by Allan Topol
“Nick. Can I come in, Elizabeth?”
“Sure.”
Nick came in and sat in a chair next to the bed. “I’m frightened for Grandpa,” he whispered. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
“Your grandpa is tough, and he knows what he’s doing,” she reassured him, trying to display a confidence she didn’t feel.
“But the Russians tried to kill him in Potomac. They’ll try to kill him here, too.”
“He’s escaped from them before, and they won’t find him this time. He has a good disguise.”
For the next several minutes, she tried to reassure Nick, but he wasn’t buying it. The kid was too smart. Finally, she convinced him to try and sleep. She walked with him back to his bedroom, tucked him in, and kissed him on the cheek.
Omar continued running through the woods, carrying the duffel. A few minutes earlier he had heard gun shots. Now from behind in the distance he heard dogs barking. His arms were bruised and bloodied from tree branches he had crashed into, and he had lost his balance once, falling and wrenching his knee. Ignoring the pain, he kept running.
What drove Omar and gave him strength was visualizing the scene in his house in Grozny that had happened so many years ago but still felt like yesterday. Kuznov directing four foul, smiling Russian soldiers, and the horrific things they had done.
Though the sky was filled with clouds, at long last Omar saw an opening in the trees ahead, an end to the forest. Ignoring the dogs, which were getting closer, he willed his legs to go faster. Bursting through the trees onto a road, he spotted a nearby villa with a black SUV parked in front.
Omar ran to the car and used a gun from his duffel to break the driver side window. Once he had the door open, he tossed his duffel inside the car and in minutes was racing down the hill toward the Danube.
When he reached the castle district, a medieval walled area on a limestone plateau towering above the river, he slowed down to avoid being stopped by the police. He took the winding Attila út down the hill to the river, then turned left, following the river north until he reached the bottom of the Sikló, the funicular railway that climbed the hill. There, he left the car, crossing the bridge on foot and passing the Gresham Palace Hotel. Then he turned left, heading toward the parliament. He checked his watch. It was almost 4:00 a.m.
Fifteen minutes later, Omar reached the square in front of parliament. It was set up for the ceremony happening later that day, the chairs all neatly arranged facing the raised platform in front of the building. Fortunately, it was deserted. Straight ahead, he focused on the two six-story office buildings abutting the square on the north side. Either would be perfect for his purpose.
Approaching the one on the left, he saw a plaque on the wall in front that said Peter Toth Industries, splattered with black paint. The building looked badly in need of repair. Plastered on the front door was a sign in Hungarian and English. He could read the English. It said: “This building will be closed on Wednesday by order of the government.” Undoubtedly because of the ceremony, Omar thought. It would be perfect for his purpose. Using the key Peter had given him, he unlocked the front door. He also removed a gun with a silencer, then tossed the bag inside, leaving the door unlocked.
Omar walked to the other building. On the front, it had the same sign stating that the building would be closed that day. Using his pistol, he smashed the lock, forcing the door open. He went inside and rubbed his bloody arm against the wall. Then he exited the building through the front door.
Omar returned to the Peter Toth Industries building. When he was inside, he locked the door and grabbed his duffel. Using a flashlight, he climbed six flights of stairs to the top floor.
The offices had an abandoned look. Computers and files were piled on most of the desks. He kept walking until he reached an office with large floor-to-ceiling windows that faced Parliament Square. It gave him an excellent view of the platform that would be used for the ceremony.
Omar checked the window in the center. It opened. He moved over a small table and chair and placed them in front of the window. Hungry, he removed cheese, sausage laced with garlic, and bread from the duffel and placed it on the table.
He had no intention of sleeping. After he had eaten, he planned to sit at the table and wait until noon for the ceremony. Twenty minutes before that, he would set up his sniper’s rifle on the table and keep the handgun close at hand. If anyone came for him, he would be ready for them.
After two hours of following the dogs, who barked occasionally raising his hopes, Craig realized it was futile. When they reached the road at the end of the woods, the dogs lost the scent.
He tried to place himself in Omar’s head. What would he do now?
All of his men were dead. Whatever plan he had developed to kill Kuznov and Szabo with their help was no longer viable. On the other hand, Omar would never admit defeat and return to Grozny—not this close to murdering Kuznov and avenging the brutal deaths of his wife and children.
But what could he do on his own? After a moment of thought, the answer came to Craig. Regardless of what Omar’s original plan had been, on his own, Omar’s best alternative would be to take out Kuznov and Szabo with a sniper’s rifle. That meant Omar had probably gone to Parliament Square after he left the forest. It would be easier to break into a building there and to set up under the cover of darkness.
Armed with a Glock and a flashlight in his pocket, Craig asked one of the soldiers to drive him to Parliament Square and leave him there.
Once he climbed out of the military transport, Craig looked around. He concluded that Omar had two likely buildings to set up for his sniper attack—the decrepit Peter Toth Industries building or the one next to it.
As he walked across the square, heading toward the Peter Toth building, Craig noticed the sun was beginning to rise behind the eastern plateau adjoining the city.
Omar watched anxiously from his sixth-floor window as a solitary figure walked across Parliament Square toward the Peter Toth building. Omar picked up his binoculars and studied the man. He had been one of the attackers at the castle—and he had recognized Omar and known his name.
Omar had no idea who the man was but it was obvious he had come to Parliament Square to find Omar and stop him.
If he entered the building, Omar decided he would find a good hiding place and then ambush the man. Killing him would be easy in the dimly lit building.
Craig stopped in front of the Peter Toth building and read the sign. Closing the building today for security was a good move on Szabo’s part. Craig tried the door. It was locked. He walked over to the other building and looked at the lock. It had been damaged. Craig twisted it, and the door opened.
Omar must have wrecked the lock to force his way in. This had to be the building Omar had selected. Craig went inside and shined his flashlight around. He noticed stains on the wall. It had to be blood. Omar was definitively inside.
Craig took the elevator to the top, sixth floor. Systematically, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, he searched each floor, room by room. Finding nothing, he went down to the basement. He even looked in the furnace room.
No trace of Omar.
No indication Omar was in the building.
Weary and despondent, Craig climbed back up to the building lobby, contemplating his next move, when his phone rang. It was Elizabeth.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine but still searching for the man from Grozny.”
“I was afraid that might be the case. I have an idea for you to accomplish what you want to do today.”
Craig perked up. He needed help. “What’s your idea?”
“It would be better if I told you in person. Can you come back to the hotel?”
“I’m on my way.”
Fifteen minutes later, Craig entered the suite.
“You look like hell,” she said.
“Thanks. I had a tough night.”
After he gave her a summary of what had
happened she said, “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll fix you coffee and order up some breakfast.”
“Sounds good. Where’s Nick?”
“Still sleeping. Poor kid. He was up much of the night worrying about his grandpa. I think it’s all too much for him.”
A few minutes later, Craig emerged from the bathroom wearing a white terrycloth robe.
“The reason I lost Omar,” he said glumly, “is because Prime Minister Szabo decided to play military commander.”
“All right,” said Elizabeth patiently. “But it’s over. We have to move on.”
“Hey, that’s my line,” said Craig with a wry smile.
“We’ve been together such a long time, we’re starting to sound alike,” she said, tousling his damp hair as she went to answer the door for room service.
Breakfast was wheeled in on a table, and once they had sat down, Craig said, “Okay. Tell me your idea.”
“I’ll start with the fact that you know Kuznov, right?”
“Know is a bit of an exaggeration. I met with him in Moscow at the time I was dealing with Zhou.”
“And you saved his ass when he was in a tight spot with the Chinese.”
“Yeah, but people like Kuznov don’t repay favors,” said Craig with a shrug. “They demand more concessions.”
“Suppose you were to talk to Kuznov when he arrives in Budapest this morning before the noon ceremony. And you tell him about the threat from Omar.”
“President Worth already did that. Kuznov brushed it aside.”
“But you can tell Kuznov what happened last night at the castle and your efforts to find Omar, all of which show how committed Omar is to killing him and Szabo. That might convince him to skip the ceremony and fly home. At least that way you’d be saving Kuznov’s life, which is all the US cares about. After that Prime Minister Szabo is on his own with Omar. Szabo has been warned.”
Elizabeth paused, swirling a spoon in her coffee thoughtfully before continuing, “It will be up to Szabo’s troops to defend him. But it’s also likely that Omar might abort if Kuznov goes home. Omar doesn’t care about Szabo, Kuznov is the one he hates, and he’s already pocketed his upfront money. Well, what do you think, Craig?”
Craig shook his head. “Your idea’s creative, but it won’t work.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Kuznov will never want to seem as if he’s frightened of Omar. He’ll stay and hope that the Hungarians and his own security forces can thwart Omar’s attack.”
“I don’t think you’re right,” she said stubbornly. “Kuznov’s no fool. He has to know how vulnerable he’ll be in a public ceremony in Parliament Square in Budapest. They’ll never be able to protect him from someone as clever and brutal as Omar.”
“It won’t work,” Craig repeated.
“At least try it. What do you have to lose?” Then she answered her own question. “You don’t want to do it because you want Omar to come out of hiding to try and assassinate Kuznov and Szabo. You’ll be in Parliament Square. Once he exposes himself by firing shots at them, you’ll move in to kill Omar and avenge Amos Neir’s death.”
Of course she was right, but Craig didn’t want to admit it. Instead he told her, “Your great plan has another flaw.”
“What’s that?”
“How will I get in to see Kuznov?”
“I’ve already thought of that.”
“And?”
“Kuznov travels with his press aide, Eugeny, who I’ve gotten to know. He gave me material for a couple of stories, and I’ve always treated Kuznov fairly well in my articles. It’s likely that Kuznov and Eugeny will be at the Russian Embassy until the ceremony. If I told Eugeny that you want an urgent meeting with Kuznov in advance of the ceremony, I’ll bet that Kuznov will see you.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re persistent?”
“All the time,” Elizabeth said with a smile, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Okay, I surrender. Let’s try it.”
“Listen, Craig. I know you didn’t agree to talk to Kuznov and urge him to abort merely because of my pestering. If it were only that, you’d let him go through with the ceremony to give you a better chance of killing Omar.”
He wanted to make her spell it out to make sure she really understood. “So why am I doing it?”
“Because deep down, you’re an American patriot. You realize that if we let the Russian president be assassinated without doing everything we can to stop it, it would be wrong.”
“You’re right, of course. I know it’s the correct thing to do. On the other hand, Szabo is such a scoundrel, and Peter Toth’s reasons for wanting to thwart the Russian–Hungarian pact were sound. If I manage to stop Omar, that means the Russian–Hungarian pact will be finalized and Nick’s life was torn apart for no reason.”
Elizabeth reached across the table and clasped Craig’s hand. “You’re a good person, Craig. That’s why I love you.”
He laughed. “Even though I do stupid things like going to Grozny.”
She wasn’t smiling. “Even though you do stupid things.”
Craig and Elizabeth decided that she would initially go alone to the Russian Embassy to meet with Eugeny, that way Craig could stay with Nick and support Pierre in guarding the boy.
She took the gray Audi Pierre had rented to the Russian Embassy on Bajza Street—a ten minute ride. On the way, she kept thinking about Peter’s life in Russia-controlled Budapest. The city must have been a frightening place then. Now, notwithstanding Szabo’s politics, Budapest, like Prague, was a magnet for young people around the world who came to party and luxuriate in the city’s rich culture and history. The bizarre fact was that the Hungarian people had thirty years of freedom from Russian dominance, but Szabo wanted to let the bear into the tent again.
Elizabeth had decided not to call ahead. She preferred the element of surprise in dealing with Eugeny. Inside the front door she encountered a receptionist, a tough looking young woman with short blonde hair seated behind a plate glass window. Two armed Russian soldiers were on each side of the window.
Elizabeth showed her press ID from the Herald and asked to see Eugeny.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.
“No, but if you tell him it’s Elizabeth Crowder, I’m sure he’ll see me.”
Five minutes later, the door leading inside opened. Elizabeth was directed to a library room off to one side. It had a piano, a couple of sofas, chairs, and an end table. The walls were lined with books.
Eugeny was waiting for her. “I’m surprised to see you,” he said. “We haven’t publicized this visit to Budapest by President Kuznov.”
Elizabeth wanted to add, “Or the secret treaty he’s about to announce,” but she didn’t. Instead she replied, “Good journalists always find a story. I’m sure you remember that from your days as a reporter with Pravda.”
He laughed and said, “Touché. Would you like me to give you some comments about the purpose of President Kuznov’s visit, which is to strengthen and solidify the relations between Russia and Hungary?”
“Actually, I have another purpose in coming.”
“What’s that?” he asked, suddenly guarded.
“I want you to tell President Kuznov that Craig Page is here with me in Budapest. Craig knows President Kuznov and would like to see him for a few minutes as soon as possible and before Kuznov leaves the embassy this morning.”
Eugeny frowned. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. President Kuznov’s schedule is very tight.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. In a stern tone she said, “Eugeny, we’ve always been very honest with each other so I’ll be very blunt and lay my cards on the table. Craig isn’t looking for a social visit to renew old acquaintances. He has information about a threat to President Kuznov’s life that is real and immediate.”
“Then he should send an email to Dimitri, Kuznov’s aide. Dimitri will evaluate it and if—”
“Let me be cle
ar,” she replied in a sharp voice, “if you do not pass my request on to Kuznov right now and something happens to your president, I will write an article for the Herald explaining that you refused to move your ass to save your president’s life. Now do you understand?”
Eugeny looked shaken. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Looking grim, he left the room.
Ten minutes later, Eugeny returned. “President Kuznov will see Craig Page in one hour. When he comes here, tell him to ask for Dimitri.”
“Thank you. He will do that. And tell President Kuznov that Craig looks a little different. He had some work done on his face.”
As soon as she left the embassy, she called Craig and told him, “Success. He’ll see you in an hour. I’m on my way back to the hotel.”
“Great work.”
“I’ll leave the car for you in front of the hotel.”
When Craig entered the embassy reception area an hour later, Dimitri was waiting for him.
“Craig Page?” Dimitri asked.
Craig nodded.
“Good. Come with me.”
They climbed a flight of stairs to a large office overlooking the street in front of the building. Craig guessed that Kuznov had commandeered the ambassador’s office.
Kuznov was sitting behind a desk reading some papers when Craig followed Dimitri into the office.
The Russian president stood up, came forward, and shook Craig’s hand.
“You certainly did change your appearance,” Kuznov said. “Personally, I think it’s an improvement. You look much younger. I was considering a little cosmetic touch-up myself. Perhaps you can tell me where you had it done.”
“In Switzerland, but it wasn’t cosmetic. I was trying to avoid being killed by our good friends the Zhou brothers. I’m sure you remember them.”
Kuznov turned to Dimitri. “Will you excuse us?”
Dimitri quickly retreated and closed the door behind him. Kuznov signaled Craig to a sofa and they both sat down. Smiling, Kuznov said, “Olga sends her regards.”
