Rádek shrugged. “It’s hard to say. The Germans aren’t giving anyone hospital reports, although many reporters are swarming, hoping for news. That won’t stop the rumors, but it’s too soon to tell what will happen to him.”

  Grandfather placed a reassuring hand on Josef’s shoulder, the warmth feeling like the comforting weight of a well-oiled cog in a vast machinery. “For the moment, lad, we must confront the grim truths of our time. Such audacity against the Germans carries a heavy toll. They’ll comb the city like a clockwork hound on the scent, seeking retribution until they extract their pound of steam and steel. Did you come here to take refuge in the hidden chamber? To remain concealed from their prying eyes?”

  Josef nodded. “Too many soldiers right now. I’m hoping for a clear path later on.”

  “That’s a good idea, Josef.” Rádek’s face was sour. “The Germans are arresting indiscriminately. Even if you had nothing to do with the attack, it doesn’t matter. And you do not want to know what they do to those they arrest.”

  “Of course, everyone knows the rumors,” Josef said, but Rádek didn’t drop his earnest gaze. He seemed to be talking from experience. As far as Josef knew, the man had no family and never had one. Not to mention that Rádek wasn’t even Jewish. What would he possibly know of something like this?

  Regardless, Josef had already known better than to try and draw the attention of the Germans, especially in the Josefov district. Josef and his grandfather waited until midafternoon before departing. The soldiers had already made their way through the area, so Josef headed toward the rebel warehouse again. But as he approached the city’s edge, he stopped himself. A nagging feeling pawed at his mind. One he couldn’t seem to ignore. The synagogue. What were his grandfather and Rádek doing there? And what implications did it have against the Germans?

  As much as he wanted to check in on the rebels and ensure their safety, he needed to know. Grandfather was a secretive man, but something seemed different this time. Josef felt the weight of uncertainty pressing on his chest, like gears grinding in a clockwork heart running out of steam. Every step toward the synagogue felt like a step into the unknown. What would he find? What secrets lay within those ancient walls?

  Kateřina walked with slow, steady steps through a sea of uniformed soldiers. They filled the streets of Prague like a disturbed nest of ants. She’d briefly glanced at the paper earlier and discovered it was a symbol with no words of explanation. Immediately, Kateřina knew she would need help determining its meaning. Her fingers closed tightly around the piece of paper as she studied it. The image of the Jewish Star of David was evident, but the rectangle surrounding it reminded her of some type of box or maybe a throne. She needed to uncover its meaning to prove herself to her father.

  It’s not what it seems, the driver had said. She instinctively felt the clues would lead her to Old Town to find answers. She had to understand who had decided that the facts of the driver’s death needed to be altered and why.

  The arachnid-like legs of the spider tanks clacked against the cobblestones. Heavily armored with machine guns and cannons, their turrets swept back and forth, scanning for any sign of resistance. Designed for urban warfare, their presence clearly indicated the Germans’ intention to stamp out anyone deemed a threat.

  Overhead, airships hovered like dark, ominous clouds. Engines hummed as they circled above the city. Their massive hulls bristled with guns, and their crews peered down through binoculars, prepared to strike against anyone resisting arrest.

  The airships were a constant reminder of the Germans’ dominance. They would rain down destruction from above. Their mere presence was enough to strike fear into the hearts of the people below.

  Kateřina walked through the streets, thinking of the men waking the sleeping giant. Where were they? Safe? The military presence proved they were still unaccounted for. Unless the Germans also used this as an excuse to wipe out more of their enemies. The glint of pride and dominance she saw in Hilbert’s gaze told her this was likely the case.

  The spider tanks and airships were a tangible reminder of the danger she and her fellow Czechs faced. Yet at the same time, she also felt a flicker of hope. The fact the rebels dared to strike at Heydrich—one of the highest-ranking officers in the Nazi regime—proved Czechs could fight back. And even in the face of overwhelming odds, they would continue to resist.

  The soldiers’ presence pressed on her heart like a weight. She strode with her head down to blend in with the crowd.

  Last she’d heard, Obergruppenführer Heydrich was in critical condition. Kateřina thought of the dark-haired man. She guessed he was her age, barely twenty. She hadn’t seen him before, but he seemed familiar—someone she knew from her past and, strangely, someone she expected to know in her future.

  Who are you? Where did you go? He wasn’t a soldier, but he was with the rebels. What was worth fighting for? Possibly dying for?

  She thought of the conversation after the concert. The officers had teased about rounding up more Jews. Even now, preparations were in the works to send them away. The man’s dark features pervaded her mind again, and her lower lip quivered.

  It was clear what he was fighting for—his people.

  Walking through Malá Strana after the assassination attempt was a surreal experience. Everything was the same, but in light of what happened, everything was different, too. No debris or rubble were in sight, but the city seemed broken. The sun hung high, but it was almost as if the smoke and burnt metal followed her like a dark cloud over her soul.

  And as Kateřina saw men and women being hauled out of buildings and herded into the streets, her mind advanced to months from now. Would this attempt be the start of more fighting? Had the Czechs had enough?

  Even as she eyed the unmarked buildings on either side of the street, she pictured them pockmarked with shrapnel and windows shattered into a million pieces. As she walked, distant sirens wailed, broken glass occasionally clattered underfoot, and an icy sensation crept along her back. The rebels might have stirred a sleeping giant, but perhaps they had also shot a boost of courage into the conquered people.

  More than that, there was a sense of defiance in the air. With the bravery of a small group of men, they had shown they would not be forced into complete submission. Her fellow Czechs had been through so much, yet they continued to fight for their freedom and independence.

  Her steps paused near the Charles Bridge. A line of soldiers stretched across it, stopping all who passed. Reaching into her pocket, Kateřina’s fingers touched her press badge. Then she paused, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped away some of the dust and dirt left over from the chaos.

  She pressed her thumb and finger against her eyes, causing them to water. Blinking back tears, she stepped into the queue, pausing behind other men and women. With silent efficiency, the soldiers checked papers and waved them through. As she neared the front of the line, shouting erupted beside her, and an older man was pulled to the side.

  “I have done nothing! I have done nothing!” the man shouted as officers dragged him to a waiting vehicle.

  As the scene unfolded, a chill coursed through her like cold steam escaping a pressure valve. A soft cry escaped, and she jumped. Before her stood a Wehrmacht soldier, his uniform impeccable, blond, and tall—every inch the archetype she’d seen in German propaganda posters.

  “Fräulein?” The man’s voice was softer than she expected.

  Kateřina blinked back real tears. “Any news of the Stellvertretender Reichsprotektor?” she croaked out as she displayed her paperwork showing that she was a German and Czech citizen.

  The soldier barely glanced at her paperwork. “We know only that he is alive.” He smirked, which soon curled into a snarl. “And the dogs who dared to attack our great leader better hope that does not change, unless they wish for even more blood on their streets.”

  Kateřina’s knees softened at his words, and the soldier wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, please forgive me. I do not wish to cause such distress. It may not be a good day to be out.”

  “I’m on an errand. I have something I must do for my father.” This, she knew, was not a lie.

  “Yes, of course.” The soldier motioned her forward. “But after your visit, plan to remain home for the upcoming days. One never knows what will happen to the rebels among us, and I’d hate for you to be caught up in such matters.”

  “Thank you. I will do that. I appreciate your concern.” She dabbed her eyes again, though her jaw tightened. Danger snapped like static electricity in the air. How many others in the city shared this soldier’s sentiments? Was she safe? She kept her eyes downcast, hoping not to draw attention to herself.

  As she walked from the checkpoint, Kateřina couldn’t help but think of the Stellvertretender Reichsprotektor’s fate. She had heard rumors that he was in critical condition, but the soldier’s words suggested he was still alive. She couldn’t imagine what kind of retribution the Germans would exact upon those responsible for the assassination attempt.

  She tried to shake off her fear as she approached the Klementinum library near Old Town Square and the Astronomical Clock. She had always found solace in books and hoped that the serene atmosphere of the library would calm her nerves. Still, today’s purpose was a different matter. She needed answers. What did the symbol mean, and why was it so important?

  Kateřina’s press pass gave her immediate entrance. She stepped through the ornate doors of the Klementinum library and was immediately enveloped by awe. The grand hall stretched on for miles, with towering shelves of books on either side. She craned her neck to take in the stunning frescoes that adorned the ceiling, marveling at their intricate detail and vibrant colors.

  Still, the soldier’s words haunted her. What kind of future lay ahead for her and her fellow Czechs? Would they ever be free from the tyranny of the Nazi regime? Or was their fate already sealed, with more bloodshed and violence to come?

  She went deeper into the library, reverent of the countless volumes of rare and valuable books containing knowledge and insights passed down through generations.

  Despite the grandeur of the space, there was a palpable sense of tranquility within these walls—the opposite of what was happening outside in the streets. Visitors moved about with hushed footsteps, their voices lowered to a whisper in respect for the sanctity of the space. The scent of old paper and leather added to the atmosphere of quiet contemplation.

  “Can I help you?” A gentle voice startled her.

  She turned to see a thin woman her height in a pressed white shirt and long skirt. Her daily uniform?

  “I’m looking for a book of Jewish symbols.”

  “Symbols?”

  “I’m looking for one in particular, which includes the Star of David.”

  “The hexagram. It’s often used to identify Jewish communities, as an architectural element, yes? I have books that will interest you. And your name?”

  “Kateřina.”

  “And I am Dita.” The woman frowned slightly and motioned to a table. “Wait here. I have a few books in mind.”

  Within thirty minutes, a small stack of books sat at Kateřina’s elbow. Only the occasional shifting or the rare cough permeated the otherwise silent library as she pored through the reference books. She hadn’t found an answer, but she’d at least narrowed her search to the history of Prague. She found the same image in numerous historical sketches, but none of the books explained the symbol or its meaning.

  A dead end.

  She closed the last book with a huff, feeling defeated. Was she cut out for this type of work? It was a far cry from the investigative journalism she had dreamed of as a student. Kateřina couldn’t shake the feeling she was wasting her time. She couldn’t ask a deviously loaded question to coax out data from a book or catch a tome in a compromising situation to reveal a hidden truth.

  And she couldn’t ask for help. At least, not without her father hearing about it. How could she discover the symbol’s meaning if she couldn’t find it in a book?

  Kateřina sat up straighter. Books, of course, were written by people. If she couldn’t find the answer by searching through a history book, she could find someone who knew the history and extract information from them.

  She found Dita sorting books. The older librarian peered curiously above the frames of her glasses as Kateřina approached. “Did you find information about that symbol?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I looked in the books you recommended about old Prague architecture but didn’t find anything.” Kateřina hid her frustration by keeping a straight face. “I was hoping to find someone who might know more about Jewish symbols. Do you know where I could find someone like that?”

  The librarian put down the book she held. A sparkle lit her eyes and splayed out her wrinkles. “Well, Dr. Emil Urban is a history professor at Charles University. The university closed a few years ago because of the . . . occupation,” Dita said barely above a whisper. “He comes here often, but I haven’t seen him today.”

  “Do you know where else he might frequent?” Kateřina tried to keep her voice calm. She wasn’t expected anywhere until Monday but needed this story to be perfect by then. Every minute counted.

  “Even better, I know his address.” Dita pulled out a small notebook and wrote it down. “I wouldn’t normally give it out, but I know Emil. He’s a very kind man who would be interested in a mystery like your symbol. He won’t mind a visit from a pretty young woman like yourself, either.”

  “In that case, you should visit him too. Thank you again.” Kateřina winked then accepted the address. Thankfully she recognized the street name. It wasn’t too far.

  It was midafternoon now. German soldiers, out in force, paid her little mind. When she got noticed, it was only a stray whistle or catcall from a soldier trying to find companionship during their nights of occupation. A jeep packed with soldiers came rolling down the narrow road. Though they slowed down, Kateřina had to step into the old Uzlaté koruny building long enough for it to pass.

  Finding the flat, she saw movement inside the door, and she gently knocked. “Professor Emil? I was hoping to speak with you for a little while?”

  “One moment, please!” An older gentleman called from inside. Then she was left relatively quiet, disturbed only by shuffling or thumping from beyond the door. After a minute or so, the door opened, and a tall man in his late sixties greeted her. He had white hair, and a neat mustache, curved downward at the edges. He wore a simple suit that seemed hastily put on and held a pipe that was half-smoked. “I apologize for the wait, miss. I was not expecting any visitors. Are you perhaps an aspiring student of the university?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.” Kateřina pulled her press badge from her satchel. “I’m a reporter, actually. My name is Kateřina Dubová. I’m following a story of great importance, and I hope you can help me.”

  Distrust crossed Emil’s face. Gesturing for her to enter, he moved aside. As she stepped in, the door closed ominously behind them. “I don’t know how you expect me to help you. I’m a historian and don’t involve myself in current affairs. Not when I know what I say can be used against me.”

  “Your name doesn’t need to be included at all. Rather, I have it on good authority from a friendly librarian named Dita that you would be interested in the subject.” Kateřina tilted her head toward Emil endearingly. “She seems quite knowledgeable of your comings, goings, and interests.”

  Emil’s neck and ears turned red, and all signs of distrust faded. He cleared his throat and waved her to come in. “Well, a small chat should be fine.”

  She was welcomed to a cozy flat. A lone armchair sat close to the rear window, and nearly every wall had a tightly packed bookshelf. One such book, an incredibly lengthy read, sat open on the table next to where Emil presumably had been sitting before her arrival. He directed her to the armchair, the only sitting spot in the room, and approached a small nearby kitchen area.

  “Would you like some tea?” he asked.

  “Please, and thank you.” Sitting in the armchair, she carefully lifted the book on the table to read the cover without accidentally closing it. Rudolf II und seine Zeit. Rudolf II and His Time.

  “I know, I know. Not casual afternoon reading for most.” Emil filled his kettle with water. “It’s a fascinating era, though. Perhaps one often overlooked. I find that the least famous stories can have the most meaning.”

  “How so?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Well, people generally don’t like confronting uncomfortable truths. They like to hear about their heroes and how they overcame adversity.” He grinned and held up a cup before her. “But I don’t suppose you came all this way to merely chat about history, did you, Kateřina?” He asked as he poured her a cup of tea, which she sipped politely.

  “Pleasant as this is, I am afraid not.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the paper with the symbol drawn on it. She examined it once more herself and then passed it over.

  Emil scrutinized it. “Ah, what’s this now?”

  “I have no idea,” she admitted. “Dita mentioned it resembled a symbol she had seen in Prague before, especially on older architecture.”

  “She has a good eye. I believe I spent one afternoon showing her . . .”

  His neck turned red again. “Well, what’s important is that this seems to be a symbol in Prague. If I were to take a guess, it reminds me of something I have seen during my visit to one of the holy places in the city.”

  “Holy place?” Kateřina cocked her head, her voice rising. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Heydrich’s driver be directing me to a holy place?”

  “Who, now?” Emil raised an eyebrow, recognizing the weight of the connection.

  She hesitated, realizing she might’ve revealed too much. “Oh, someone who provided me with some information. I suppose it’s not entirely relevant now. Do you know which synagogue or church this symbol might represent?” Before she finished asking the question, Emil went to one of the bookshelves. He searched for a moment before pulling out a book titled A History of the Old-New Synagogue. He brought it to the table and began flipping through the pages.