Balthazar smiled. ‘Sure. She’ll send you a regular supply.’

‘It will have to be to the office. With the vanilla sauce, and the sour cherries? And not a word to my wife.’

‘With the sauce and the sour cherries. And not a word to your wife. Not one. The second thing?’

‘The Duchess. If she agrees, you can work together,’ said Sandor, his warm breath turning to steam in the freezing air.

Balthazar smiled. They both knew that was a racing certainty.

TEN

State security headquarters, Falk Miksa Street, 2 p.m.

The headquarters of the state security service took up half a block, flanked by Marko Street on one side, merging into the Ministry of Defence complex on the other. Amid the architectural elegance of its surrounds, the site struck a jarring, even shocking note. But the discord was intentional. It was one of the ugliest buildings in the city, a homage to communist-era brutalism: six floors of raw, grey concrete with rows of slit-like windows of reflecting glass. The message was clear: we are watching you – and this is where the power lies. More than twenty years after the change of system, much of it still did.

Anastasia Ferenczy’s office was a cramped, narrow space on the corner of the fifth floor. It had grey walls, a filing cabinet, and a metal government-issue desk, on which sat a monitor and a keyboard. A small secure cupboard, where she stored her pistol, was attached to the wall. Two faded Picasso and Mondrian posters did little to brighten up the room. A pot plant sagged in a corner, the edges of its leaves turning brown.

Anastasia sat at her desk, sorting some papers for a few moments while Balthazar stood by the window, looking down Marko Street. She glanced up at him. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Balthazar. ‘More time to enjoy the view.’

The two sides of the street made a perfect frame and he could see straight down the middle, over the river to the pale facades of the buildings on the Buda side and the hills in the distance. The grand Habsburg-era apartment house facing him had pristine cream and light-brown paintwork. Elegant curved terraces wrapped around the corner of each floor, their patterned ironwork black and gleaming in the pale winter sun.

‘The view is the best thing about this place. And the exit,’ said Anastasia.

Falk Miksa Street and its surrounds were the heart of District V, the most upmarket area of Pest, evoking an era when Budapest was the second jewel in the crown of the Austro-Hungarian empire, always competing with its big brother, Vienna. The street was lined with trees, the shops on the ground floors of the apartment houses home to antique dealers, art galleries and artisan jewellers. Some of the buildings were constructed in the art nouveau style, their doors covered with metal flower patterns, their facades home to frolicking nymphs and cherubs. Others, built in the 1920s and 1930s, were sparser, with the clean, rounded lines of the art deco era. Kossuth Square, the site of parliament, was just a short walk away.

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?’