The Rubber Duck Part II
Judd woke to a blade of sunlight slicing through the heavy curtains of his suite at the W, a sliver of golden light illuminating the chaos of last night—his overcoat draped haphazardly over the desk chair, an empty tumbler on the nightstand, and the unmistakable weight of exhaustion pressing on his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair, recalling the events of the night before.
The meeting with Beaumont, Orchard, and Cassandra had been a test—a baptism by fire, soaked in Czech beer and high-stakes interrogation. He had held his ground, earned their trust, and, as a parting gift, been handed a peculiar object. A rubber duck. That was the part that still nagged at him. There were no coincidences in this world. But still…. a rubber … duck….
He had a free day ahead—no missions, no covert meetings—just Prague, waiting to be explored.
A hot shower and a fresh set of clothes later, Judd made his way downstairs to the Grand Hotel Café, where he ordered scrambled eggs on toast, an açaí bowl, and an espresso, the caffeine kicking in. Outside, the city hummed with the morning rush, tourists and locals alike filling Wenceslas Square.
Pulling his heavy Stoffa Asymmetric Coat tighter around him, he stepped into the crisp, winter air.
Prague had always been a city of secrets, its cobbled streets whispering with the ghosts of emperors, alchemists, and spies. It had seen empires rise and fall, revolutions plotted in back rooms, and shadows cast longer than they should. Today, it was a city caught between its history and its future—ornate medieval cathedrals standing defiantly against the sleek modernity creeping into its skyline.
Judd walked the well-worn paths of history, starting at the astronomical clock in the Old Town Square, where crowds gathered to watch the procession of the apostles. He moved past Týn Church, its gothic spires piercing the pale winter sky, before winding his way toward the Charles Bridge. The Vltava flowed beneath him, dark and silent, as he stepped onto the ancient stonework.
Once, this bridge had been the only connection between Prague Castle and the city’s Old Town. Now, it was an artery pumping life into the city, bustling with street performers, vendors, and lovers locking arms against the cold. Judd took his time, weaving through the crowds, his trained eyes scanning the faces, the movements, cataloging habits and details without even realizing it. It was second nature.
He spent the afternoon wandering through the Jewish Quarter, stopping by the Old-New Synagogue, its storied walls holding centuries of history. Then, up to the Prague Castle, standing defiantly since 870 AD, its fortifications whispering tales of the Habsburgs and the Bohemian Crown Jewels locked within.
By the time the sun began to dip behind the city’s spires, casting long shadows across the cobblestones, Judd made his way back to the W Hotel. A quick recharge. A change into something sharper. Tonight, he had a dinner reservation at Coda, a recommendation from Beaumont.
The eatery was nestled inside the Hotel Aria, an upscale spot known for its rooftop views and its Bohemian crystal chandeliers. The kind of place that required connections to get a last-minute reservation. The kind of place where nothing was ever just a coincidence.
Judd arrived at 9 PM sharp, taking a seat at a perfectly pressed table, set with polished silverware and crystal stemware. His back was to the wall—old habits died hard—and his vantage point gave him a clear view of the entrance, the service doors, and the kitchen exit.
He ordered Hokkaido Scallops and a glass of 2019 Chablis Grand Cru Vaudésir, careful to note the subtle glances from the staff. They knew who he was. Or rather, they knew someone had sent him.
The tall, unhurried waiter appeared at his side, placing a silver dish in front of him with a blank expression.
“Your duck, sir,” he said smoothly.
Judd blinked. He had ordered the fish.
“I didn’t—” he started, then stopped.
A flash of last night’s conversation with Beaumont. “You’ll know when to use it.”
Judd reached behind him, fingers closing around the cold, unfamiliar shape in the pocket of his overcoat. Slowly, he pulled out the rubber duck and placed it on the table.
Without a word, the waiter scooped it up and turned, walking toward a massive bookshelf in the corner of the restaurant.
Judd’s senses went razor-sharp. The restaurant had emptied without him realizing it. The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation—gone.
The waiter placed the duck on the top shelf, stepping back as if admiring his work.
Then, a soft click.
The bookshelf swung open, revealing a darkened stairwell spiraling down into the depths of the building.
Judd exhaled.
Looks like dinner was over.
It was time to meet the mole.
