Dohany Street, page 8
Growing up in a crumbling block in District VIII, Balthazar and his siblings had been forbidden to even step on the tenement’s rickety balconies. He could still remember stone chips flailing his legs when a large chunk of brickwork broke free from one after a heavy rainstorm, smashing onto the pavement a few yards away from where he and Gaspar played in the street.
Balthazar turned around, his eye falling on a framed certificate on the wall behind Anastasia’s desk. He walked over, read the wording above the stamp and signature of the director of the service. ‘Award for valour beyond the call of duty. Colonel Anastasia Georgina Ferenczy. 1 October 2015.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Congratulations. When did you get promoted?’
‘The same day,’ said Anastasia, blushing slightly. She looked down and energetically busied herself with her paperwork. ‘A better room would be nice. I’m almost done then we can go.’
‘Don’t knock it. All I can see from my desk is the Arpad Bridge and the number-one tram.’
Balthazar returned to the window and looked back down over Falk Miksa Street. Two well-dressed tourists, German or Italian, he thought, stared into the window of the antique shop across the street. A guide holding a small blue flag on a stick shepherded a group of Japanese tourists down the street towards parliament. A block downriver, on Balassi Balint Street, was a super-modern playground with climbing frames shaped like ships and a soft bouncy floor, to cushion children’s tumbles. Balthazar had often taken his son, Alex, there, although now he had just turned thirteen he was developing other interests. Which reminded Balthazar, this weekend was his turn to have Alex at home. He was due to pick him up on Saturday morning – and he needed to think of something to do with the boy. Assuming his mother, Sarah, did not cancel at the last moment.
As if on cue his telephone buzzed with a text from his son. Anastasia glanced up at Balthazar. ‘It’s Alex,’ he said, reading the message. She nodded and returned to her work.
Dad what r we doing this wkend?
What do you fancy?
Burger, film – am I staying over?
Yup. Can’t wait
Me 2 xxx
C u soon xxx
Balthazar put his mobile back in his pocket, smiling in anticipation, and looked down at the car park in the front of the building. It was surrounded by a mesh fence, painted turquoise. He watched as an elderly lady rummaged in a carrier bag, before scattering small pieces of food through the fence. Several cats instantly appeared and gobbled up the morsels, before scampering off.
‘You may have a security breach,’ said Balthazar.
Anastasia walked over to the window, stood next to Balthazar and looked down. ‘You mean Agi neni? I don’t think she is much of a threat.’ She smoothed her hair back and deftly fixed it into a ponytail. ‘I was in London once, at the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service for a liaison meeting.’
‘Do they have an Agi neni as well?’
Anastasia laughed. ‘I doubt it. The SIS headquarters is like a military fortress. Thick walls all around it, cameras everywhere. I’ve never seen so much security and so many armed policemen. We had to go through this sealed capsule, like a revolving door that closed on all sides, before they let us in. Whereas we have a turquoise fence and…’
‘Agi neni. And the cats. Where do they live?’
‘Under the cars, mostly. They especially like the director’s. I wouldn’t mess with them. They get quite hissy if they aren’t fed.’ She turned to Balthazar. ‘How old is your boy?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘It must be tough, only seeing him sometimes.’
‘It is. His mother cancels on me quite often. She was better about visits last year but now she is back to making life difficult for me. Her girlfriend doesn’t help.’
Anastasia raised her eyebrows. ‘Girlfriend?’
‘Amanda. That’s why we got divorced. Well, that and other reasons. A graduate student at Central European University. She’s German. Very earnest. First she persuaded Sarah that the police are part of the capitalist patriarchy, oppressing the working class and minorities. It was all I heard about.’ He smiled wryly. ‘And then Amanda persuaded her about some other things.’
‘But you are a…’
‘Minority,’ said Balthazar. ‘Exactly. But the wrong kind, apparently.’
He looked down again. Agi neni had gone, but the cats were still gambolling in the car park. ‘Maybe Alex is better off with Sarah. At least he has some kind of stability. He’s much nearer the American school, which is miles away, out in Nagykovacsi. I couldn’t get him there on time every morning. And if he was living with me he would be on his own a lot.’
Balthazar knew that time was pressing. He was here to find Elad, not talk about his tangled personal life. But for a moment he just enjoyed the conversation. It was quite a while since he’d had any kind of relaxed exchange with a woman. Kati had left on 1 January. She had wanted to go to a riotous New Year’s Eve party with her twenty-something friends. He’d wanted to do almost anything except that. In the end he had surrendered and spent a miserable evening in a fancy converted loft with views over parliament and the river, not far from where he was standing. Kati’s friends had gawped at him, made stupid jokes about being arrested for rolling a joint and then mostly ignored him.
Several kept disappearing to the toilet before emerging in a hyperactive state and wiping their noses. He had explained to Kati that he really could not hang out at a party where half the guests were snorting cocaine, but had agreed to wait until midnight. By the time they came home, shortly after, it was clear that they were on very different paths. She had gone home, then reappeared a couple of days later to pick up her clothes and cosmetics. They had not spoken since.
The parting had been a while in the making. Before she left, Kati had also helpfully listed his faults. The main one, it seemed, was his inability to commit, not just to their relationship, but to turn up on time when they had agreed to meet, especially when there were other people involved. He had been over an hour late, twice, and once had not turned up at all for planned evenings out with her friends.
The truth was, he did not want to meet them. The party disaster had proved him right. He had no desire to hang out with a new crowd, one several years younger than he was, drawn from the hoitiest sector of the ujgazdagok, scions of the nouveau riche who had gamed the system for immense personal profit. He did not want to settle down with anyone. He had been married once and it didn’t work. After Sarah he had fallen in love with Eniko Szalay – and she had moved to London. He had liked Kati, a lot, but he wasn’t ready for her to move in or start planning a future together. So it was probably for the best that she had left.
For a few seconds Anastasia was silent as she stood next to him. Neither spoke. A radiator hissed and gurgled in the background. Anastasia wore a close-fitting black polo neck and jeans. He could smell her shampoo and the faintest trace of perfume, something rich and musky that he had not noticed before.
He sensed that she glanced at him, perhaps with a hint of appraisal, before she spoke. ‘So, Detective, let’s get to work. Where are we with this case?’
Balthazar outlined the events of the morning, his visit to the flat with Eva neni, her connection to Elad, Elad’s work on Nationwide, the encrypted memory stick that he had left with Vivi.
Anastasia gave him a quizzical look. ‘Eva neni. She’s wonderful. I’m a big fan. So this is personal for you, Detective?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Is that a problem?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all. But Karoly Bardossy will be.’
His mobile rang and he looked down. ‘It’s Vivi.’
He took the call, listened for several moments as she spoke. ‘OK. No, don’t tell me now. Not on the phone. We’re on our way. We should be there in a few minutes.’ He turned to Anastasia. ‘She has something for us.’
Anastasia nodded, reached inside the secure cupboard and took out her pistol and holster.
Balthazar glanced at her weapon, a Makarov, an old-fashioned Soviet-era pistol. He patted his own, a Glock 17 in a holster on his belt. ‘You don’t want something a bit more modern?’
Anastasia shook her head. ‘It’s never let me down.’
He watched as she slipped on a shoulder holster and placed the weapon inside. Her movements were deft and fluid, and he watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed in and out.
Her eyes caught his observing her and a flicker of a smile played on her lips.
‘Come on, Detective, let’s see what the story is.’
ELEVEN
Café Extra, Kossuth Square, 2.30 p.m.
Eniko Szalay sat back as the video clip ended, her mind working furiously.
This was a catastrophe in the making. It meant the end of Reka’s government. The end of Reka’s political career – and the end of Eniko’s as well, certain to be one among many destroyed by the extensive collateral damage.
She sipped her coffee to buy herself a few moments. ‘Is that it? Is there more?’
Zsuzsa shook her head as she closed the lid of her laptop. ‘No. That’s everything. I brought you a copy.’ She handed Eniko a memory stick. ‘It’s on here.’
The two women were sitting in the far corner of the upstairs room of Café Extra. Located on the corner of Kossuth Square, with a view of parliament just a hundred yards away, it was a popular haunt of politicians and journalists. But the upstairs room, with its hard dark-red bench seats and utilitarian furniture, was usually deserted, as it was today.
Eniko took the stick, quickly put it into her jacket pocket. ‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice tight with tension. ‘Are you writing this? Do you want a comment? Is that why we are meeting?’
Zsuzsa smiled, shook her head. ‘No, no and no. I’m not writing it, Eni. I don’t want a comment. And that’s not why we are meeting. I’m here as your friend. Please believe me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, giving you a copy of the video. I would be calling you from the office, coordinating with the website designer.’
Eniko nodded, even smiled at the irony. She had helped hone Zsuzsa into a dogged reporter. Now Zsuzsa had a video clip that could bring down the government, and take her with it.
Eniko brushed her bobbed hair away from her face. ‘So why are we meeting? Why are you sharing this with me? You’re a journalist. Your employer has an explosive video clip of the prime minister that will end her career, probably see her arrested soon after. Why are you telling the prime minister’s press secretary what’s coming… when exactly?’
Zsuzsa blinked. This was not quite the reaction she had expected. ‘It’s going live in just under two hours. You’ve helped me a lot, Eni. I thought I would return the favour.’
Eniko’s demeanour softened a little. ‘That’s all?’
Zsuzsa nodded. ‘Yes.’ More or less, she was about to add, but stopped herself. There was no need for her to tell Eniko how she had been played by Karoly Bardossy’s team.
Eniko smiled. ‘Thank you, Zsuzsa. I really appreciate this, but be honest with me. What do you want in return?’
‘In a few days, once we are through all of this and the Israeli prime minister is on his way home, I want an exclusive interview with Reka.’ Then Zsuzsa would grill Reka about Nationwide, her uncle’s company, but there was no need to tell Eniko that now. Zsuzsa’s voice turned serious and direct. ‘That means, Eniko, that Reka does not talk to anyone else for the next few days. No interviews with other media, print, web or broadcast. Only me, when we agree on a time.’
Eniko gave Zsuzsa an appraising look. That was exactly the right move. Zsuzsa had turned into quite an operator.
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all.’
Eniko smiled. ‘Sure. It’s a deal.’ She hesitated for a moment, then decided. ‘Speaking of Israelis… there’s something else you could look into.’
‘I’m listening,’ said Zsuzsa. She waited for Eniko to speak, the familiar tightening in her chest signalling that a tip-off was coming.
Eniko gave her a sharp look. ‘Whatever you find out, you share with me. A full day before you go live on the website. Agreed?’
‘I’ll give you four hours.’
Eniko laughed. ‘Then I won’t give you anything. Twelve.’
‘Eight. But not overnight.’
‘Done,’ said Eniko. The two women shook hands. ‘Elad Harrari. Do you know who he is?’
Zsuzsa said, ‘Yes. He’s an Israeli historian. We met at Retro-kert. Why?’
‘You did not hear this from me.’
‘Of course not.’
‘He’s gone missing. I think he has been kidnapped. The Israelis are going nuts. They are threatening to cancel the prime minister’s visit if we don’t find him.’
Zsuzsa stared at Eniko, the questions – and answers – tumbling through her mind. That explained why Elad’s number was unobtainable, why he wasn’t at work, and the mysterious rude man she had spoken to.
Eniko could see that Zsuzsa was about to start demanding more information and quickly cut her off. ‘That’s it, Zsuzsa. Really. Thanks again for the video. I need to go back to work now.’
Eniko glanced at her watch, took out her phone and called a number. ‘Kati, tell Akos and Reka that I need to see them both. Yes, I know it’s their daily briefing time. I will be there in five minutes. Yes, of course it’s important. It’s a national emergency.’
TWELVE
Grand Boulevard, 2.30 p.m.
Five minutes after they left the headquarters of the state security service, Balthazar and Anastasia were stuck on the corner of Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Way, waiting to turn right onto the Grand Boulevard. The traffic jam was solid and stationary.
Just over fifty yards away, on the other side of the tram-lines and the boulevard, Nyugati Station stood in front of them. Built by Eiffel’s studio, its facade was an elegant construction of glass and blue-painted steel. Several of the panes of glass had been shattered by rocks in a recent protest and were still not repaired, Balthazar could see. Two long yellow trams on both sides of the 4/6 line stood at the stop in front of the station, neither of them moving. In normal times the drive from Falk Miksa Street to Dob Street should take less than fifteen minutes – a straight run once they hit the boulevard until they turned right – but these times were not quite normal.
The mood was febrile and had been worsening for several weeks. The refugee crisis the previous autumn, the collapse of Europe’s borders, the botched attempt by Pal Dezeffy to organise a terrorist attack on Kossuth Square, the failure of the Qatari investment package; all of these had sapped support for Reka’s ruling Social Democrats. The party stood at just twenty-three per cent in the polls.
Balthazar had seen the most recent police statistics: petty crime was rising and so were violent attacks in a normally safe and peaceful city. Domestic violence was growing. There was an epidemic of shoplifting as more people lost their jobs and stole food to feed their families. Support was steadily growing for a new neo-communist grouping, the Workers’ Alliance, while the far-right National Renewal Movement was moving into double figures. Wildcat demonstrations were springing up across the city, apparently spontaneous but to Balthazar it seemed clear that someone was organising the mobs. The growing sense of lawlessness was eating away at the government’s authority.
‘Should we park and jump on a tram?’ asked Anastasia, one hand on the steering wheel, as she peered ahead. ‘This is not moving at all.’
‘Those trams aren’t moving either,’ said Balthazar.
This corner of downtown was usually a busy interchange. He glanced rightwards. A crowd was gathering on Nyugati Square, some people emerging from the pedestrian underpass that led to the station, others from nearby side streets. Many held Hungarian flags with the centre cut out, a symbol of the 1956 uprising when revolutionaries had removed the hammer and sickle emblem. A middle-aged lady in a padded coat waved the Arpad flag of red and white stripes, an ancient Hungarian banner.
Many of the demonstrators held up posters and placards with Reka’s face on them, superimposed with a red circle with a line through and the words Eleg volt a komcsikbol, We’ve had enough of the commies. A clutch of burly men in their twenties, each with a beer bottle in hand, stepped out into the traffic jam, banging on the roofs of the stationary vehicles, slapping the vehicles’ windows, while they shouted ‘Eleg volt a komcsikbol, eleg volt a komcsikbol.’
Balthazar turned to Anastasia, shot her a questioning glance. ‘Now what?’
‘Pass me the blue light, please. It’s on the back seat,’ she said, still looking ahead and scanning.
Balthazar reached behind him and did as she asked. She opened the window and placed the light on the roof of the car. She turned to Balthazar. ‘It’s going to get noisy.’ A second later the siren was howling, the racket filling the inside of the car as the blue light spun around.
The other drivers looked to see what was happening and started to inch sideways. As soon as a space opened up, no matter how small, Anastasia edged the car forward, sometimes veering rightwards, at other times to the left, pushing hard on the horn as well for good measure.
After a couple of minutes she had managed to clear a path through most of the jam. Only one car was blocking their escape onto the boulevard, a white Subaru SUV with tinted windows. It needed to jump onto the kerb at the tram stop. The edge was lined with concrete half-globes to prevent cars doing precisely that, but it would be an easy move for a large-wheeled SUV. Anastasia hooted repeatedly, the siren howled, but the car did not budge.
