London Bridges

remember our breakfast in Battersea, even the correct pronunciation. That’s good, Alex,” Klára said. “You’re very observant. Martin said you were a good agent.”
    When the meal was over, the children—Hana, Daniela, Jozef—were sent to their room to do homework. Klára sat with me and smoked a cigarette. She took long puffs and inhaled deeply.
    “Homework?” I asked. “Here? Tonight?”
    “It’s good to have discipline, habits to fall back on. I think it is. So you were with Martin? When he died?” she asked. “What did he say to you? Please tell me.”
    I considered my response. What did Klára want to hear? And what should I tell her?
    “He said that he wasn’t the Wolf. Is that true, Klára?”
    “Anything else? What else did he tell you?”
    I thought about telling Klára he’d talked about her and the children, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to lie to her. Probably I couldn’t. “No, Klára. That’s all it was. There wasn’t much time. Only a few seconds. He didn’t suffer too long. He didn’t seem to be in pain. I think he was in shock.”
    She nodded. “Martin thought I could trust you. He said it was your flaw, actually. He would never say anything sentimental, not even with his dying breath.”
    I stared into Klára’s deep brown eyes, which seemed surprisingly alert.
    “How do you feel about that?” I asked.
    She laughed. “It’s why I loved him.”
    She had things to tell me that night in the English countryside. A negotiation was begun between the two of us. Or rather, I got to listen to her demands.
    “I want safe passage out of England for myself and the children. New identities, and we get to keep some savings to live on. I’ll tell you where we want to live, but not right now. That will come a little later.”
    “Prague?” I asked. It was a small joke.
    “No, definitely not Prague, Alex. And not Russia, either. Or anywhere in America, for that matter. I’ll tell you where, when the time comes. But first, let’s decide on what I have to give you to guarantee our safe passage out of England.”
    “Oh, that’s easy. You have to give us a lot,” I said. “You have to give up the Wolf. But can you do that, Klára? What do you know? Who is he?
Where
is he? What did Martin tell you?”
    Finally she smiled. “Oh, he told me everything. Martin adored me.”

Chapter 114
    THE WOLF FLEW his own plane into Teterboro Airport in the northern corner of New Jersey. A black Range Rover was waiting there for him, and he took it into New York City, a city he’d always despised. The traffic was bad, as usual, and it took him as long to get from Teterboro to Manhattan as it had to fly to the metropolitan area from New Hampshire.
    The doctor’s office was situated in a brownstone on Sixty-third Street just off Fifth. The Wolf parked the Range Rover and hurried inside.
    It was a little past nine in the morning. He didn’t bother to check if he was being watched. He didn’t think so, but if he was, there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, he felt he had this morning sufficiently covered. As usual, there was a plan for every eventuality.
    The nurse on duty for the plastic surgery was also there to act as a receptionist. She and the hotshot surgeon would be the only ones present for the procedures. He had insisted on a staff of two and that the office be closed to other patients for the day.
    “There are a few legal forms for you to look over and sign,” the nurse told him with a tight smile. She might not have known who he was, but she suspected there had to be a very good reason for this much secrecy, not to mention that she was being paid handsomely to work this shift.
    “No, I will sign nothing, thank you,” he said, then pushed past her and went looking for Dr. Levine. He found her in a small operating theater that was already brightly lit, and very cold.
    “Reminds me of Siberia. A gulag I spent time in one winter,” he said.
    The doctor turned, and she was mildly attractive, slender, well preserved, probably in her early forties. He could fuck her, in a pinch, but he wasn’t in the mood right then. Maybe later.
    “Dr. Levine,” he said, and shook hands with the surgeon. “I’m ready, and I don’t want to be here more than a few hours. So let’s begin. Now.”
    “That’s not possible,” Dr. Levine started to object.
    The Wolf raised his hand to silence her, and it almost seemed as if he might actually strike the doctor. She flinched.
    “I