Tesla Secret, The by Alex Lukeman Read Free Book Online Page A

something didn't feel right.
    The cyber cafe was on a narrow side street. The decor was European punk. It looked like a second rate nightclub, black and chrome and plastic with neon highlights. The theme seemed to be somewhere between disco and heavy metal. Two dozen monitors and keyboards were lined up in a row on a counter. Chrome stools that might have come from a 50s diner in America were bolted to the floor in front of each monitor. They had swivel seats covered in red vinyl. Most of them were taken. A sign on the wall announced that computer time could be rented for 50 Korunas an hour. Nick did the calculation. About $2.50.
    Across from the computer wall, a gleaming four piston espresso machine took up the short end of an L-shaped counter. A coffee bar displayed assorted pastries and sandwiches. A blackboard on the wall listed the specials of the day in colored chalk.
    The cafe was crowded. About thirty tables took up the floor space. Someone got up from a table by the window and left. Nick and Selena walked over and sat down. In a minute a waitress came to the table.
    She was young and almost pretty. She wore knock-off Levis and a black shirt. Her long black hair was pulled back in a pony tail. She had dark blue eyes. A short white apron was tied round her waist.
    She said something in Czech. Selena understood but this wasn't the place to show off her knowledge of the language.
    "I'm sorry. Do you speak English?" Selena took out a travel dictionary of English and Czech phrases, thumbed through it, pointed at a line that read "I would like a coffee and pastry, please." It was right below "Please, which way is the toilet?" and "Excuse me, I am a visitor in your country."
    No shit, a visitor. Like anyone would think they were locals. Not on this trip.
    "You are American?" the waitress said in English. Her accent wasn't bad.
    "No, Canadian."
    "We're from Vancouver, " Nick said, smiling.
    "I have cousin in America, in Seattle. He has been to Vancouver."
    "Can I take your picture?" Nick asked. The perfect tourist.
    "Sure." The girl struck a pose, hand on hip and smiled. One of her teeth was missing, which somewhat spoiled the effect. Nick pointed the camera. Beyond the waitress, most of the cafe was visible. He took her picture, another, moved the camera slightly, took two more. He showed her the picture.
    "Very nice, see?"
    The man behind the counter yelled something at her.
    "Okay, I bring you coffee." She moved away.
    "I got most of the cafe." He raised the camera and took two shots of the computer wall, one of the men behind the counter. Someone scowled at him.
    "Sorry." He waved and set the camera down.
    "Someone's watching," she said.
    The waitress reappeared, set down two small steaming cups of thick, black coffee and two sticky buns and went away.
    "You mean the guy in the blue cap?"
    "That's him. Second table to your right. Blue cap, mustache." She smiled.
    Nick picked up his cup, blew on it. A man sitting in front of the monitors turned away. "I got him on camera. You're getting better. There's one more. By the computers. Suspenders, looks like a working guy. Stocky, black pants."
    "'How did they know to follow us?"
    "They weren't following us. They were already here."
    "Waiting for us to show up."
    "Looks like it. Eat some of your pasty. Laugh a little. We're going to have to do something about them." He grinned.
    She laughed. A happy tourist. "You're such fun on a trip. What next?"
    "We finish our coffee, pay our check and go sightseeing. They'll follow. If there are two, there may be more. They don't know we've made them. We'll let them make the play."
    When Nick rose from his chair a jolt of pain took his breath away. He winced.
    "You okay?" she asked.
    "Fine. Let's sightsee."
     

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
     
    Zoran Jovanovich had been a company commander with the Scorpions at Srebrenica during the Bosnian War. The Scorpions were the infamous point of General Ratko Mladic's Serbian spear. Mladic had greatly admired