Zsuzsa tried not to let her surprise show, scribbled in her notebook. ‘When was that?’
‘Wednesday evening. I remember because my son called from Canada.’
‘Did he get in the car willingly? He wasn’t forced or anything?’
Feri bacsi looked puzzled and shook his head. ‘Why would he be forced? They shook hands. Like I said, the big guy put Elad’s bag in the boot, got into the car, and then they drove off.’
TWENTY
Falk Miksa Street, 12.10 p.m.
Anastasia pulled up Ilona Mizrachi’s file onto her screen and opened it. ‘OK, Detective, let’s take a look at the Israeli cultural attaché in Budapest. What’s she been up to lately?’
Balthazar sat down beside Anastasia. ‘You have a file on her?’
‘Of course we do.’ She smiled. ‘You think that’s her real job?’
Anastasia opened a folder of images and video clips and began to scroll through the photographs. They showed Ilona at a variety of events, from the Budapest Book Fair the previous year when Israel had been the guest of honour, to Jewish cultural events in several of the city’s synagogues, and at gatherings of the city’s business and political elite. There were also several shots of Ilona out and about at glamorous parties and restaurants.
Wherever she went, she was always well dressed and immaculately made-up, zeroing in on the most important or influential person in the room. Anastasia played a video clip of Ilona at the congress of the ruling Social Democrats. There was no sound, but the film showed her moving with confident ease, working the room until she ended up at her destination: a chat with Reka Bardossy.
Anastasia glanced at Balthazar. ‘She’s very pretty, your new friend.’
‘I’ve only met her once. She’s not my friend.’
‘Maybe she would like to be.’ She lifted an eyebrow. ‘I hope you weren’t too dazzled by her.’
Balthazar smiled. Was Anastasia flirting with him? Yes, he decided, she was. ‘Too glam for me. You know us nyolcker boys,’ he said, using the slang term for District VIII. ‘We prefer a more natural look.’ He looked at Anastasia. ‘Casual clothes, T-shirts, jeans, not too much make-up.’
Anastasia seemed about to say something. Instead she turned a faint shade of pink and busied herself at her screen. ‘OK. What did Ilona tell you?’
‘Directly, nothing new. Other than if we don’t find Elad by midday Sunday, the prime minister’s visit will be cancelled, which you already know. But indirectly, quite a lot.’
‘Such as?’
Balthazar quickly summed up the exchange where Ilona pressed him about specific dates and the names of people or companies. ‘I think she is worried about something. Something Elad has found out, or is on track to. There must be a reason why she cares what a historian might have discovered about a firm that was founded seventy years ago. And it must be connected to Alon Farkas’s visit. There is some kind of connection. Otherwise they would not be threatening to cancel it.’
‘I think you’re right. For a small country, we make a lot of history,’ said Anastasia.
‘And we can never outrun it,’ said Balthazar.
For a moment he was back at the Kovacs family home on Jozsef Street, one Christmas when he was fourteen. His great-aunt Zsoka was telling the story of how she and her parents were deported in the summer of 1944. She had been nine years old. The gendarmes took her parents first, forced them to join a long procession of Gypsies walking through the back streets of District VIII to Keleti Station, where the train awaited. She had come down the stairs with two more gendarmes, not really understanding what was happening. She reached for the hand of one of the gendarmes, as she had been told to do, to find an adult who could help in uncertain situations. He swore at her and slapped her around the face. His ring had gouged a deep line across her cheek. Decades later the scar was still visible.
He brought himself back to the present. ‘Shall I talk you through what Hartmann told me?’
‘Yes. But let’s get Vivi in, see how that fits with what she has found.’ She picked up the telephone on her desk and pressed a couple of buttons. ‘Balthazar is here. Come through, please, and let’s talk him through the material.’
The door opened a few seconds later and Vivi walked in, carrying a chair. She nodded at Balthazar, sat down at Anastasia’s desk and made herself comfortable.
‘You look right at home,’ said Balthazar.
Vivi smiled. ‘I like it here. I get to play with state-of-the-art technology. There’s nobody throwing smoke bombs or opening fire on me with a sub-machine gun. My dream workplace.’
‘Mine too,’ said Anastasia. She turned to Balthazar. ‘So what have you got, Detective?’
Balthazar took out his notebook and flipped through the pages until he came to what he needed. ‘We know that Elad was investigating the origins of Nationwide. Some of the story of the company’s foundation and early years is in the public domain, but only the bare outline. Nationwide Ltd. was formed in 1948 by Tamas Bardossy, grandfather of Reka and father of Karoly Bardossy, the current CEO and majority owner and Reka’s uncle. Nationwide Ltd. was a conglomerate of several companies, including the original Bardossy family firm, which was already one of Hungary’s biggest industrial conglomerates. Elad was especially interested in the Bardossy family’s role, and the role of the family company in 1944 and 1945 before it was absorbed into the new holding company but most of the documentation in the state archives had vanished. Nationwide itself was not helpful, quite the opposite. They would not give him any access to their records, or allow him to interview any of their staff, or give him any contact details for former employees. They also threatened him with a criminal case if he continued asking questions.’
Anastasia said, ‘So they have something to hide.’
Balthazar said, ‘It looks like that. This kind of approach is unusual nowadays, Hartmann told me. Even the big German corporations who used slave labour for the Nazis have opened up their archives and let the historians in. They think it’s better to let everything out in one go. There is a playbook: first the revelations, then the media furore, everyone gets outraged, the company boss apologises profusely, the company pays some compensation to whoever is still alive, they set up a historical foundation, fund a memorial, then the story fades away.’
Vivi asked, ‘And does it?’
Balthazar nodded. ‘Always. The war was a long time ago. The survivors are dying off. And if the story comes back, each time it makes a bit less noise. But Hartmann told me that Elad had a source, someone with what he called “direct knowledge” of how Nationwide was formed, who was feeding him detailed information about what really happened in 1944 and 1945. And that story would not go away. It would go off like a bomb.’
Anastasia asked, ‘Did Hartmann have any idea who the source was?’
Balthazar shook his head. ‘He said not. If he did, he was a very good liar. He said Elad would share everything with him once he could confirm and verify the information, and get the source’s permission. Then he and Elad would evaluate and analyse everything. Which makes sense.’
Balthazar turned to Vivi. ‘So what was on the USB stick?’
Vivi looked at Anastasia. ‘May I?’ she asked. Anastasia nodded and the two women switched places. Anastasia sat next to Balthazar, her leg briefly brushing against his as she sat down.
Vivi opened a series of windows. ‘There were two batches of files. The first was a folder of video clips. That was quite easy to decrypt. Elad was definitely being followed. I guess he filmed them with his phone. Take a look.’
The footage showed a blue Mercedes, passing by the Jewish Museum on Dohany Street, parked nearby on Sip Street, then the same vehicle parked on Klauzal Square and driving slowly down Dob Street.
Vivi said, ‘The Merc has three different number plates, but it’s always the same vehicle. The right-hand headlamp is cracked. They are checking the number plates now.’
‘Thanks, Vivi,’ said Anastasia. ‘And the second batch of files?’
Vivi looked slightly bashful. ‘I’m sorry. Progress is still much slower, even with your technical capabilities. The decryption programs are still running. They are documents, but I don’t have much more of their contents yet.’
Balthazar asked, ‘What have you got?’
‘Fragments,’ said Vivi. ‘A few words and phrases here and there.’
Balthazar nodded encouragingly. ‘It’s great you have anything. Tell us, please. Anything can be useful, even fragments of words.’
Vivi nodded, and opened her notebook. ‘I thought you would say that, so I wrote down everything I could get. There will be more, I hope, but it might take a few hours, or even a day or two to get it. The document is encrypted to a very high level – military or government.’
She looked down at the notebook. ‘Tam… ossy, several times. Could that be Tamas Bardossy? Then another name appears: Ber… something and Mik… something. Maybe Miki or Miklos? Then there is the word Swiss and then another word which I don’t know and a number. That one I got: 500,000. Maybe 500,000 Swiss francs?’ She turned the page of her notebook. ‘Some full words: invalid, Picasso, Monet and Manet. The painters. I mean, that’s me saying that, the painters.’ She glanced down again. ‘Oh, and I have a date for the second document: 20 March 1944. Is that significant?’
Anastasia nodded. ‘Yes. It must be. The Nazis invaded on 19 March.’ She paused and closed her eyes for a moment, thinking hard. ‘So what do we have here? An Israeli historian asking unwelcome questions who goes missing, but who has a source feeding him super-sensitive, potentially explosive documents which seem to date from March 1944. The documents point to some kind of deal, I guess to do with payments and valuables.’
Anastasia’s mobile rang. She looked at the number and took the call, listening for a few moments, thanked the caller and hung up. ‘The car number plates have been checked. They are all fake – none of them exist.’
TWENTY-ONE
