by Derek Hansen
‘Get out!’ ordered one of the men.
Tibor did as instructed and stopped dead in his tracks when he realised where he was.
‘You bastards,’ he hissed.
‘Benke told us to make it look authentic. Nobody looks when the AVO make an arrest. It’s the perfect cover, no?’ Both men had smirks on their faces.
Tibor was told to undress and given a towel and a costume. He found Benke where he expected him to be, floating on his back in the middle of the pool. Tibor eased himself into the warm water and closed his eyes. It was a pleasure he’d not expected. The knot in his stomach slowly unwound and his muscles relaxed. More than anything he felt relief and gratitude.
‘So you survived,’ said Benke.
Tibor saw no need to respond.
‘I notice you have acquired a few scars of the profession.’
Again Tibor did not speak.
‘We bear the blame for what happened. That is why I agreed to this meeting.’
‘They make it difficult,’ said Tibor.
‘Even so,’ said Benke, ‘we were aware of the rules.’
‘I have come to give you the railways.’
‘Why?’
‘The railways need you now that I am no longer in the game. And I need papers for three people and an escort over the border.’
‘Three people.’
‘My brother and his girl.’
‘For that you give me the railways?’
‘Not quite,’ said Tibor. He laid his head back against the side of the pool and stretched out. ‘First we have to take another trainload of coal.’
Tibor’s methods were different and the outcome successful. He acted as Benke’s deputy so that nobody other than himself and the engine driver knew where the coal would be unloaded. The coal was then trucked to different sites in both Buda and Pest. After Benke had taken all the coal he could handle, Tibor put the second part of his plan into motion. He knew the AVO would suspect him of organising the train’s hijack but he wanted them to be sure. Tibor contacted the other two crime bosses and told them where to collect their coal and that he wanted fifty per cent of the payment in gold or hard currency. He arranged for Benke’s men to collect the payment.
Then, despite the fact that he already had false identity papers, he began negotiating new papers and a safe passage across the border with two separate groups of people smugglers. They knew his reputation and the risks involved in dealing with somebody the AVO were actively searching for and doubled their asking price. Tibor agreed on the spot and paid half up front.
He waited a week for the new papers to be prepared and then arranged the drop-offs. It was never his intention to attend either rendezvous; instead he placed Benke’s men in strategic positions at each location to see if he had been betrayed to the AVO. The first drop-off was clean. Benke’s men waited twenty-four hours before making the pick-up and were not intercepted. They were, however, highly suspicious of the second drop-off.
Tibor’s new papers were left for collection at a ticket office in Nyugati Station, along with three tickets to Sopron on the border with Austria. All Tibor had to do was ask for tickets for Mr Esterhazy and they would be given to him. Benke’s men noted the man nearby who was taking for ever to read the newspaper and the couple taking an inordinate amount of time to read the train schedules. When they finally moved on they were replaced by another couple who had similar difficulties with the schedule. Benke’s men gave a schoolboy twenty forints to collect the papers for them, then watched as five would-be travellers, including the couple studying the schedules, followed the boy out of the station. Their mission accomplished, Benke’s men left immediately to report back to Tibor.
The trap at Nyugati Station was all the confirmation Tibor needed that the AVO had fallen for his diversion. He collected his share of the proceeds from the sale of the coal from Benke and began his cautious return.
In three days’ time Milos and Gabriella were scheduled to catch the train to Satoraljaujhely wearing hiking clothes and rucksacks on their backs. Milos’s love of hiking the foothills around Mount Nagy-Milic had been established long before the German occupation. To any observers they would just be two more hikers using their Sunday to get rid of the winter cobwebs. Tibor had arranged to meet them at the Levy glass factory in Satoraljaujhely after he’d organised their escape.
‘You credit Tibor Heyman with too much intelligence.’
‘Yes, comrade Major.’ Istvan Kiraly stood at attention staring fixedly at the major’s desk.
‘Things are often no more complicated than they appear. Four months ago Tibor Heyman joined up with Benke for one last pay day. We know this. We spoiled his pay day. He intended to escape across the border to Austria but we seized his papers. We shot him. He was wounded so badly he has taken months to recover. Then what does he do? He tries again. Another pay day and this time he succeeds. More papers but we intervene again. What does that tell me? Tibor Heyman now has the money he needs and, papers or not, he is going to cross the border into Austria. Agreed?’
‘With respect, comrade Major —’
‘So you don’t agree. I should kick you out of my office. Do you know why I don’t?’ Major Bogati waited for a reply even though the question was rhetorical. ‘I’ll tell you. Because of all the officers under my command, you alone have the courage to stand there and tell me I’m wrong. Is it courage, Lieutenant Kiraly, or pig-headedness?’
‘Why didn’t he get new identity papers through Benke? If he had, we’d be none the wiser.’
‘Trust. He doesn’t trust Benke after last time. Yes, he needed Benke’s help to take the coal train, but he chose not to involve Benke any more than he had to. I doubt he even told Benke about his plans to escape.’
‘Why three tickets? Where did he go to recover?’ said Istvan.
‘You frightened his brother; you threatened his girlfriend. You had them watched for four weeks and got no response.’
‘He was there,’ said Istvan. ‘I had no evidence, just a gut feeling. The brothers were always close. Tibor always looked after Milos when he was in trouble. When the situation was reversed it was only natural that Tibor would turn to Milos for help.’
‘But you searched the house.’
‘He wasn’t in his brother’s house but my instinct tells me he was in one somewhere nearby. I should have questioned the girl first.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
‘Three tickets. That was his mistake. Four months ago he was leaving by himself; now he is taking his brother and the girl. Why? Because they asked him to. When? While he was recuperating. But the tickets are also designed to mislead us. I took the liberty of contacting the gendarmerie in Sarospatak. Both Milos and the girl are still there. Why aren’t they here in Budapest?’
‘Tibor planned to leave without his brother and the girl four months ago and he plans to do the same again. Maybe the extra two tickets are not intended for them. Maybe Tibor was sheltered by friends in the railways and this is his way of repaying them. I hear what you are saying, Lieutenant, but the answer is not as complicated as you make out. On two occasions Tibor planned a final pay day. On two occasions he planned to escape to Austria. Those are the facts. There is the pattern of behaviour.’
‘Yes, comrade Major,’ Istvan said, but he was asking himself why two unknown railway people would need false papers.
‘I have had extra men sent to the border. All trains, buses, trucks and cars will be stopped and searched. We will catch him this time and you will have the privilege of taking him downstairs. Now are we agreed?’
‘Czechoslovakia.’
‘Why?’ sighed Major Bogati.
‘Because people smugglers also operate in Czechoslovakia but the AVO does not. Our colleagues in Czechoslovakia will be as helpful as they need be, but they have other priorities. They have their own Tibor Heymans to contend with. They lack our imperative. I say Czechoslovakia because Tibor Heyman wants us to think he intends to cross the border
into Austria. Everything he has done since he returned to Budapest has been too obvious. Benke could have hijacked the train but Tibor made sure we knew it was him. He could have hidden behind Benke and his organisation but instead chose to front the operation. Even the way he tried to buy papers was too obvious. He could have used Benke but he wanted us to know what he was up to. I know Tibor Heyman. He is trying to mislead us. This is how the man operates.’
Major Bogati stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
‘You are wrong, Lieutenant. But if I ignore your advice then it is an admission that I have been wrong about you. Am I wrong about you, Lieutenant Kiraly?’
‘No, comrade Major.’
‘How many men?’
‘Five,’ said Istvan.
‘You have seven days to make an arrest. If you need more men, get them from the local gendarmerie. Remember this, Lieutenant Kiraly: mistakes go on your record as well as successes.’
‘I should escape with you,’ said Benjamin Levy, ‘but look at me — I am too old and too scared.’
‘You’re not too old, Mr Levy,’ said Gabriella.
‘Ah, but I am too scared. I will not see the inside of another prison. I will not go hungry again. Ever. You see? I cannot take the risk.’
‘What will happen to you?’ asked Milos.
‘All industry is being nationalised. They are putting me and my machines on a train and taking us to a bigger factory in Miskolc. At least my machines are not being sent to Russia, that is something. The factory is a joint venture between Hungary and Russia: Hungary bears the costs and Russia takes the profits. But I will make glass and have two sugars in my coffee. There are many dead who would gladly change places.’
‘Good luck, Mr Levy,’ said Tibor. ‘I wish we’d met earlier. We could have done business.’
‘We did business, Tibor Heyman. Through your brother we did business. Now go. It will be dark soon.’ Benjamin Levy shook hands with Tibor and Milos and kissed Gabriella. ‘First you ran away and now you escape. If only your head was on my shoulders. Make a good life.’
Czechoslovakia was just a few hundred metres east but Tibor turned away from it towards Rakocsi Street and the bridge over the Ronyva River. They had people to meet who would take them to Czechoslovakia via the back door. Where there were no AVO border guards.
‘What have they done?’
As soon as the husband asked the question, Istvan felt the onset of panic. It implied total ignorance of Milos and the girl’s intention to flee. He did a quick search of the house and barn and found clothes, good clothes, belonging to Milos and Gabriella. They were the sort of clothes anyone leaving the country would want to take with them. Mistakes go on your record as well as successes, Major Bogati had warned. Suddenly his mission to Sarospatak was looking like a serious mistake.
He left the old woman shaking in the doorway of the cottage with her husband comforting her and headed straight for the station. Five men! Five men he’d brought with him all for nothing! Istvan went straight to Geza Apro.
‘Milos Heyman and Gabriella Horvath. Have you seen them?’
Geza pretended to think for a while before responding.
‘They caught the eight a.m. train to Satoraljaujhely. They had rucksacks. They were going hiking.’
Istvan checked his watch. It was already approaching noon. Milos had four hours’ start.
‘When is the next train?’
‘This evening. Five-thirty.’
Istvan turned to his men. ‘Come. We’ll go by car.’
Istvan kept up a brave face as he headed off to the gendarmerie. He needed two cars and he knew the captain of the gendarmes would be reluctant to give them one. But what had he to lose? If Milos and Gabriella had really just gone hiking, he’d know soon enough. If they were trying to escape, and if Tibor was with them, he’d be a hero. But it was a long shot. He realised that in his determination to catch Tibor he had been both impetuous and foolish. Maybe he had overestimated Tibor Heyman. Maybe at that very moment Tibor was sitting in Vienna, sipping a coffee and laughing at them. Maybe the Greens were already holding him for questioning. Istvan cursed silently. A wiser man would have supported Major Bogati.
He had plenty of time to cool down and think while sitting in the back seat of the Zim as they drove to Satoraljaujhely. During his school days he’d heard the brothers discussing the trails around Mount Nagy-Milic with other boys. He’d also heard plenty of tales of hikers getting lost in cloud and rain and accidentally crossing the border into Czechoslovakia. He knew the foothills were the domain of hunters who made a living out of shooting wild pigs, deer and hares and selling them. The hunters tended to be cunning rather than smart and kept to themselves. He couldn’t imagine any of them turning down an offer to make good money on the side. Realising the opportunity to cut his losses was long gone, he began to formulate a plan. He needed to alert the border patrol and enlist the help of the local gendarmes, the border patrol, a hunter they could put pressure on and hunting dogs. Istvan gritted his teeth. Promotion or demotion was mere hours away.
‘I have finished for today,’ said Milos.
‘Bullshit!’ said Neil. ‘You’re not going to leave us up in the air until next week.’
‘It is already five o’clock.’
‘So? The other day you talked until six,’ cut in Lucio. ‘If you can keep us late one day you can keep us late another. What about your schedule?’
‘I have finished for today but the storytelling hasn’t.’
‘Explain,’ said Ramon. ‘No, let me guess. You want Gabriella to take over. Right?’
‘No!’ said Gabriella.
‘Yes,’ said Milos. ‘You asked Gabi about the cracking of the eggs. This part leads to the cracking of the eggs. I think Gabi should tell it.’
‘No, Milos, don’t do this,’ said Gabriella, clearly apprehensive.
‘Tell the story or disappoint your friends,’ said Milos. ‘It’s your choice.’
‘No, Milos,’ she pleaded.
‘Then stop when you reach the border, okay? You can do that, no?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Gabriella reluctantly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Our winter of fear had been replaced by a spring filled with hope. When we left Benjamin Levy’s glass factory we were excited and optimistic. I knew I had a hard night ahead of me but I had no reason to expect any danger. By morning we would be in the relative safety of Czechoslovakia and four days later, according to Tibor, we would be in the West. He made it sound like a walk in the woods. Once we were free I was to have my spring wedding. It took the gift of my father’s bracelet to make me realise how much I loved Milos and to overcome my foolishness. How lucky was I that he loved me? The Tibor I had dreamed about as a young girl had been lost in the war. The man who had emerged had fooled me for a while, but in truth he was a stranger. Hard, cold and more than a little frightening. I could never have married him. Nevertheless, I was glad he had organised our escape and was with us. This was the sort of thing Tibor was good at.
We headed north along the banks of the Ronyva before cutting north-west into the foothills. At one point I stopped and looked back. Tibor and Milos also stopped. The setting sun had dropped below the clouds and run a golden brush across the landscape. I thought to myself, if this is to be my last memory of Hungary it is a glorious lie, but a lie nonetheless. What I saw was the Hungary of my childhood. The golden landscape gave no hint of the poverty, hunger, despair and distrust. Yet that was how I wanted to remember the country of my birth, painted gold and peaceful by the sun. That was how I thought I would remember it.
‘Enough,’ said Tibor. ‘We have places to go, people to meet.’
The people were two hunters. One was our age and the other ten years older. They were cousins. The older one was a giant of a man called Janos and the younger, thin and wiry, was Laszlo. We met them in a tiny one-room shack with wooden walls and a wood-tiled roof. We had seen similar on our walks before the Germans came a
nd thought they were picturesque. There was nothing picturesque about living in them. The walls and earthen floor were covered by the skins of animals they’d killed. They had a table and two homemade chairs for their comfort, and two coffin-like beds stuffed with skins. I hoped we’d have the opportunity to rest but the hunters were keen to get going.
Tibor told us to take our overcoats and gloves out of our rucksacks and put them on. I remember Milos handing me his identity papers to carry, some cold pork chops and boiled potatoes. I also carried some clean clothes and shoes and a little bag with my gold bracelet and the diamond. It wasn’t much to build a new life on but it was all I could carry. Milos carried the heavy things, along with his clothes: a canvas sheet, in case we were caught in a storm or had to camp out, a camping cooker that used methylated spirits, torches, knives and forks and bottles of water.
It was pitch dark when the two hunters led the way up the hill; to this day I have no idea how they could see where they were going. We could just make out their shapes in front of us showing us the way, but even so we struggled to keep up. The trails were unlike any I’d hiked before. They were narrow and covered over by bushes and low branches so we had to stoop. It is hard to hike uphill stooped over with a pack on your back and it wasn’t long before my legs were aching and my lungs burning. Tree roots crossed the path, all gnarled and twisted, so we also had to lift our feet high to avoid tripping. Sometimes not even that worked and I had to cling on to Milos to stop myself falling. I don’t know how long we hiked like that, I lost all track of time.
I remember thinking this must end soon, that we couldn’t have much further to go, when I heard the hunters whispering to each other, urgently, argumentatively. They stopped suddenly and Milos collided into them. The big man, Janos, grabbed him and held his hand over Milos’s mouth so he couldn’t cry out. I knew then that something was wrong.
