Chapter 6 - The Piano Compartment That Changed the Meaning of Prague

Evelyn disconnected every cable from the computer.

The message remained.

Victoria stepped away from the screen. “You said this machine was offline.”

“It is.”

“Then how is he typing?”

“He isn’t.”

Evelyn opened the laptop chassis. Beneath the battery compartment, a narrow diagnostic module blinked once.

The machine had belonged to her theater contact for years. She had inspected the operating system, not the hardware.

Someone had modified it long ago.

Vale had not found them tonight.

He had known this safe location before they arrived.

Evelyn removed the module and wrapped it in foil.

Victoria folded her arms. “You trusted the wrong person.”

“I trusted a room. That was the mistake.”

“Do you trust Vale?”

“No.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Sometimes those are different questions.”

They left the theater before dawn and rented a cargo van with cash. Victoria’s storage unit was in White Plains, behind a warehouse complex that smelled of wet cardboard and diesel.

The manager recognized her from television.

Evelyn noticed his eyes linger on Victoria’s face.

“We need to move quickly.”

The unit contained furniture draped in plastic, old books, framed family photographs, and the upright piano beneath a gray cover.

Victoria stood before it for several seconds.

“My father bought this before Daniel was born.”

“Where would Daniel hide something?”

“He was obsessed with secret compartments when we were kids.”

They removed the back panel.

Nothing.

Evelyn checked beneath the keyboard, behind the pedals, inside the lower frame.

Still nothing.

Victoria pressed one of the dead keys near the far left.

A soft wooden click answered.

She froze.

Daniel had carved a narrow slot beneath the key bed. Inside rested a brass hotel key tag, an old photograph, and a microSD card sealed in plastic.

The brass tag read 417.

The photograph showed Daniel in Prague.

Victoria stared at it.

“He never told me he’d been there.”

Evelyn took the picture.

Behind Daniel stood the Church of St. Nicholas in Malá Strana.

The same district where Evelyn’s failed extraction had begun.

Written on the back in Daniel’s handwriting were three words.

ASK ANTON REZNIK.

Evelyn stopped breathing for a moment.

“Who is he?” Victoria asked.

“The man I was supposed to extract from Prague.”

“You said he vanished.”

“He did.”

“When?”

“Three years ago.”

Victoria looked at the photograph again.

“This was taken eighteen months ago.”

The timeline cracked open.

If Daniel had photographed himself in Prague beside a note naming Reznik, then Reznik survived the operation Evelyn believed had killed or captured him.

That meant Prague had not merely failed.

Someone had lied about its outcome.

They inserted the microSD card into a disposable reader. It contained one audio file and a scan of a hotel receipt from Vienna.

The recording began with Daniel’s voice.

“If Victoria hears this, I ran out of time.”

Victoria covered her mouth.

Daniel continued.

“I met a man who says the money is only the surface. Croft is paying for access, but someone inside the American intelligence system is protecting the network. The man called it Orpheus. He said it predicts pressure points, then creates accidents, scandals, leaks, and financial shocks to force decisions.”

Evelyn listened without moving.

Daniel’s voice grew quieter.

“He gave me one name: Anton Reznik. He also told me never to trust anyone who says Prague was a failed extraction.”

The audio ended.

Victoria turned toward Evelyn.

“Your operation.”

“Yes.”

“Daniel knew about it.”

“Enough to be killed for it.”

Evelyn examined the hotel key tag.

417.

The Vienna receipt was from Hotel Königshof, room 417, dated one week after the Prague extraction.

A clue left by Daniel, pointing to someone who should have been gone. Nothing about it felt accidental anymore. Evelyn photographed both sides of the receipt and the key tag, then sealed the originals again. If they were separated later, at least one record of the connection would survive.

Her phone vibrated.

A text arrived on a number known only to Vale.

STOP CHASING REZNIK.

Evelyn typed: WHY?

The reply came immediately.

BECAUSE SHAW THINKS HE IS DEAD.

Victoria read over her shoulder.

“If Reznik is alive, he can prove who protected Croft.”

“Maybe.”

“Then we find him.”

Evelyn did not answer.

Across the warehouse aisle, a car door closed.

Too softly.

She moved to the unit entrance and looked through the gap.

A black SUV had stopped near the office.

Sergei Markov stepped out.

This time he was not alone.

Beside him stood a woman in a dark coat, silver hair cut neatly at the jaw.

Evelyn knew the face from classified briefings.

Maren Shaw.

The former deputy director had come in person.

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And the moment Evelyn saw her speaking calmly with Markov, every remaining possibility narrowed to one terrible answer.

The person who had burned Evelyn in Prague was standing beside Croft’s killer.