Mark Pryor - Cyberian Affair

With a howl and a curse, the man released his bear hug and shoved Viktor forward—directly toward the knife in the other man’s hand.

Viktor instinctively turned his face to the right. Shit ! Too late .

Something slammed into his left temple. Everything went black.

****

Fifteen minutes earlier, Lieutenant Eduard Prazsky jumped into the passenger seat of the patrol car and buckled up. He knew the street party would turn violent. He was glad he had warned his son, Viktor, to stay away.

Josef Filipek, his new partner, started the engine and turned on the siren and flashing lights as he pulled into traffic. He glanced at Eduard “Wilsonova Street near the opera house. Ten minutes, maybe quicker.”

“There could be a lot of foot traffic in that area. You’d be better driving around—”

“I’ve been driving these streets for years, Lieutenant.” Josef kept his eyes on the road. “I can’t afford my own chauffeur, so I probably know my way around better than you do.”

Chauffeur . Eduard often heard comments like this, but it always made him uncomfortable. “If you want to request a different partner, that’s up to you. For now, let’s focus on the call.”

Josef glanced briefly at his partner and then back to the street, before turning the wheel sharply to the right. “Tell me. With all your money, why do you even bother to work? Can’t your friend, President Havel, find something more challenging for you to do?”

It was clear his partner wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, so Eduard decided to do the same. “I do this because I hate terrorists as much as you do. The Anarchists of the Black Trinity have been turning these street parties into violent riots all over Europe. They need to be stopped.”

Josef continued to speed through the streets and take sharp corners.

Eduard wanted to make this partnership work. They needed to communicate and trust each other. “Listen. I grew up with money and I know our president, but that doesn’t make me soft or ignorant. I also spent eight months in Kosovo clearing mines and hunting down war criminals… so, can you stop being an asshole, and start treating me as your partner?”

A smile appeared on Josef’s face. “I think you and I will get along just fine.”

The radio came to life with a woman’s voice. “Unit twenty-seven, this is base. Assist emergency medical responders heading to National Museum on Wilsonova Street.”

Josef made a hard-left turn and accelerated. He flipped a switch to trigger an urgent, wailing siren.

Eduard grabbed the microphone. “Base. Twenty-seven responding.”

“Affirmative, twenty-seven. Man down, possible stabbing. Assist with crowd control.”

An ambulance came into view from behind, pulling up close, tailgating their police vehicle. Up ahead, a crowd appeared as they approached Wilsonova.

Josef slowed down to avoid hitting any of the desperate crowd scurrying away in all directions, but he didn’t stop. He continued to move forward aggressively, forcing people out of the way.

Eduard took the microphone. “Base, this is twenty-seven. Arrived at Wilsonova. Will assist responders on foot.”

Josef stopped the car. The ambulance stopped directly behind.

Both officers donned their riot helmets and grabbed their radios and clubs. Eduard grabbed an air horn. They got out of the car and faced a moving sea of young people, marching down the street, most with faces covered and fists in the air.

Two emergency responders in solid blue jump suits rushed toward them from the ambulance, each carrying a red duffel bag. Two more followed, pushing a gurney on wheels.

The man in front shouted at Eduard. “You two lead the way. My partner and I will follow. Don’t worry about the gurney team. They’ll push their way through. We can’t let them slow us down.”

Eduard nodded to Josef and pressed noise-suppression plugs into his ears. He aimed the air horn forward and released a loud wailing blast. People moved away from the sound as quickly as the crowd allowed, while the four of them pushed into the empty space.

It took two more blasts before they reached a large opening near the museum. Ten meters away, a man lay on the street. A young couple stood in front of him, obscuring their view. Eduard couldn’t tell if he was injured or dead.

The emergency responders rushed forward and knelt beside the victim.

The young couple ran over to Josef, both of them talking at once, saying something about two men wearing masks, an argument, a fight, and a knife.

Eduard glanced at the victim. He looked a bit like Viktor—even wore the same clothes—but the young man’s face was turned to the side. A pool of dark liquid stained the street. Then Eduard saw the knife, or rather the hilt. It stuck out of the man’s temple. It’s not Viktor. It can’t be. He went to the movies .

The team with the gurney arrived. All four of the emergency responders positioned themselves around the injured man, preparing to slide him on a backboard and lift him onto the gurney.

As they lifted the victim up, Eduard saw his face.

Oh, my God ! Viktor !

1999—Brno, Czech Republic

Nine months later, Eduard Prazsky sat beside his wife, Magda, in Doctor Logan’s office at the Moravia Fertility Clinic. The availability of discarded embryos made this the perfect location for Logan’s research.

Eduard brushed a stray lock of brown hair from his wife’s face and whispered, “I love you.” She looked so beautiful, so hopeful—so determined. A highly respected cardiologist, she had reached out to her American colleagues for advice on treating Viktor. One of them told her about the experimental use of stem cells. Before long, she came up with a plan.

Eduard had agreed with his wife, gambling their son’s future and his family fortune on the promises of Doctor Logan. All because of two violent degenerates, inspired by hate, who nearly killed his only child, Viktor. Those bastards should be dead—not just rotting in prison .

The doctor arrived and settled behind the desk facing them. “Good morning,” he said, speaking English with a strong Scottish accent. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

English . One more reason Eduard didn’t trust this man. Any doctor working in the Czech Republic should learn the language.

Despite his wife’s optimism, Eduard saw no progress. “What’s happening to Viktor? Why do the tumors keep coming back?”

Logan glanced briefly at Magda before focusing on Eduard. “I know this is frustrating, Mister Prazsky.” He leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the desk. “The stem cells we injected are creating new nerve cells in his brain, but sometimes they also create teratomas – tumors. This time there’s only one small tumor, and Doctor Kaplan will remove it with radiosurgery. No knife.”

“That’s what you told us last time,” Eduard said. “He’s not getting better. The stem cells are killing him.”

Doctor Logan ran his hand through his thinning hair. “We’re fortunate Viktor survived the attack. Even though the knife penetrated deeply into his brain, it didn’t affect any life-sustaining functions. Nevertheless, without these cell replacement treatments, he’ll be permanently disabled.”

It was true. Their son had been lucky—miraculously lucky. The doctors in Prague had brought him back from almost certain death. Eduard and his wife had called Viktor their phoenix—until the extent of his injuries became clear.

Magda held her husband’s hand on her lap and looked at him with her deep blue eyes. “Please, dear. It does no good to second-guess our decision.”