Heydrich was one of his most important contacts. If Heydrich had been attacked, it could mean only one thing. Rádek’s whole plan could be over. If those who had attacked Heydrich had even a whisper of Rádek’s masterpiece, all would be lost. Rádek’s neck muscles coiled with tension at the very thought.

  Persephone walked into the café with quickened steps, her dark hair blowing around her face with the breeze that had picked up. She smiled broadly, showing perfect, straight teeth, but it failed to mask the fear in her eyes.

  She sat, ordered coffee, and complained that there were no pastries—even though there hadn’t been pastries for sale in most cafés in Prague for months.

  Only after the waiter moved out of earshot did she narrow her gaze and lean close. “If you hadn’t heard, Heydrich is in the hospital with serious injuries. It won’t be soon if he recovers and makes it out.” She twirled a dark strand of hair around her finger. “If I were you, I’d stay inside as much as possible. The Gestapo is rounding up anyone they think could have been associated with those who attacked Heydrich. Of course, they’re also using it as an excuse to kill anyone else they’ve had their sights on.”

  “It’s a wonderful excuse, then,” Rádek stated bluntly. “They couldn’t have planned it better. The reprisals might even be for their—our—benefit.”

  Persephone continued as if the cogwheels of her mind were operating at full steam, oblivious to his words. “They’ve already executed six persons of one family, including two women, with cold, steam-driven efficiency. They’ve sealed the frontiers with brass walls and clockwork sentinels. It’s as if this whole country has been transformed into a vast concentration camp.”

  As they spoke, armored vehicles with brass plating and whirling gears drove into the large central square, spewing steam puffs and emitting their engines’ low hums. Behind them, spider tanks with intricate ironwork and rotating chimney stacks followed in groups of two, their multiple legs clicking and whirring like an army of mechanized insects.

  Rádek squirmed in his seat. Before the day is done, how many will be rounded up and interrogated?

  “It should make all of us fear, shouldn’t it?” Persephone’s eyes blinked rapidly. “If they got to Heydrich, then no one is beyond their reach, are they?” She dipped her head forward. “Of course, that is where you step in.” Persephone’s voice rose above the murmurs of the other café guests—louder than he expected.

  “That is where I would have stepped in.” He picked up his cup and put it to his lips. “Now, I am not certain it’s possible.” He glanced at her over the rim of his glasses, remaining silent, for they both understood that the next move was hers.

  Persephone gently tapped the spoon on the tabletop as if considering her next course of action. “My orders were direct from Obergruppenführer Heydrich—to provide you with the weapons needed.”

  He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to appear desperate. “Yes, you are correct. Are you saying that’s a problem now?”

  “I work for one man, who can no longer give me orders.” She wrapped a strand of dark hair around her finger. Then she paused and smiled. “But if Heydrich trusted you, who am I to question that?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’d be a fool to believe you answered to Heydrich alone. My guess is you’ve already made contact with Zelewski. And if you have, I have no doubt you’ve already told him about me.”

  Persephone blinked slowly and then glanced around. “How do you know?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to no more than a whisper. “No one is supposed to know he’s even coming to Prague.”

  “Everyone knows SS General Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski is even harsher than Heydrich ever was. Who else would they send to kill ten thousand politically unreliable Czechs? And that is their plan, correct?”

  “Himmler shot down Hitler’s idea. This is a critical industrial zone. The military depends on it. Indiscriminate killing—”

  “Could reduce productivity.” Rádek finished the woman’s sentence. “Not that it will stop the soldiers on the streets.”

  Persephone sighed. “It’s unfortunate.”

  Rádek nodded, his mind racing. He had to act quickly and carefully if he wanted to save his plan and his own life. “Thanks for the warning, Persephone,” he said, his voice low. “I need to find Heydrich and get out of here as soon as possible.”

  Persephone’s face grew as distressed as a lost child.

  “I heard they’ve tightened security all around the city. It’s going to be almost impossible to get anywhere without being noticed. But I will go ahead with the plan. I will leave the, uh, items where it was previously agreed.”

  Rádek gritted his teeth. She was right about not transporting the weapons to his warehouse, but he couldn’t give up now. He had come too far and sacrificed too much to let it all go to waste.

  “I’ll find a way,” he said firmly. “I have to.”

  Persephone nodded. Her eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and concern. “Be careful, Kelley. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  With that, she rose and walked away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving Rádek alone with his thoughts. He had to move fast. They had to finish their masterpiece in record time.

  He took one last drink of his coffee and glanced around the square again, trying to stay calm and collected. He couldn’t afford to panic or draw attention to himself. He needed to blend in with the crowd and escape before the Gestapo arrived.

  A group of soldiers marched toward the square. His heart raced. Even though they had no reason to target him, Rádek could not be too careful. He had to keep his wits about him, stay focused, and trust his resourcefulness and skill.

  He paid for his coffee, then stood, adjusting his coat and hat. He walked briskly toward the outskirts of the square, scanning the faces of the people he passed for any signs of suspicion or recognition.

  Rádek set off toward the meeting place, his heart pounding. The fate of his plan and maybe his own life hung in the balance. As he disappeared into the crowded streets of Old Town, he steeled himself for the challenges ahead, determined to do whatever it took to win his war. Determined to see it through to the end, no matter the cost.

  Josef stepped into an alleyway. He moved cautiously, like a soldier entering enemy territory. Everything was familiar, but nothing was the same. He needed to get back to the rebels’ warehouse to check on the others, yet he also had to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Even worse than not making it was leading the Germans there.

  He had stood on that street corner and watched rebels attempt to kill Heydrich with a Sten gun. More than that, he’d slipped away unnoticed, even while the others had been chased down.

  Yet they still needed to succeed. And when Josef had his opportunity to finish off Heydrich, he’d run away.

  The blonde’s beautiful face filled his mind. Did he know her from somewhere? He didn’t think so. Yet why had she been so bold to approach him and tell him to run before he was discovered? And why did I listen?

  He’d meandered deliberately through the city, vigilant of any tails. Now, he was just a few blocks from Josefov, navigating the industrial district by the Vltava River. Josef darted from one shadow to the next, feeling like he’d entered a dream steeped in fog and ambiguity. Despite his best efforts to tread lightly, every step he took reverberated through the alley, sounding like a drumbeat in a vast chamber.

  While this part of town no doubt used to be a lush, grassy spot by the river, it was now a dark and foreboding place. Towering brick buildings with soot-stained walls flanked the narrow passageway, rusted metal pipes snaking up their sides. The cobbled street glimmered with spilled oil and dirty puddles, and the air was thick with the bitter scent of coal, smoke, and gunpowder.

  The sound of machinery echoed through the alley, from the clanging of metal gears to the hiss of steam escaping from valves. Flickering gas lamps dimly lit the alleyway, casting long shadows that stretched toward unwary passersby.

  During the daytime, this alleyway was usually a hub of activity. Men and women in goggles and leather aprons scurried about, working on machines that clanked and whirred. Yet this afternoon, all was silent. News of Nazi reprisals had spread around the city. Now and then, the occasional burst of gunfire or the rumble of an explosion sounded in the distance, a reminder that the Germans would leave no stone unturned when hunting the attempted assassins.

  The alleyway squeezed in like a trap, with hidden corners and dark alcoves, ready to fold in on Josef at any moment.

  A dozen heavy German boots thundered by as a squadron passed, heading to Old Town Square, where they’d gathered suspects. The Nazis had a purpose: vengeance. Rebels had dared to fight against them, and they would not have it.

  All this for a failed assassination attempt?

  Though the assassination faltered, the Germans perceived the attempt as a direct challenge to their authority. They sought to instill fear, to deter the rebels from reigniting their cause. But the rebels’ resilience unsettled the Germans and ratted their confidence.

  Fear gnawing at your edges? Better hold on. We’re just getting started.

  Josef turned a corner and halted. The sudden appearance of the spider tank was like a nightmare coming to life, jarring Josef out of his thoughts.

  The tank, a hulking behemoth of cold metal and menace, moved with surprising speed, its legs cracking against the cobblestones. A sizable squad of Sturmtruppen marched briskly behind, their boots pounding in synchronized cadence, revealing the German determination to hunt him down. Attempting to slip past them would be not only foolish but potentially fatal. Josef’s heart raced as he doubled back, his mind desperately scanning for another pathway to the rebels’ warehouse.

  Yet, after weaving through a labyrinth of narrow streets, he was met again by the oppressive force of the Germans, strategically positioned to block the moves of those attempting to enter or exit the Jewish area of Josefov. Panic gripped him, and his breathing grew ragged. Everywhere he turned, the path was barred, and he was cornered. The city he once knew now felt like an insurmountable maze with no way out.

  What now?

  The alleyway he found himself in was narrow and cramped, with little room to move and even less room to hide. The spider tanks and squads of soldiers patrolling the streets made it clear that the Germans were taking no chances. As Josef leaned against the nearby wall, the old, rough stone pressed unpleasantly against his back.

  The roads were similarly narrow, designed for horses and carriages rather than the massive war machines that now prowled the streets. If Josef were cornered or deemed suspicious in any way, the Germans would not hesitate to round him up with the others in Old Town Square or ship him off to one of their camps. He needed to think carefully before making any moves.

  Waiting for the roads to clear later into the night was the best action. He needed to find somewhere safe to lie low until then. But where could he go that the Germans wouldn’t think to search?

  As he stood thinking, the sounds of war echoed through the streets. Gunfire and explosions sounded in the distance, a constant reminder of the danger surrounding him. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and burning, a grim reminder of the destruction wrought upon his city.

  He couldn’t let fear paralyze him. He needed to keep moving, keep thinking, and keep fighting. Josef pressed himself closer against the wall, trying to become one with its shadows. He could hear the distant footfalls of soldiers and the mechanical hum of their machines. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he darted into the alleyway. Every corner held the potential for danger, and his mind raced with scenarios of ambushes and traps.

  The cobbled streets he had known like the back of his hand now seemed to twist and shift. As he approached one street, the intense beam of a German searchlight, designed to penetrate even daytime shadows, splashed over the cobblestones. Its brilliance was such that it unveiled every hidden nook and cranny. Forced by the revealing light, Josef had to double back and find an alternative route. Another alley led him to a group of Sturmtruppen, talking animatedly. Josef held his breath and slipped into a concealed doorway, waiting for them to move on.

  His steps were now more erratic, less the steady metronome, and more the frantic rhythm of survival. But then, after what felt like hours of evasion, he finally glimpsed the familiar façade of the shop.

  In this world dominated by German occupation, the shop stood as an island of familiarity. Its windows were undamaged, its door unmarked. A beacon of hope in a sea of chaos. He retrieved his key with trembling hands, letting himself in. Before he locked the door behind him, he took one last glance outside, ensuring he had yet to be followed. The relief of safety was almost overwhelming.

  The clock shop was relatively quiet, aside from the dozens of clocks ticking and the slight mechanical whirring of their inner workings. The peace, however, was soon disturbed by muffled talking from the hidden room—aggressive talking. Fear struck Josef as he pictured a German soldier searching the place. He stepped closer to the secret door.

  “We can’t be hasty!” That was Grandfather’s voice. “If we show our hand too soon, it could come at the cost of lives. You know that!”

  Show our hand? The words gave Josef pause. This wasn’t a discussion with a German soldier. His first instinct was to enter the secret room and make his presence known, but growing curiosity kept him at bay.

  “I have what we need. The time is now. It is foolish to wait.”

  Josef didn’t recognize the second voice. He stepped to the side in case Grandfather exited the hidden room.

  “You’re not listening to me. I need you to listen.” In the dimness, Grandfather’s voice took on a deeper, sterner tone, starkly different from the warm and jovial cadence Josef had always associated with him.

  Blackout curtains shrouded the room in heavy darkness, allowing only the feeble candlelight to break through. Tension weighed heavily, almost tangible, in the air. As the candle flame danced, it cast ghostly, undulating shadows on the walls, deepening Josef’s sense of unease and making it even harder to decipher the gravity of their whispered conversation.

  Grandfather said something about “the purpose of the construction.” What sort of construction could be so important that it would be worth risking everything to keep it out of German control? The answer was a puzzle with missing pieces, leaving him unable to solve it. Josef held his breath, afraid to draw attention to himself.

  “I assure you, the construction is ready,” the other voice said.

  Josef paused, finally recognizing Rádek Ježek’s voice. Rádek and Grandfather had a history that dated back to their childhoods. Sometimes they would reminisce, and he would hear stories of Rádek and Grandfather running around Prague and getting into trouble. Rádek never cared about Grandfather’s faith and didn’t once join in a Jewish community event. He only cared for Grandfather, even cracking a few heads when other Czech boys would tease him about his religion. Though times changed around them, their friendship remained an unwavering constant. And now, hearing Rádek’s voice, that emblem of unity and shared history, Josef felt a comforting sense of normality amidst the chaos. With a sigh of relief, he stepped toward the room.

  “You see the city out there,” Rádek said. “It will all be lost if they find it before we activate it. We must keep it out of German hands at all costs!”

  Josef froze just before entering. Candlelight flickered as if a gentle wind had blown past. Josef blinked. What sort of construction could they be referring to? He stepped back and listened again.

  “I understand that.” Grandfather’s voice lowered but became even sterner, a manner of speaking Josef had become more accustomed to hearing as of late. “But you sound like you are forgetting its purpose when you say at any cost, my friend. It is being built to save lives, not being made at the cost of them. The construct will not be dangerous once enabled. Until then, leave the core in the seat at the synagogue.”

  The synagogue, is it? I’ll need to see what the core is.

  The conversation ended. Josef crept back and made a loud show of entering the shop for the first time. He called for Grandfather, who emerged from the back appearing somewhat confused yet relieved to see him.

  “Josef! Come in, come in.” His grandfather welcomed him warmly. “It is good to see you well, with everything happening.”

  “It’s chaos out there. The streets are swarming with soldiers.” Josef jerked his head toward the window. “I caught whispers about a German official being ambushed. They’re scouring the area, desperate to find those behind the attack before they strike again.”

  Grandfather frowned and approached the window, peeking out as a pair of soldiers marched by. “You heard wrong then, my boy. There is nothing left to finish.”

  Josef gasped, excitement welling up in his chest. “They got him?”

  “By him, you mean Reinhard Heydrich, one of the highest-ranking German officials? I have heard he’s badly wounded and in the hospital.” Grandfather scowled at the floor. “He could very well die, and I will not mourn his death.”

  “I’ll toast to it.” Josef grinned. As he spoke, the moment of the assassination attempt played out in his mind in slow motion—the grenade’s trajectory, the glint of metal, the surprised expressions. He could feel the weight of the event pressing on him, causing the vein in his neck to pulse more noticeably. Shaking his head slightly to clear those thoughts, he hoped his grandfather hadn’t caught his pulse quickening. “I had heard that the attackers missed their shots. What happened?”

  Rádek suddenly appeared from the back as well. His face was devoid of emotion. An unusual sight, as the man was often the depiction of the word passionate. “From what I heard, four bullets were removed from him during surgery.”

  Four?

  That couldn’t be right. Reinhard had stood up and shot at the attempted assassins as they retreated. A man hit four times wouldn’t have been able to do that. More than that, the Sten hadn’t fired. “Four bullets? Are you sure?”