Prague, Czechoslovakia – 1986

The afternoon crowd at Kavárna Slavia buzzed with cigarette smoke and the scent of overbrewed coffee. Caroline Lundqvist sipped her demitasse and glanced at the man across from her. Jacob Havelka, clad in a corduroy blazer three seasons out of fashion, exuded a sense of confidence. But it was built on desperation. He fancied himself a player, but he was clearly an amateur in over his head.

Caroline smiled. “Mr. Havelka, you’ve been making phone calls to Martin Krueger’s former home in Prague.”

Jacob leaned back, arms spread over the booth like he owned the place. “Please, call me Jacob. And if you’re listening to my calls, you already know what I want.”

Caroline said, “Give me a recap.”

He replied, “I have information. Photos, documents, evidence.”

Caroline checked her watch. “Evidence of what, exactly?”

The man lifted his espresso, and took a slow sip. “About payoffs, bribes … medicine sold on the black market,” he said.

“We already know about that. Do you have anything else?”

“Why don’t I make trouble? Maybe for you, maybe for the Embassy. I could say you paid me for secrets. Maybe I tell the StB you’re a Western spy. I could have you deported.”

Caroline laughed out loud, then caught her breath. “Your leverage is fake evidence, and the vague threat of mild inconvenience? Jacob, if I ever get deported, it won’t be because of you.”

Jacob’s confidence seemed to falter, and Caroline seized the moment. Folding her napkin neatly, she said, “Let’s go back to my apartment. We can get comfortable there.”

Caroline’s apartment was sterile, elegant—a safe haven. She moved to the kitchen to boil some water. Carefully, she spooned tea leaves into a strainer. Two slices of bread went into the toaster. The soft pop of the lever was barely audible. From the fridge, she retrieved a bottle of marmalade.

Jacob lowered himself onto the sofa. On the coffee table was a copy of The Daily Viewer. This particular edition was banned so it was brought into the country via diplomatic bag.

“U.S. DIPLOMAT CAUGHT IN STEAMY LOVE AFFAIR WITH CZECH FIRST MINISTER’S WIFE”

Below the fold, a grainy black-and-white photo showed Martin Krueger tangled in expensive sheets with the wife of Czechoslovakia’s First Minister.

After a few minutes, Jacob’s face drained of color as he finally understood what he was reading. “This is … fake.”

“Is it?” Caroline asked, pouring boiling water into a porcelain teapot. “You sound surprised.”

“This was not in the news here.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Caroline said, arranging the toast on plates and adding marmalade. “Because this country censors its press.”

Jacob was insistent. “I need a new passport. Money. Safe passage to Sweden.”

She started pouring tea into delicate cups. Her back was still turned as she said, “That is quite the shopping list.”

“I know where you live. Maybe I plant something in your apartment and have you arrested. I have leverage.”

Caroline glanced over her shoulder and said, “No, Jacob. To have leverage, you need assets, influence, affiliations, education, talent, skills. And you have none of those. I’m failing to see why the United States government would go to bed with you.”

She walked over to Jacob and offered him a cup. “Darjeeling?” She placed a plate with both slices of toast on the table. Seville marmalade was spread generously on top.

Jacob scowled but took a sip. A long one.

Caroline took a deliberate bite of toast and reached into her handbag which was sitting on the chair beside her. She retrieved some papers and handed them to Jacob. He frowned as he read the first page. It was an intake form from Bohnice Psychiatric Hospital. His name was neatly typed in black ink. His supposed diagnosis: acute psychotic break, hallucinations, tachycardia, dysphoria. He flipped to the last page. It was signed by his spouse.

Jacob squinted at the papers and started blinking hard. “I’m not married. What the hell is this?”

Caroline shrugged and gazed at him like a cat watching a trapped bird. “Are you seeing stars yet? Are you a little short of breath?”

His speech was slurry. “Whaaaat… did?”

Caroline gestured to his teacup. “Psilocybin. Ephedrine. Yohimbine. White willow bark. And valerian root so you don’t go into cardiac arrest. It’s a cocktail of psychedelics, a mild vasodilator and some blood thinner for good measure. All natural herbs. You drank the whole thing. That was bold.”

They heard a knock at the door. Jacob turned toward it, his movements were now slow and sluggish.

Caroline said, “That’ll be your medical team. They’ll be taking you to your new home at Bohnice where you’ll stay until we let you out.”

Jacob’s breathing was shallow, but he managed a weak, “Wait…”

Caroline brushed crumbs off her blouse and stepped back as the door creaked open. Two operatives dressed as hospital orderlies stepped inside. Jacob slumped forward, knocking his teacup to the floor as he did.

Caroline took another bite of toast and smiled. It was delicious.