The lights changed to green. The tramline ahead was clear and Anastasia accelerated away at speed. The force pushed Balthazar back in his seat.
‘This is an Opel Corsa?’ he asked. ‘Standard-issue government vehicle?’
‘Unless you merit a big black Audi or a Merc, yes. But yes, it was.’ She turned to him for a second. ‘They asked me if I wanted anything else when I got promoted. I had some suggestions for my car.’
‘Which were?’
‘Turbo-charged 2.5-litre engine, sports wheels, hard suspension. I like driving. And we are bulletproof.’
‘All that for an Opel Corsa? Why didn’t you just get a new car?’
‘Camouflage. And sometimes it’s just fun to surprise people,’ she said, before turning to Balthazar. ‘Don’t you think, Detective?’
‘I think that’s a tram right in front of us, Colonel.’
The back end of a tram suddenly appeared in front of them as it trundled along the lines. The Opel slowed right down, hugging its rear.
‘I do believe it is,’ said Anastasia as she peered around the tram, spun the wheel and roared down the other side of the tracks. Balthazar could see a yellow shape in the distance as another tram started speeding towards them, getting larger by the second. Anastasia cut in front of the tram she had just overtaken with a few metres to spare as the tram on the other side rumbled past. Above the wail of the siren, Balthazar could hear both sets of bells ringing loudly and indignantly.
‘Nicely done,’ said Balthazar.
‘You sound surprised,’
He smiled. ‘I’m not, not at all. I was just remembering the last time we were in a car together.’
Last September Anastasia had been driving them at speed through a narrow maze of back streets in District VII and VIII, trying to avoid being arrested by the gendarmes, the national paramilitary police force, on their way to see Gaspar.
The Gendarmerie had been working for Pal Dezeffy, trying to destabilise Reka’s government by taking control of Kossuth Square and the area around parliament. Despite Anastasia’s skill behind the wheel, she and Balthazar had been captured by a Gendarmerie unit after they threw a spiked chain across the road, instantly shredding her car’s tyres.
The unit’s commander was Attila Ungar, Balthazar’s former partner. When Attila had given Anastasia the option of arrest or joining the gendarmes she had called him a kocsog. The literal meaning of the word was jug, but it was slang for ‘prison bitch’. Hungarian offered a rich and baroque vocabulary of insults, but kocsog was generally agreed to be the worst of the worst. Attila’s men had tasered her immediately.
Anastasia laughed. ‘I can’t promise you that much excitement this time.’
Balthazar had then attacked Attila, even managed to grab his gun and try to escape, before he too was tasered. Dezeffy’s planned terrorist attack was supposed to be the coup de grâce to Reka’s wobbly government. In the end, thanks to Balthazar – and Anastasia – Dezeffy had failed, just. The gendarmes had since been disbanded.
‘No tasers?’ said Balthazar.
Anastasia smiled. ‘I hope not.’
At Oktogon she turned right down Kiraly Street. Before the war, Kiraly Street had been the bustling heart of the city’s downtown Jewish quarter, Budapest’s version of London’s East End or New York’s Lower East Side, filled with kosher butchers, grocery and general goods shops. After the Nazis invaded in March 1944, it marked the edge of the Jewish ghetto. Now it was hipster central.
They drove past a run-down two-storey apartment house, the once-proud Habsburg yellow of its facade turned brown from decades of dirt and exhaust fumes. The ground floor was now an organic wine bar, with a blackboard outside detailing its special of the day – a red from Moldova. Next door two young women stood hand in hand pointing at the window display of a vintage clothes shop that took up the ground floor of an elegant art nouveau block of flats.
Anastasia turned left from Kiraly Street onto Csanyi Street. Here gentrification had not yet spilled over and the road narrowed and darkened. The buildings were lower, their grimy facades crumbling and dilapidated. Csanyi Street ended at the corner of Klauzal Square, where she would turn left onto Dob Street and park in front of Javitas.
‘Almost home,’ said Anastasia as she turned the blue light and the siren off.
She slowed down when she saw that there were four cars backed up at the end of the street. A policeman stood on the corner of Klauzal Square, checking each vehicle, then directing it to drive through the square and not turn left onto Dob Street.
Balthazar frowned. What was this about? There wasn’t usually a traffic control here. And why couldn’t the cars turn left onto Dob Street? Something had happened, he guessed, and nothing good. He could call in to ask, but he and Anastasia would see for themselves in a few seconds.
Anastasia glanced at Balthazar. ‘I don’t know either, but we’ll find out very soon.’
The policeman waved the last of the cars in front of them through, glanced at the blue light on the Opel and walked over. Anastasia stopped the vehicle on the corner of Dob Street. Balthazar wound down the window, holding his police identity card in his hand. The policeman was young, he saw, hardly out of his teens. He glanced at the card, then looked at Balthazar. ‘How can I help?’
‘What happened?’ asked Balthazar. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘Someone attacked the trendy café. But no injuries.’
‘Thanks. That’s where we are going,’ said Balthazar.
The policeman nodded and stepped aside. Anastasia turned left and pulled up in front of Javitas. An ambulance and a fire engine were parked outside the café. Thick grey smoke poured from the inside. She and Balthazar looked at each other, jumped out of the car, and ran over to the entrance.
Vivi sat on a chair by a table outside, her pale face streaked with dirt and smoke.
THIRTEEN
Reka Bardossy’s office, Parliament, 2.45 p.m.
Eniko sat back, watching Reka as she viewed the video clip until the end, then pressed the stop button on Eniko’s laptop. She gave Eniko a wan smile, then glanced at Akos Feher. ‘Well, it took a while, but we knew it would surface eventually.’
Eniko looked at Akos, then at Reka. ‘So you both know about this?’
Reka looked embarrassed. ‘I’ve got a copy. I’ve had one for ages, ever since the footage was taken.’
‘How? Who gave it to you?’
‘The Librarian.’
