Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

  “Ah!” The man switched languages. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll practice my English on you.”

  Max sighed audibly in relief.

  “Of course. English will be fine.” Lacy continued, “We’re looking for a vintner named Kardos. Kardos Andor. You know him?”

  “Most certainly. That was his wine you were drinking with your lunch. He made a delivery to us just this morning.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “It’s a little village just five kilometers from here, Aszófő. You have a map?”

  Max reached into his pocket and pulled out the small map he had picked up in the tourist office in Budapest.

  “Here, let me show you.” The man spread the map out on the table and pointed to a little village shown in print almost too small to read. “His house is on the main road though the town. On the left. There’s a wall around it with a brass bell hanging outside the gate. If you can’t find it, just ask anyone there.”

  ****

  A half hour later they were parked in front of the wall. It was taller than Max’s six-foot height, and hadn’t been painted in many years. In places where the plaster was worn off, Lacy could see ancient crumbling amber colored blocks. It seemed a bit forbidding. She stepped toward the rusted wrought-iron gate intersecting the wall and looked at a small plaque that read “Kardos” in rough lettering.

  “Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn’t look very welcoming,” Lacy said. “And where are the vineyards?”

  Max rang the bell.

  There was no response. He peered through the gate and rang it again.

  A huge man with a slight limp appeared around the corner of the house. “Sorry,” he said. “I was feeding the chickens.” He looked through the gate at them but made no move to invite the intruders in. “Do I know you?” Suspicion filled his voice.

  “No,” Lacy answered. “Zsuzsa Szilard gave us your name. She said you might be able to help us.”

  “Ah. You’re the two she called about. Your names?”

  “Max Petersen and Lacy Telchev.”

  The man looked hard at them. “Telchev. The name of Zsuzsa’s son.”

  “My husband was Igor Telchev. I believe you’ve met him.”

  The man unlocked the gate and motioned them in. “Tesék,” he said, using the all-purpose Hungarian word that can mean almost anything, depending on the circumstances. In this case it clearly meant “come in.”

  Lacy studied this man who might be the last link in the chain she’d been following since leaving New York. He was at least six foot five. Middle-aged, he had thick greying hair and a matching bushy mustache. His dusty brown pants were tucked into knee-high boots, and a loose, full-sleeved shirt open at the neck was covered with an open leather vest. Altogether, he was an intimidating figure.

  She shifted her gaze to the freshly painted house with its red tile roof. Beautiful carved shutters adorned the windows and doors and flower beds surrounded the entrance. This was not at all what the decrepit wall and rusty gate or the carelessly dressed man had led her to expect.

  Her confusion must have shown on her face because the man laughed. “As long as the outside walls look shabby, I can do pretty much what I like inside, without the police or the tax officials taking notice. I’m afraid it’s a holdover from my years of living under the Soviets. My wall matches the others in this town. My house, not so much. I’m Kardos Andor.”

  He held out his hand to Max, who shook it and then he nodded a greeting to Lacy. “You will have to pardon me while I finish up with my hens. Come.”

  They followed him around to the back of the house and watched as he scattered feed in a little enclosed pen fronting a picture-book henhouse.

  “I like my eggs fresh,” he explained. “Now come in, and I’ll pour us a palinka. I believe my housekeeper left some poppy seed cakes we can have. My wife died five years ago, and I’m afraid I’m not much accustomed to visitors.”

  When they were seated in the cozy kitchen with small glasses of the strong traditional Hungarian apricot-scented liquor and pastries in front of them Lacy began.

  “Mr. Kardos…”

  “Please, call me Andor. And we speak English please. My English not so good, but is better than you say everything I say again to your friend.”

  “Thank you.” Max smiled. “Your English is certainly better than my Hungarian. If you’ll pardon my saying so, I think Hungarian’s the most difficult language on the face of the earth.”

  “Just so.” Andor gave a deep rumbling laugh. “Our conquerors for centuries, the Turks, the Germans, the Russians, have found it impossible to learn our language. And they’ve always unsuccessfully tried to make us learn theirs. Is my theory they eventually just give up and go home.”

  “Andor,” Lacy smiled, bringing them to the topic, “Zsuzsa told us you may have something, a computer memory device, my hus…that Igor Telchev, left with you. He needed a safe place to hide it. I was to retrieve it in the event of his death. He died in March.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. We really need to retrieve this last piece, and we were told you might have it.”

  Andor was quiet for a moment, pondering. Then he allowed, “I suppose it might be so.”

  “What do you mean, you suppose?”

  “A friend of Zsuzsa’s approaches me a few months ago. He says his name, Telchev. Same last name as Zsuzsa’s son. He wants me to hold something for him. To keep it safe. I don’t trust him. But since Zsuzsa sent him to me…”

  “Yes?” Lacy said, puzzled by the man’s seeming reluctance to speak.

  “I want no part of it. I have a bad feeling about him. But because Zsuzsa asks me to help this man, I tell him about my wine cave. I tell him how to get there and I lend him my keys. Beyond that I know nothing. He returns the keys to me an hour or so later. I never see him again. I have barrels of wine in my cave. And bottles. I never come across anything as I work in my cave. I’m not sure is anything to find.”

  “You mean the memory stick may be in the cave, but we don’t know for sure? And if it is in the cave, we don’t know where in the cave it is?” Max looked astonished.

  Andor turned to Lacy. “Your husband not tell you where he put it?”

  Lacy’s face fell. “No. He didn’t. Perhaps he meant to, but he didn’t. How could he have neglected something so important?”

  Andor shrugged his shoulders and motioned his hands in the international language that says “Who knows?”

  “Where is this cave? May we search it?” Max asked.

  Andor answered, “My vineyard is on a hill outside the village. Many small vineyards there. My neighbors and I each grow enough grapes to make our own annual supply of wine and perhaps a little to sell.”

  He thought for a moment. “There will be people working in the vineyards today. They may wonder at strangers in their midst. But tonight…the annual festival to taste this year’s wines is this evening. The whole village will gather on the hillside. There’ll be celebrating well in to the night. The party moves from cave to cave along the hilltops, everyone sampling everyone else’s wine. Many visitors come. You will pass unnoticed.”

  “What time does it begin?” Max asked.

  “At sunset.”

  “I guess we have no alternative. We’ll have to check into a hotel. We have no idea how long this will take.”

  A short time later they left Andor, having procured a hand-drawn map to the site of the vineyards.

  ****

  They found a hotel on the Tihany peninsula and were able to get a room with a little balcony overlooking the lake. Once settled in, Max tried to call Riana again, but there was no answer.

  “Why don’t you rest? It might be a long night,” he said. “I’m going out for a while. I won’t be long.”

  Lacy nodded. They were so near the end. So near their objective. At least she hoped they were. But she hadn’t slept much last night, and she was having difficulty keeping he
r eyes open. She lay down on the bed.

  Max gently covered her and kissed her forehead. “I’m just going for a little walk,” he said. “I need to clear my head and think.”

  Lacy hardly heard him. She was already half asleep as he scooped up the keys Andor had given them and tiptoed out of the room.

  ****

  Max studied the rough map Andor had drawn for them and put it back in the glove compartment. He drove to the area of vineyards just south of the little village. Parking the car unobtrusively at the foot of the hill, he looked upward, past the rows of grapes, to the cave entrances, barely visible from below. Which one was Andor’s? He’d said the last one on the hill. The one at the far right.

  He decided to approach from the back side of the hill. It would be better if he didn’t have to explain his presence to any of the people working on the hillside, although there were only a few there at this hot, sleepy time of day.

  After a steep climb, he came over the crest of the hill and took refuge behind a large tree. He wiped the sweat obscuring his vision. Damn, it was hot for October. Two men were standing near what he thought might be Andor’s cave entrance, chatting. Then they strolled together into one of the other caves. Good. Luck was with him. Now to try to get in.

  Swiftly, and with the silence of years of practice, Max sprinted to the cave entrance. He saw oversized wooden doors such as one might find on a garage for heavy equipment. Built into the large doors was a smaller door, the size of a usual household front door. A padlock secured it. That shouldn’t be a problem. Deftly he picked the lock. It made a clicking sound as he opened it. He glanced around to make sure no one had seen him, and slipped quickly inside, securing the door behind him. Christ! It was black as pitch, but at least it was cooler in here. He gave it a few seconds so that his eyes could adjust to the darkness, then pulled out the small LED light torch he always kept with him and studied his surroundings. The walls were lined with huge wooden casks lying on racks, each with a faucet in the exposed, flat end. Nothing could be hidden in any of them. They were clearly Andor’s wine supply. But if not in them…

  Methodically Max started searching the area above, behind, and below the casks. An hour later he sat down on the earthen floor, sweaty, dirty and frustrated. He looked around the cave again. Dammit, it had to be here. Igor wouldn’t have come this far only to give up.

  The racks of bottle lining the back of the cave. They appeared to be filled with wine. Still…

  He walked over and removed the bottles one at a time, examining each carefully, looking at the space behind them. They were just what they appeared to be. Simply bottles of wine, each labeled with the name of the vineyard and the year they’d been laid down. The bottom racks seemed to hold the older wines. He glanced at his watch. He’d been gone almost three hours. Lacy must be wondering…

  On the point of giving up, Max removed one last bottle. It seemed no different from the others. He started to replace it. What was this?

  He tried to hold his excitement down. There was a small wooden panel showing behind the wine rack here. Why would there be wood in this spot? The rest of the walls were brick and stone. Hastily he emptied the surrounding rack. This section of the rack was hinged. It moved. The door behind it was low and narrow, and unlike the outside door, it had a miniscule key hole.

  Max pulled out the miniature tool kit he was never without and found what he needed. Scarcely breathing he fit the small rod into the lock and moved it with the expertise of experience. There was a click and the door swung wide. Ducking, Max entered a small chamber.

  He frowned. More wine. Why would Andor have found it necessary to have a second, hidden section to his cave?

  A voice boomed behind him. “So I see you’ve found my little secret.” Andor stooped and joined Max in the small second cave. “I thought I might find you here. I suspected from the moment we met you were not quite the man you appeared to be.”

  Max reached for his gun and realized he didn’t have one. He wasn’t carrying.

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Max said, studying Andor. He wasn’t likely to overcome this man in hand-to- hand combat.

  Andor looked Max up and down. “I wanted to see what you would do. Now if you wish to get out of this cave alive, I suggest you show me some identification that will convince me you’re not among the people Igor Telchev was writing about.”

  “You knew what he was writing?”

  “I’m not an idiot. The memory stick he needed to hide contains the last chapters of a book exposing government corruption, chapters I insisted on reading before agreeing to help him. A very dangerous book. We discussed it, and I helped him hide it here. He was a good man. Which brings us back to you. What kind of man are you? Who are you working for? Exactly what is your interest in this?”

  Reluctantly Max pulled out his official identification.

  Andor studied it and gave a low whistle. Then he looked up at Max. “I know how easily such identification can be created. I need to hear the whole story. Just how are you involved?”

  Max shrugged. No harm could come from leveling with this man at this point. He needed Andor’s help.

  Half an hour later, Andor gave a sigh of relief. “I believe you. All right, then. In truth I’ll be glad to see the last of this. It has worried me for some months.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Max asked.

  “Give you what you’re looking for, and then, I hope, never see or hear from you again.”

  Max let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  Andor went over to the back wall, pulled out a dust covered, loosely corked bottle, upended it and handed Max the memory stick.

  “You knew where it was all the time? You helped him hide it?”

  “Of course I did. Zsuzsa asked me to help him. I helped him.”

  “But you said…”

  “Do you think I’d have admitted my role in this without good reason?”

  Max was silent. Of course not. Neither would he have, under the same circumstances.

  As they exited through the small inner door, Max asked, “How do you happen to have this second small inner cave?”

  Andor’s laugh boomed, echoing off the walls. “We all have them here. When first the Nazis came, and then the Soviets, we all built small hidden chambers in the backs of our caves. The occupying forces had a nasty habit of confiscating our wines. We kept the best ones out of sight, for ourselves.”

  Max laughed with him. “And is that all these hidden chambers were ever used for?

  Andor’s face became grave. “Resistance fighters sometimes needed shelter, and once a downed airman showed up on my doorstep. The caves had their uses in wartime.”

  Max extended his hand. “It’s been an honor knowing you. You won’t let Lacy know I’ve been here this afternoon, I hope.”

  “I don’t believe that would serve any purpose. You will keep her safe? She seems a very nice young woman.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  ****

  It was after five when Lacy roused. Where was Max? They’d have to be leaving soon.

  He walked in. “I see you’re up.”

  “Good God, Max. Where have you been? Your clothes are filthy.”

  Max looked down, seeing the state of his apparel for the first time. “Sorry. I was doing a little rock climbing. Some interesting cliffs around the lake. I’ll take a shower and change. You could try to get through to Riana while I’m showering.”

  Lacy picked up the phone and punched in the numbers. “May I speak to the Kammersängerin Riana Rolfe please?”

  Lacy listened to Riana’s husband speaking in harried German.

  “I’m so very sorry,” she replied in the same language. “This is Lacy Telchev. Please tell her I wish her a speedy recovery.” She sat in shock, staring into space.

  When Max emerged from the bathroom, Lacy was sitting on the bed, the phone still in her hand, her face a white mask.

  �
��What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “I called Riana and spoke to her husband. There was an accident backstage during the rehearsal.”

  “An accident?

  “He doesn’t know exactly what happened, but Riana broke her leg. Someone failed to position the backstage mattress she was to land on in the last act of Tosca. You know, where she jumps off the parapet? There are supposed to be a mattress and stage hands there to catch her as she jumps. No one was there. Riana twisted her leg under her in the fall. He said he’d never known a backstage crew to make such a mistake.”

  Max shook his head. “It was no accident. Has Riana said anything?”

  “Her husband’s in the hospital with her. He said she’s under sedation, but before that she kept repeating the name Szilard.” Lacy blanched as the implications of Riana’s injury hit her. “Richard did this! He has Zsuzsa’s name. We’ve got to warn her.”

  ****

  Richard stood in the shadow of a tree and stared at the little brown bungalow in Budapest. That bitch of an opera singer. He’d warned her. She was lucky it was just her leg he’d broken. But she’d given him the name of the next contact, a woman in Budapest. A doctor.

  He’d gone to her office. For once he thought he’d be straightforward and simply ask for what he wanted. He’d presented himself as Igor’s friend and told her he was there to retrieve what Igor had left with her. Dr. Szilard claimed Igor had left nothing with her. She’d said she had no idea what he was talking about.

  He’d see about that. He’d see how much she really knew. He’d been watching them come and go from her house for the last several hours. He was pretty sure he knew a way to get her undivided attention and improve her memory.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they were leaving the room, the phone rang. Who had this number? Only Riana and Zsuzsa. They’d left messages for them both.

  Max answered. “Slow down, I can’t understand you. Stop crying. Wait, I’ll put Lacy on.” Lacy could hear hysterical Hungarian pouring out of the other end of the phone.

  Taking the phone from Max, Lacy struggled to remain calm, speaking rapidly in what to Max was a totally incomprehensible language. She asked a question and waited as the answer came, marginally calmer now.