It was a decent plan and might have worked, had Balthazar not taken several hard punches, been hurled around in a car crash, wrenched a muscle in his back, staggered out of the car and been gassed with a knockout spray.
The side of his fist connected with Porter’s groin, but his fury and adrenalin weren’t enough and his arm moved too slowly.
Porter stepped sideways at the moment of impact. Balthazar felt him wince but he absorbed part of the blow in his thigh. He ignored the pain and moved back in.
A second later his right arm was around Balthazar’s neck in a chokehold against his carotid artery, his left arm locking it in place. It was a deadly technique that cut off the blood supply to the brain. Unconsciousness would follow in a few seconds.
Balthazar grabbed Porter’s wrist with his right hand, trying to break the stranglehold while his left flailed at Porter’s eyes.
Porter ignored the blows, tightened his grip.
Balthazar reached forward for the glass in front of him on the table. He grabbed the glass and swung it at Porter’s face, but his strength was fading by the second.
Porter released his left hand and blocked the glass with no difficulty, then locked it back in place.
Porter’s arms felt like two steel bars. Daggers of pain shot down Balthazar’s neck and back. His breathing turned ragged and shallow.
The room turned murky. Balthazar felt his limbs go weak.
The glass slipped from his hand.
Karoly said, ‘OK, Porter. Stop now. He’s not a threat any more.’
Porter tensed his arm muscles once more, increasing the pressure for a fraction of a second, then released Balthazar. He fell forward on the chair, coughing and wheezing, the room dark and spinning.
Karoly sat back down, smiled at Porter. ‘Thank you, Porter. Very nice work. Our friend was getting a bit emotional, it seems. Now then, Detective. Needs must. Get me that memory stick.’
Balthazar slowly sat back, panting and coughing. After several seconds the room stabilised. He tried to speak but at first the words would not come. He swallowed, tried again. ‘Everything on it is digitised. They will have copies.’
Karoly shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. We are living in the post-truth era. I just need to know what’s there. Then I can learn from my niece’s example. Nationwide has a substantial communications department, as you can imagine – with plenty of tame journalists. We will launch a pre-emptive strike, like Reka did, explain how we are being targeted with a deepfake, show how easy it is to fabricate documents, take each one apart line by line. Nobody will believe anything once we are finished. We are good at rewriting history here, always have been. Now we have a new toolkit, it’s even easier.’
He smiled, poured himself some water, drank half the glass. ‘I should be grateful to my niece. At the start of the week almost nobody knew what a deepfake was. Now the whole country does. Of course, the irony is that her video wasn’t fake at all. It was completely genuine. But now nobody believes that. In fact people are sympathetic to her. Last time I looked her numbers were creeping back up. I’ve already talked to my communications people, explained there is a massive smear campaign coming, against me, against the firm, a tissue of lies and fabrications all reaching back to the war. Another deepfake. We’re all ready to go.’
Karoly leaned forward. ‘Now get me the memory stick. Once it’s here, you can go home.’
THIRTY-NINE
Remetehegyi Way, 10.45 p.m.
Antal Kondor opened the door of the silver Audi and helped Eva neni out of the vehicle. She thanked him, stood still for a moment as she took in her surroundings: the row of regularly spaced villas, the carefully tended gardens, the police guard outside Reka’s house.
She breathed in deeply, trying to control her emotions, keep her voice steady. ‘I haven’t been to Obuda for years. Decades, in fact. Better air than downtown, that’s for sure.’ She squinted, looked harder at Reka’s house. ‘Apart from the police, it looks exactly the same.’
Antal asked, ‘You’ve been here before?’
‘You could say that. A long time ago. A very long time ago, young man. In another life,’ she said, still staring at the house. She looked up at Antal. ‘So, are we going inside,’ she asked brightly, ‘or shall we stand here a bit longer getting cold?’
Reka had called Eva neni personally and told her that Elad was safe and wanted to see her, that she also had some information for her and she would send a car and driver to get her. There had been no question in Eva neni’s mind that she would accept the invitation, especially when Reka told her the address. Antal gestured for her to walk ahead, signalled to the policeman standing nearby to open the gate, and led through the front garden, inside the house to the lounge.
Eniko and Akos stood up as Eva neni walked into the lounge. She greeted Eniko, who she already knew, and Akos introduced himself. A few seconds later Reka appeared from a side room. She walked over to Eva neni, introduced herself and thanked her for coming, especially at such a late hour.
‘You’re welcome. Well, Prime Minister,’ said Eva neni, looking her up and down, ‘you’re even prettier in person than you look on television.’
Reka smiled. ‘Thank you. Please call me Reka.’
Eva neni nodded. ‘OK. And I am Eva neni.’ She looked around the room again. ‘You said he was here. I can’t see him. Where is he?’
‘Come with me. I’ll take you to Elad,’ said Reka, as she led Eva neni through the garden towards the cottage.
‘And Balthazar?’ asked Eva neni.
‘I won’t lie to you. We are not sure. It looks like he has been kidnapped. But we will find him.’ There was no need to tell Eva neni about the internet footage of Balthazar’s abduction, Reka judged. ‘We have a good idea where he might be.’
Eva neni stood still, her face creased with anxiety. ‘Then go and get him, please.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s all my fault. I should never have involved him.’
Reka took her hand. It felt small and cold. ‘It’s not your fault, Eva neni. You have done nothing wrong. Everything will be fine in the end.’
‘I’ve heard that before, several times.’ Eva neni gave her a half smile. ‘It never was.’
‘It will be this time. But for now, please come with me.’
Eva followed her outside and stood still for a moment. She had dressed up, Reka saw. She was wearing a dark-blue wool coat that had once been expensive, had brushed and set her hair. Beneath the bluster the elderly lady was nervous, Reka saw. She was far from her home and comfort zone, and travelling back in time.
The two women walked over to the small house. Zsuzsa and Elad were inside in the small kitchen, sitting at the table, working. The surface was covered in handwritten sheets of paper, books and piles of printouts. They looked up as the door opened.
Elad jumped up and ran over to Eva neni, hugging her. Zsuzsa smiled and quickly left, together with Reka.
Eva neni and Elad sat down at the table. Eva neni wagged her finger at him, mock sternly. ‘Naughty boy. I was so worried about you. Two days you have been missing. I’ve had your parents on the phone every day. You should have called. Or sent a message or something. A few more hours and they would have called the embassy, the police, everyone. Then Reka called me.’
Elad looked bashful. ‘I know. But they told me I couldn’t. It might have put you in danger. I’m really sorry.’
‘I forgive you. Don’t do it again. So what have you found out?’
‘A lot. About your parents. About this house. It’s very sad. Are you sure you want to hear it?’
Eva neni nodded. ‘They’ve been dead a long time.’ She looked around the small room. ‘I want you to tell the story. It’s your story too.’
Elad stood up, looked for two pieces of paper and picked them up. ‘I know. Come, Auntie, let’s go through to the others.’
They gathered in the lounge. Eva neni sat next to Elad on the sofa, Zsuzsa next to him. Eniko and Reka sat on the armchairs, while Akos grabbed a chair from the kitchen.
Reka started speaking. ‘You are probably wondering what all this is about, why this is happening now, why a historian and a journalist are working in the garden house… all sorts of questions. My family, as you know, is one of the richest in Hungary. It was rich before the war, managed to expand its wealth after 1945 and keep its riches during communism. Karoly Bardossy, my uncle, is now one of the most powerful businessmen in the country. I wondered for a long time what the real origins of our wealth were and what happened during the war. I had my suspicions, of course. I’d heard things over the years, remarks, strange references. I’d also found some documents that were very disturbing. I could not commission a Hungarian historian to investigate this. I needed an outside voice. Around this time I had a call from Erno Hartmann at the Jewish Museum, who wanted to show me the museum. I went there and I explained what I wanted to do. Erno was sympathetic, keen to help. I told him I needed someone who could dig deep, wasn’t afraid of what they might find, and that I could pay all the necessary costs.’
Reka nodded at Elad. ‘Erno had heard of you, knew about your work at Hebrew University, and that you understood Hungarian. He contacted you, offered you a stipend, expenses, space in his office.’
Elad started with surprise. ‘You brought me over? You set this up? Hartmann never told me.’
‘Yes, I did. And why should he? He promised to keep things confidential and he did.’
