Zsuzsa glanced leftwards as the Audi came onto Szepvolgyi Way, where one of Budapest’s best-known cake and ice-cream shops stood on the corner. It was a wide road, with two lanes in each direction, the main artery in and out of Obuda.
Last summer she had sat on the low wall overlooking the road with her then fiancé, eating lemon sorbet as he had explained to her that he hated Budapest and wanted to go back home to their village, and he would like Zsuzsa to come with him and to get married as soon as possible.
She had gently explained that would not be possible and it would be best to go their separate ways. He had packed up his clothes and moved out of their tiny flat that evening. The episode now seemed like a scene from another life.
The Audi was speeding up now, hitting eighty kilometres an hour as it raced up Szepvolgyi Way towards Obuda, running several sets of red lights, then turning onto Folyondar Street, a residential road that led onto Remetehegyi Way.
Now they were coming into a fancier part of the city, Zsuzsa could see. For a moment they were stuck behind a taxi, then Gyuri overtook, moving into the opposite lane then switching back just in time to avoid the oncoming traffic.
Zsuzsa flexed her shoulders, turned her head from side to side. Everything moved smoothly. She relaxed a bit, now writing the paragraph in her head about how the Audi smashed its way through the police roadblock. She asked, ‘Are we expecting any more interference, Antal?’
He turned and smiled at her. ‘I don’t think so. The drone will have seen what happened. They tried but this is a big beast. It’s going to take a nice chunk out of the police budget if we have to keep smashing our way through their cars.’
Gyuri kept a steady pace as the car whizzed through the quiet, tree-lined streets. A few minutes later the car drove onto Remetehegyi Way and parked outside Reka’s villa. Two policemen walked over immediately, but raised their hands in greeting when they saw the car and Antal exit the vehicle.
He opened the boot and took out Zsuzsa’s bag, then opened her car door. She stepped outside, looking around curiously. She had never been to Obuda before.
The air smelled different, she realised, sharper and fresher than downtown. Reka’s villa looked very grand, set back from the road behind a high fence, with a carefully manicured garden in front. The view of the city from here was spectacular.
Antal handed Zsuzsa her bag. ‘I wish you a lovely and pleasant rest of the evening,’ he declared, lapsing into a formal register, an amused glint in his eye.
‘Thank you. It’s been very interesting so far,’ she said.
‘Let me know when you want a ride back into town.’
‘I will,’ she said, watching Antal as he turned and walked away.
The front door opened and Reka stepped out. She walked down the path to the gate, which opened silently. She stepped through and greeted Zsuzsa. ‘Thank you for coming, Zsuzsa. I’m very glad to have you with us. I hope your journey wasn’t too difficult.’
Zsuzsa tried to recover some of her composure. This was actually happening. She was really coming to stay with the prime minister. ‘It was more exciting than I expected.’
‘So I heard.’
Reka patted the Audi, walked around to the front. The headlights were cracked and white paint was smeared down each wing, but there seemed to be no structural damage.
Antal saw Reka looking at the car. ‘I’ll get it checked tomorrow morning, Prime Minister.’
Reka said, ‘Thank you, Antal. And thanks to you and Gyuri for getting Zsuzsa here safely.’
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.