Vivi coughed several times, then took a long drink from the glass of water in front of her. She looked at Anastasia, her grey eyes red-rimmed from the fumes, but still wide and assessing. ‘To answer your question, a smoke bomb happened. Several, actually. But who’s asking?’
The two women were sitting outside Javitas at one of its small round tables. The sun had broken through the grey winter sky and a light breeze was blowing but an acrid stink still hung in the air. A space heater mounted on a long pole glowed red above them and Vivi was wrapped in one of the grey blankets that were usually draped over the chairs. Inside the café a police officer from the District VII station was taking down Mishi’s account of what had happened, while another was collecting and bagging up the three empty smoke bombs.
Before Anastasia could answer Vivi, Balthazar stepped out of the door, walked over and sat down at the table with three bottles of water. They watched as a third policeman crouched down in front of them. Head to one side, he looked under the bonnets of the line of cars parked perpendicular to the pavements, their bonnets facing the buildings.
Balthazar turned to Vivi. ‘Sorry, no coffee for now. Are you OK?’
Vivi shrugged, unperturbed. ‘I’m fine. They didn’t get to my room.’ She leaned towards Anastasia. ‘I was wondering about your friend. Is she a cop as well?’
Balthazar handed Vivi a bottle of water, passed one to Anastasia. She thanked him, took her wallet from the inside of her coat and showed her state security service identity card to Vivi. ‘Not exactly.’
Vivi’s eyes opened wider. ‘Oh. That looks serious.’ She turned to Balthazar. ‘Am I in trouble now?’
Anastasia asked, ‘Are you a threat or danger to the security of the state?’
Vivi shook her head. ‘I hope not.’
Anastasia said, ‘Good. Then you are not in trouble. Actually, I’m quite a fan of yours. It’s impressive how you get past all the company firewalls and security.’
Vivi started with surprise. ‘But how do you know…?’ She paused for a few moments and smiled. ‘Dumb question, huh?’
‘Not at all. We could use your talents. We don’t pay as well as big companies. But it’s much more interesting. You could play with the most up-to-date technology and you would be serving your country.’
Vivi looked sceptical. ‘Well, maybe. Let me think about it.’
Balthazar took a swig from his bottle of water before he spoke. ‘Mishi says there is no serious damage. There were two of them on a red sports motorcycle, wearing silver helmets with tinted visors. The motorcyclist pulled up outside the door and waited. The passenger jumped off, threw three smoke bombs into the café, jumped back on the motorbike, then they escaped the wrong way down Dob Street, towards the Grand Boulevard. A couple of minutes later Mishi got three calls from an unknown number with nobody speaking. It’s a warning.’
Anastasia said, ‘For now. It doesn’t mean they won’t be back. Registration number on the motorcycle?’
‘There wasn’t one,’ said Vivi. ‘I already watched our CCTV.’
Balthazar coughed for a moment, the smoke still tickling his throat, then took a gulp of water. ‘What could you get from the memory stick?’
Vivi reached inside her jeans pocket, and took out the memory stick that Balthazar had given her and another one of similar size. ‘There were two folders. One with video footage and one with something that looked like scans of documents. I could open the video footage.’
‘The documents?’ asked Balthazar.
Vivi shook her head. ‘Very little. A few words here or there. Bard-something. And bits of dates – 1944 was one. It’s high-level encryption. It might be beyond my capabilities,’ she said, looking at Anastasia.
‘The video?’ asked Balthazar.
‘That’s shaky but clear. I think it was filmed on a mobile phone. Footage of a blue Mercedes, mostly on Dohany Street by the synagogue and the Jewish Museum, some on Dob Street, outside here, in fact, and over at Klauzal Square.’
Balthazar put the memory sticks in his pocket. A blue Mercedes chimed in with what Eva neni had already told him about Elad’s suspicion that he was being followed. Bard… must be Bardossy. What had the Israeli historian discovered about Nationwide? Was it really something explosive enough to get him kidnapped? ‘I’m not sure yet. But this is really helpful. Thanks, Vivi.’
Balthazar scanned the area as he spoke. Dob Street was a one-way street that led onto the Grand Boulevard. There was no through traffic because of the temporary police checkpoint on the corner of Csanyi Street where it met Dob Street and Klauzal Square.
There were plenty of derelict or half-demolished buildings in the neighbourhood where it would be easy to temporarily hide a motorcycle. But for now everything seemed very quiet, unnaturally so. Dob Street and Klauzal Square were deserted. No tourists, no locals out shopping at the nearby market, no hipsters on their oversized skateboards. The green municipal bicycles were all stacked in their rack on the corner of Klauzal Square, unused for the moment. There was the usual line of empty two-shot bottles of industrial palinka along the window sill of the ABC grocery across the road, but even the drunks had disappeared.
Doubtless the recent excitement and the police checkpoint had also helped clear the streets. The wind blew hard and for a moment Balthazar shivered as the weak winter sun disappeared behind a thick bank of cloud. It would soon be dark. Something wasn’t right here, he felt. There was a sense of heaviness in the air, something denser than the whiff of lingering smoke.
Balthazar stood up and turned to Anastasia. ‘I’m going to have a look around.’
‘Do that,’ she said. ‘Be careful.’
He walked back down Dob Street to the corner of Klauzal Square. The two policemen had rebased further down Csanyi Street, where it was easier to control the incoming cars. The centre of the square was a park, encircled by a metal fence. At first glance everything seemed normal as he stepped through the gate. The trees, their brown branches now bare, allowed him to see right across the open space.
The tables and stone benches where on warmer days locals played chess were deserted. The playground and the sandpit were empty. Even the dope-smoking teenagers that gathered in the far corner in all weathers had disappeared. Balthazar stepped inside and carefully looked around.
The only other person he could see was a man who looked to be in his thirties sitting smoking on the far side of the open space. He sat back at ease, his legs stretched out in front as he played with his mobile telephone. Balthazar started walking towards him. Perhaps the man had seen something, had witnessed the smoke bomb attacks. It was worth asking. He wasn’t that tall, Balthazar saw, but he was well built with a pale face and a nose that had clearly once been broken. He wore jeans, a grey woollen hat, a black parka and an expensive pair of light-brown lace-up winter walking boots.
The two men’s eyes met for a second. The man then looked away, apparently uninterested in Balthazar’s presence.
Something about this guy.
But what? His look had been too unconcerned, Balthazar realised. Most people, when they saw a well-built man of obvious Gypsy extraction in a leather jacket walk towards them were not exactly fearful but were at least focused and alert. The man on the bench was neither. He did not move at all, just sat there looking super-relaxed. In fact he looked like he was almost smiling.
Balthazar stopped walking, kept looking at the man on the bench. Had they had met before? Why was this guy giving off such a strong ‘fuck you’ vibe? Then Balthazar realised. His heart speeded up. For a second he was back on Pap Janos Square, not far from Keleti Station, on a sweltering summer’s day in early September 2015 at the height of the refugee crisis.
He had been standing by the half-demolished headquarters of the Socialist Party, looking for the body of a murdered Syrian refugee when a black Gendarmerie van pulled up nearby. The six gendarmes had walked forward and positioned themselves around him: two squads of two on either side, and another standing behind him, all with their right hands hovering over their pepper spray and handcuffs. The commander had stood in front, his baton in his hand. Balthazar had not moved.
After a few moments the commander had slid his baton back into the holder on his belt and took off his sunglasses. ‘Hallo, Tazi,’ he said. The commander was Attila Ungar, Balthazar’s former partner.
The man in the woollen hat sitting on the nearby bench was one of the six gendarmes who had surrounded him, Balthazar realised. He had a good memory for faces, especially when he thought he was about to be beaten up.
In the end he had not been hit, and had avoided arrest by calling in for assistance using a police emergency code. After Reka Bardossy had dissolved the gendarmes, some of their members, once vetted, had joined the riot squad of the Budapest police. Others had melted away into the underworld or, like Attila Ungar, had set up security companies.
So who was this guy working for? Was he connected to the attack on Javitas? Perhaps his presence was a coincidence. It wasn’t a crime, after all, to sit at ease in Klauzal Square park on a freezing winter afternoon. But it was quite unusual. Somewhere in the distance an engine noise sounded, echoing down the now-empty streets.
Balthazar started to walk over to the man but then he saw that he had something in his hand. At first he thought it was a mobile telephone, but then he saw the aerial poking out of the top. It was a walkie-talkie. The man smiled at Balthazar and raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth. The engine noise grew louder. It was sharper and harsher than a car.
Balthazar’s heart started pounding. He turned on his heel and sprinted back through the park, drawing his Glock as he ran. The engine noise now echoed across the square. The motorcyclist was now visible on the other side of the fence, rushing towards Vivi and Anastasia, getting larger by the second.
The motorbike was red, the rider and passenger both wearing silver helmets with tinted visors. The passenger was carrying an Uzi sub-machine gun.
Balthazar was halfway through the park, yelling ‘Get down, get down’, when he saw Anastasia launch herself onto Vivi. The two women crashed to the floor.
Anastasia crawled forward, pushing Vivi, showing her how to crouch down and shelter behind the bonnet of her car. She instantly understood and made herself as small as possible.
Balthazar sprinted towards Anastasia and Vivi, his Glock in his hand. He stood still for a moment and dropped into a shooting stance.
Time slowed down as he watched the motorcyclist approach Javitas.
There was movement, Balthazar saw, inside the café. At this range it was almost impossible to hit a moving target with a pistol. If he missed the gunman, the bullets would go through the glass front of the café and could hit the people inside.
He lowered his weapon, ran forward again.
The motorcyclist slowed as they reached the Opel.
