She turned to Zsuzsa. ‘Come with me and I will show you to your quarters. You can freshen up then come into the main house. Eniko is waiting for you.’

Zsuzsa followed Reka through the gate and down a path at the side of the house. The garden was enormous, big enough for a small cottage in the far corner with a wooden door and a red roof. Reka led her to the door and opened it.

There were three rooms inside, Zsuzsa saw, a kitchen at the back, a lounge in the front and a bedroom to the side. The lounge had cream walls and was comfortably furnished, with a sofa, a large coffee table and two armchairs. A man was sitting on the sofa and stood up as she entered. He was good-looking, in his late twenties.

Zsuzsa blinked for a moment, wondering if she was perhaps hallucinating after the excitement of the journey across then city. She was not.

‘Erev tov, Zsuzsa,’ he said.

THIRTY-THREE

Rakoczi Square, 8.30 p.m.

Balthazar and Memed walked down Nemet Street to Goran’s car. It was parked nearby in Nemet Alley, a narrow cul-de-sac that cut across the road a couple of blocks further down.

Nemet Street and its surrounds were a typical inner-city mix of dilapidation and regeneration. Most of the apartment blocks were grimy and run-down, their windows thick with dirt, their cracked facades marked with colourful graffiti tags. Here and there a restored building stood out, its front a splash of dark yellow, or a sharp-angled new office block of gleaming brick, glass and steel. Between them were empty lots, waiting for construction to start.

Balthazar glanced at a young woman walking slowly on the other side of the road as he and Memed walked towards the corner of Nemet Alley. The night had turned cold and he shivered for a moment in his leather jacket. She stopped for a moment, leaning against a wall surrounding a construction site, looking in their direction. A giant sign announced that the Nationwide property division had started building a business centre there.

He thought the girl looked familiar, but the street lighting here was dim and it was hard to be sure.

The two men turned left and walked several metres into Nemet Alley. The narrow passage was reasonably well lit – two blocks on either side had recently been converted into garzonlakasok, modern studio apartments – which was why Goran liked to park there. Halfway down the alley were modern steel park benches on either side of the pavement. Nearby, a row of new saplings grew in narrow iron cages.

A few seconds later Balthazar heard a female voice calling his name. He turned around to see the young woman crossing the street and walking towards him and Memed. It was Marika.

Balthazar smiled. ‘I thought you were going home, Marika.’

‘I am, honestly.’ She gestured up the road. ‘I came out to do some shopping. But then I thought I saw you. I live on this street. Number 78, if you ever want to come and visit. I mean for a tea, or something. I don’t know many people here.’

She turned to Memed, looked him up and down, taking in his olive complexion, dark eyes and black hair. She smiled as she asked, ‘Are you one of us?’

Memed returned her smile, shook his head and was about to answer when a dark-blue Mercedes saloon skidded around the corner.

Balthazar and Memed scrabbled for their weapons, but both men had pulled up the zips of their leather jackets and their pistols were inside.

The car stopped a couple of yards in front of them.

Balthazar and Memed lost just a couple of seconds as they fumbled with their jackets but that was all the men inside the Mercedes needed.

The front doors flew open. Two men dressed in black wearing black balaclavas jumped out. Nobody noticed Marika dart into the darkness.

The two gunmen held Glock 34s in a two-handed grip, legs apart, the weapons pointing at Balthazar and Memed, who were directly in their line of fire. One of the gunmen was tall and rangy, the other shorter and wiry. A third man sat in the driver’s seat.

These were trained professionals, Balthazar instantly understood.

Balthazar looked at the men, then at the car. The blue Mercedes looked familiar. The left-hand headlight was smeared with dirt, the right-hand one shiny and pristine.

The taller gunman stood in front of Balthazar and Memed; the other stood to their side.

‘On your knees and hands up,’ the taller gunman shouted, pointing his weapon at Balthazar.

He and Memed looked at each other.

The Mercedes driver, Balthazar saw, was now reversing down Nemet Alley. He would turn around, he guessed, then reverse back down to be in position for a rapid getaway.

Balthazar took his hand out of his jacket, raised his palms to his shoulders and glanced to his right with his eyes. Memed nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.

Balthazar instantly pivoted sideways on the ball of his left foot, stepping out of the line of fire.

He lunged at the pistol with his right hand, fired a punch at the side of the gunman’s head with his left.

Balthazar’s fingers flew around the barrel of the Glock. The gunman struggled to free his weapon but Balthazar kept his elbow and right arm locked so he could not take control. His left fist connected with the gunman’s head, but he moved sideways at the last moment and Balthazar only delivered a glancing blow.

Still, it was enough to disorientate him.

Balthazar drew his left arm back again and slapped the gunman on the back of his head with an open palm as hard as he could, his right arm still solid as he gripped the barrel of the Glock, the two men locked in a danse macabre as they struggled for control of the weapon. This time the blow connected, the hard bone of the man’s skull smashing into his hand.

The gunman reeled, dizzy and disorientated.

Balthazar pivoted again, turning on his hip, his left hand shooting forward and gripping the gunman’s wrist.

Now he had the gunman in a two-handed grip, one hand on his wrist and the other still grasping the weapon. Balthazar quickly turned back in, slamming his right knee sideways into the gunman’s groin as he raised their arms even higher. At the same time he twisted the barrel of the gun sideways as hard and fast as he could. The gunman grunted in pain and half fell forward. This time he let go of the weapon.

Balthazar gripped the barrel of the gun in his right hand, holding it like a hammer, pivoted again, twisted his wrist and slammed the base of the stock into the gunman’s solar plexus, the full force of his body behind the blow. The gunman groaned and fell forward, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

Balthazar now had control of the weapon. But disarming and disabling an armed assailant demands enormous concentration, courage and determination. There was no chance to check how Memed was doing.

Balthazar stepped back, the Glock 34 in his hand, and looked around.

The second gunman was standing with one leg on Memed’s prone body, pointing his gun at his back. The Bosnian was unconscious and blood was seeping from the side of his head.

‘Nice work, Detective,’ said the tall gunman. ‘Really, very impressive. But as you can see your friend is not nearly as efficient. So now we have a Mexican standoff. You can shoot me, I can shoot Memed. But we are not in the shooting business, at least not tonight.’

‘Then what kind of business are we in?’ asked Balthazar. He felt the anger surge through him as he kept hold of the Glock. His body was pumping adrenalin, sending his senses into sharp focus. He could hear distant traffic, smell exhaust and cigarette smoke on the freezing night air. And where was Marika?

The wiry gunman righted himself, still panting, his face pale but tight with fury, clenched his right fist and stepped towards Balthazar.

The taller man shook his head. ‘Not now.’ The wiry gunman stopped, staring at Balthazar, hatred blazing in his eyes.

The taller gunman continued speaking. ‘Let’s call it the guided discussion business, Detective. Someone wants to talk to you.’

‘Then why don’t they call? I’m sure they can find my number.’

‘They can do that. But they believe that you will need a bit of persuasion to have this discussion. That’s why we are here.’

‘Who?’ demanded Balthazar. ‘Who sent you?’

‘Come with us, and you will find out. You listen and then you can go home. I give you my word.’