluv Most, now known worldwide as The Charles Bridge. With its beautiful statues of Czechoslovakian saints, it was featured in almost every movie filmed in Prague for the last twenty years. Still, few moviegoers knew the names of the saints that dominate the best known view of Prague. Havlicek smiled as he thought that even few cardinals in the Vatican probably knew that Luitgard, Adelbaert, Ludmilla, Procopius, Sigismund, and Vitus were among those canonized by the Catholic Church.

The pedestrian bridge was fairly deserted at 10:00 p.m. compared to the great amount of traffic that crossed it during the day. As he crossed its center, a man sitting on the ledge in the moonlight shadow of the statue of St. John Nepomuk, stood and said in perfect Czech, "Dobry Vecer, Doktora Havlicek."

"Dobry Vecer," said Havlicek cautiously, as he did not recognize the man.

The man extended his hand and Havlicek instinctively shook it. Havlicek immediately looked at his own hand, which was already in pain, then at the face of the man who was carefully lifting him and setting him on the ledge of the bridge.

The man whispered softly, the pain won’t last very long. The primary advantage of the drug is that it is almost impossible to detect in an autopsy. Dr. Havlicek tried to scream but no sound came from his lips. The man looked back toward the Old Town side, then ahead toward the Little Quarter side, and saw no one looking in his direction. He gave Dr. Havlicek a gentle push. Havlicek fell over backward into the Vltava River. The last thing Havlicek saw was the famous castle, Prazsky Hrad, upside down as he entered the water head first.

As the doer walked toward the Little Quarter end of the bridge, he also looked at the castle. What a fitting ending, he said to himself, drowning under the statue of St. John Nepomuk. The doer was one American who knew that St. John Nepomuk had been bound and thrown from the Charles Bridge into the Vltava River by Wenceslas IV in 1393.

Prague’s chief of police, Vaclav Ruzicka, was a large and boisterous man. No one ever wanted to go into his office and when he was pissed off, no one ever did--and he was furious. Nevertheless, two detectives, the chief of detectives, and the coroner stood quaking in front of him as he had personally ordered them to his office.

"He drowned. You’re telling me you’ve done an autopsy, and he fucking drowned? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

I said it was a preliminary autopsy, said the coroner softly. The toxicology report is not complete.

He walked across the Charles Bridge every day for over fifty years, said Ruzicka. He didn’t drink. From the Jewish Quarter, Havlicek could find his way home blindfolded. And you’re all going to stand there and tell me the son of a bitch fell off the bridge and drowned?

There were no physical signs of a struggle and preliminary toxicology reports don’t indicate anything unusual, said the coroner, wishing desperately that Ruzicka would ask a question that one of the detectives could answer.

"Well this is total bullshit and you all know it. Havlicek was in his 80s. He couldn’t even get onto the goddamn ledge without someone giving him a boost. Have you talked to all the witnesses?"

We’ve talked to everyone we could find who was there that night, said one of the detectives. No one saw anything until they heard a splash, and then everyone rushed to that side of the bridge. They said he must have sunk immediately because he was not even visible in the water when they looked down.

Did you account for all the people on the bridge?

No, said the other detective, sheepishly. A couple of the witnesses looked up and down the bridge after looking in the water. They saw a couple near the Old Town end walking away. They might have been too far away to hear the splash. And they saw a lone figure, they thought a man, walking toward the Little Quarter end of the bridge. They thought he was close enough to hear but he just continued walking.

And no one coming from either direction got a look at him?

No sir, but someone thinks he heard him, said the first detective.

What the fuck are you talking about? Someone was close enough to hear him, but didn’t see him? asked Ruzicka.

Yes sir, said the detective. One couple remembered passing an old man walking in the opposite direction, and a moment later heard someone say, ‘Good evening, Doctor.’ They didn’t turn around. About one minute later, they heard the splash. The man who said ‘good evening’ might have been the one walking away. But the couple never saw him and couldn’t figure out where he had come from. It’s possible he was in the shadows waiting for Havlicek, but if he had pushed Havlicek, the autopsy would have shown bruising.

"Well, unless you’re now a coroner, Detective, don’t tell me how to interpret autopsy results. Find that son of a bitch," demanded Chief Ruzicka.

And the next time I see you, he said to the coroner, you’d better have some more information.

Yes sir, said the coroner.

All of you, except the Chief of Dicks, get out of here. As they started to leave, Ruzicka said, Detective, did you think to ask if he had any kind of an accent?

Yes sir, I did. They said he sounded like he was born and raised in Prague. No accent at all.

Ruzicka sat at his desk and signaled for Bonifaz Kvapilova to sit in the chair across from him.

You’re sure the doer wasn’t one of the witnesses you’ve talked to?

We’re still looking into that, but there weren’t many, and none of them even looks like they could have done it. They were mostly young couples.

This doesn’t make a goddamn bit of sense to me, said Ruzcika. What do you think happened?

Kvapilova said, None of the usual scenarios make sense to me either. It can’t be suicide. It wasn’t robbery. His wallet and watch were untouched. It can’t be revenge. He was probably the only guy in Prague who never offended anyone. He was like Mother Theresa in a business suit. I could start looking at other motives if the doer was a foreigner, but the witnesses said that whoever spoke to him on the bridge sounded like a local.

Why would anyone kill a defenseless old man if the motive isn’t robbery or revenge? asked Chief Ruzcika. This is one of the strangest cases I’ve ever seen.

CHAPTER TWO

PARIS

On the first of every month, President Jean Paul Dampierre ate lunch with one of his oldest friends and his most trusted advisor, Louis Foucalt. They always sat at the corner table in L’Espadon in the Ritz. The adjacent tables were always empty for the one-hour luncheon. Former French president, Jacques Chirac, had reserved that table ever since he was elected mayor of Paris, but he no longer showed up on the first of the month as a courtesy to the new president.

Foucalt was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in France, having been a confidant to all French presidents, irrespective of party. No one ever knew if he was republican, socialist, or neo-Gaullist. Nor did it matter. Presidents d’Estaing, Mitterand, Chirac, and now Dampierre all believed they owed their election, in large measure, to Foucalt. They were all correct.

You don’t have a choice, Jean Paul, said Foucalt.

The Americans will be furious, much more than they were when we wouldn’t join their invasion of Iraq, said President Dampierre.

The Americans are always furious. They’re the reason you have to do it.

If it fails, they will blame us.

What can they do about it? Start serving freedom fries and freedom toast again?

It has to be unanimous, or it will split Europe in half, said Dampierre.

It will be. When you stand up with Gerhardt and Sir Anthony and insist it is necessary, not even Poland will side with the Americans, said Foucalt.

I have a conference call with Chancellor Mueller and Prime Minister Wentworth tomorrow.

They need to know that nothing will pressure you to cave in, even if the Americans learn about it. Is the EU meeting set?

Yes, said President Dampierre. We now hold a meeting of the heads of state and their foreign ministers the day before the full EU Parliament meeting. It is at the meeting of the heads of state that we will announce our plan and then present it to the full 735 members of the parliament the following day.

That meeting is in two weeks. Good luck old friend, said Foucalt.

I’ll let you know how it goes as soon as the meeting is over, said President Dampierre. Thanks for meeting me for lunch.

It is always my pleasure, Mr. President. Foucalt always called him Mr. President at the beginnings and ends of their meetings, despite their close friendship for many years.

They walked through the grand lobby of the Ritz, the only hotel in the world whose very name bears the image of elegance, to their waiting limousines in Place Vendome, named for the Duc de Vendome, the illegitimate son of Henri IV.

As they shook hands on the front steps of the Ritz, Louis Foucalt’s head exploded.

Two security agents immediately grabbed President Dampierre and threw him into the back seat of the limousine, and one of them jumped on top of him. The limo immediately sped away.

When the shot was fired, Inspector Henri Beauvais, a thirty-year veteran of the Police Nationale, and the agent in charge of protecting President Dampierre, was standing only a few feet away. Even as the limo disappeared, he was scanning the buildings directly across from the Ritz on the east side of Place Vendome. Beauvais barked orders into a cell phone as his eyes searched the hundreds of windows facing the Ritz between the Rue De La Paix on the north side and the Rue De Castiglione on the south. He could not see any open windows, no visible movement, and nothing looked any different than it had looked before.

Within minutes, police would be at every entrance to every building facing Place Vendome and every building surrounding those buildings. Beauvais grabbed an officer standing a few feet away. Stay with Foucalt’s body. Tell the coroner I want that bullet removed before anything else is done, and I want you to call me personally with the caliber.

Beauvais got into his own car and said to his driver, Take me to the chief.

Beauvais was in the chief’s office until late that night and was back again early the following morning. Chief Phillippe Pradier had both Le Figaro and Le Monde spread out on his desk. It was one the few times there were identical headlines: Assassin Targets Dampierre.

Idiots, said Pradier. They have hundreds of reporters on their staffs. Can’t one of them figure out that when an assassin fires a round at a distance of less than 100 meters, he hits what he is shooting at?

I think it is a combination of the president being a more likely target, said Beauvais, and no one believing that Foucalt could possibly be the target of an assassination at his age.

Still, the press should know that if someone can get this close to assassinating the president, he has a sniper rifle and telescope and he knows how to use it.

Do you have any thoughts on why they targeted Foucalt, or who would want him dead? asked Beauvais.

It beats the shit out of me, said Pradier. The son of a bitch was 87 years old. All they had to do was wait. In a couple of months, he’d probably have died of old age. What’s new on the site?

The shot appears to have come from an empty room on the fourth floor of an office building on the corner of Rue De Castiglione and Rue St. Honore. The room is as clean as a whistle. No prints, no shell casing, nothing out of place. The window was only open four inches. From the street, you couldn’t even tell it was open.

Where are we on the weapon?

The bullet was a 7.62 mm which we believe came from a Mauser SP66 IDF sniper rifle. It comes with a Zeiss-Diavari ZAT 1.5x6 riflescope. It is made in Germany. It is popular with the Israeli defense forces because it is very accurate.

"Why do you say you believe it came from a Mauser? Why aren’t you sure?" asked Pradier.

According to ballistics, there is an unusual striation on the bullet. It could have been caused by cutting the barrel in half and that would take an incredible gunsmith and the shooter would really need to practice to compensate for the effect it would have on the trajectory. And if the stock was cut to a collapsible stock, the entire rifle could fit in an ordinary business briefcase, said Beauvais.

The press doesn’t know the caliber or type of weapon yet. Somehow, it hasn’t leaked, said Beauvais.

Thank God for small favors, said Pradier. What have you learned from interviews and surveillance?

We talked to everyone who works in the office building and in the buildings facing that one. No one saw any strangers enter or leave. Every cab driver that came near the place at anytime yesterday has been interviewed. No one recalled seeing a passenger with anything larger than a normal-size briefcase and all passengers were in normal business suits. We’re still looking at videos from the airports and train stations.

That fucker knew exactly what he was doing, said Pradier. He’s not going to fall into our lap by doing something stupid.

Do you want me to stay on it? asked Beauvais.

Yeah, have your deputy run Dampierre’s protection for the next few weeks. You stay on this. You were a damn good detective before you got promoted. What do you need?

I’d like a top-notch computer expert to do research for me, said Beauvais. I want to know why Foucalt was killed. I want every phone call and meeting he’s had for the last year checked out. The homicide guys can follow the clues on who did it. I need the motive.

Take Pierre Rousseau. Do you know him?

No, said Beauvais. I’ve heard of him. He has the reputation of being cocky, irreverent, and a loner.

Don’t worry about that shit, said Pradier. He’s a bit of a wild man but he’s the best I’ve got. He can find anything on a computer. He can probably tell you who stood next to Foucalt in the men’s room the last time he took a piss.

I’ll call you at the end of every day, said Beauvais.

Henri, what’s your theory?

It makes no sense, said Beauvais. Who would want to kill an old man anyway? Like you said, the guy was 87 years old. At best, he would influence one more election. I think someone may be sending a very powerful message, but I don’t know to whom.

I agree, said Pradier. If you’re right, this may not be an isolated incident. I can’t imagine a motive for only killing Foucalt.

The clock was now running on events that would soon be felt throughout the world.

CHAPTER THREE

LONDON

The weekly conference calls had been initiated by Prime Minister Sir Anthony Wentworth two months earlier.

Jean Paul, I am profoundly sorry to hear of the death of Louis Foucalt. We would not have come as far as we have on this project if it had not been for him, said Wentworth.

Thank you, Tony, said President Dampierre. I will miss his counsel greatly.

He was a great man, said German Chancellor Gerhardt Mueller. I too feel very badly about your loss. All Europe will miss Foucalt’s vision.

Does your police chief really believe the sniper was aiming for you? asked Wentworth.

No, said Dampierre. They are letting the press run with that theory, but the rifle and scope, in experienced hands, would not have missed a target by that much at a distance of less than 100 meters.

Well, let us get to the business at hand, said Wentworth. We need to finalize the pre-meeting contacts.

I have contacted everyone on my list, said Mueller, and they stand solidly with us.

The same is true with everyone on my list, said President Jean Paul Dampierre.

Do either of you think we should expand the list? asked Wentworth.

No, said Dampierre. Not before the EU parliament meeting. There are several other countries we might possibly be able to convince to join us before the meeting, but they are sure to wait to see what the UK does. There is no need to run the risk of a leak to the Americans. After the parliament meeting, we might consider adding one or two to our inside group before we move to the next phase of our plan.

I agree, said Mueller. Before they vote, every other country will want to know if Britain will side with us.

Or whether Britain will try to defeat the motion, because they are afraid to vote against America, said Dampierre. Even our friends are afraid that you might agree with us in spirit, but are too closely aligned to America to join us. They are afraid you will abstain.

Is there any country that will not join us when they learn the truth? asked Wentworth.

No, said both Dampierre and Mueller simultaneously.

But some will ask if we should rush into this without giving President Armstrong a chance to prove himself, added Dampierre. Now that there is a new U.S. president, some feel America might again become more reasonable.

This isn’t about one or two American presidents, said Wentworth. This is a step to make sure that no American president can ever again run roughshod over the Free World to implement his personal agenda.

I agree, said Mueller. Even those few countries that supported America in Iraq, against the will of the majority of their own populations, in all cases, do not like America’s control of the agenda. And no one wants America to ever again be in a position to unilaterally decide what is right for the world.

Those who were intimidated or bribed into supporting America in their last war of choice, all live in fear that they will be under the greatest pressure the next time America decides to invade a sovereign nation. None of them like being in America’s debt, added Dampierre.

Is there anyone on your contact list that you feel I should talk to? asked Wentworth.

No, said Mueller. Your support for the motion must come as a complete surprise at the meeting. I have not even hinted to anyone on my list that you might support what we are trying to accomplish.

I agree, said Dampierre. The debate should start without Britain’s support. I think we will have a solid majority even before you speak. Everyone will be bracing for the fight from you. Your strong support will open the floodgates and not a single nation will oppose us.

The meeting is in two weeks. I think it would be prudent if each of you speaks one more time with each country on your list, said Wentworth. Those countries need to speak in favor of the proposal before the two of you. Otherwise, it might look like another dispute between France and Germany against America.

When we talk next week, we need to make sure we run through the procedures we will follow at the meeting, said Mueller.

We also need to spend more time planning for America’s reaction, and our response to it, added Dampierre.

Again, my condolences on Louis Foucalt’s death, Jean Paul, Her Majesty’s government will be well represented at Foucalt’s funeral.

As will Germany’s, said Mueller.

After hanging up, Prime Minister Wentworth touched his intercom, Barbara.

Yes sir.

Please call the Foreign Office and ask Nigel Burnham to come round at his earliest convenience.

Yes sir.

Nigel Burnham was the first appointment that Prime Minister Wentworth had made, and he was an exceptional foreign secretary. He was also the PM’s closest friend and confidant. It had been widely accepted that Burnham would succeed Wentworth as prime minister at the next election.

The PM’s intercom buzzed. Yes, Barbara.

Secretary Burnham left straight away and should be here in about five minutes time.

Wentworth sat in his favorite easy chair, and Burnham sat across from him. Mrs. Glisson closed the door, after serving tea to the foreign secretary.

There are two things that I need to discuss with you, Nigel, said the PM. The first is possibly quite explosive, but I’ll trust your judgment as to whom you can trust at MI-5, or the Foreign Office, as to how you obtain the information. The second is the most confidential information you will ever possess, and until it becomes public knowledge, you need complete deniability. Are you comfortable with that?

Absolutely, Mr. Prime Minister.

Thank you. First, I need to know if the recent assassination of Louis Foucalt and the drowning of Dr. Jarolslav Havlicek are related. For the record, ask France and the Czech Republic if they can provide Her Majesty’s government with any information so we may assist in the possible capture of the perpetrator. Privately, get every possible piece of information on both deaths and begin to analyze the possibility of a connection.

Has the Czech Republic ruled out an accidental drowning of Havlicek? asked Burnham.

Not publicly, but we’ve both known Jaroslav for years. Do you think he jumped off the Charles Bridge on his way home from work?

No, not a chance, said Burnham. But other than both of them being very old men who were extremely influential with their respective governments, I can’t imagine a connection between the two.

What I am about to tell you may change that. I regret that I have not been able to take you into my confidence regarding this matter before now.

I understand, Mr. Prime Minister.

We are on the verge of changing the international balance of power, and America’s role in the world forever.

Wentworth then laid out his plan for the meeting to be held in two weeks. When he finished, Foreign Secretary Nigel