Russian Resurgence

by Allan Topol

  She passed a pad and pencil across the table to him. Nick made no effort to pick it up. A minute, then two passed. He didn’t move. She couldn’t even imagine what was running through his mind.

  Finally, he picked up the pencil. She watched him write on the pad, then slide it across the table.

  She read: “If I don’t like the clinic, can I leave?”

  She looked at him. “Absolutely. You just tell me on one of my visits.”

  When Nick didn’t respond, she continued, “I prefer the clinic because Dr. Cardin and his people are very good.” She started to say, “I think they will be able to restore your speech,” but caught herself. She didn’t want to promise what she wasn’t certain she could deliver. So instead, she added, “I’m hopeful they’ll be able to help you speak again.”

  Nick looked a little less anxious.

  “So is the clinic okay?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good. On the way to the clinic, we’ll stop and buy you some clothes. While I’m getting dressed, you can look in the bookcase in the living room. I have lots of English novels. Pick out the ones you’d like to read and you can take them with you.”

  Nick raised his right hand and stood up. She guessed he was asking her to wait. He raced into the bedroom he had been using and returned with the black case. After sitting down at the table, he opened it, removed a sealed envelope with Emma Miller’s name on the front, and handed it to her.

  “Emma Miller is dead,” she said.

  He nodded. Then he wrote on the pad, “Open the envelope.”

  She did, hoping it might unlock the mystery of the fire and Emma’s murder. Inside she found a typed note.

  Emma:

  Continue the operation without me, and take good care of Nick.

  Peter

  Elizabeth wondered what operation Peter and Emma had been planning. Regardless of what it was, she was convinced it had led to both of their murders.

  She showed the note to Nick. “Do you know what operation your grandpa was talking about?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Can I keep this note?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay. I’m going to get dressed. Why don’t you pick out some books in the living room that you’d like?”

  Alone in her bedroom, she closed the door and called Dr. Cardin. In explaining the situation, she told him that Jonathan Hart was a cousin from the United States who had been entrusted to her care. She also briefly explained how he had lost his grandparents in a fire and might still be in danger, but kept the details intentionally vague. As she expected, he was incredibly sympathetic and didn’t press her for details about the fire.

  “Of course you can bring Jonathan. We’ll do everything we can to restore his speech.”

  Her next call was to Pierre. “In a few minutes I’ll be leaving the apartment with a boy. We’ll be getting into the blue Audi parked in front and driving away. I’d like you to follow me.”

  “Will do.”

  “If we have company, could you find a way to disable them?”

  “That should be easy. Meantime, I’ll ask Simon in the other car to remain here at the apartment in case anyone tries to break in.”

  As she left the apartment, Elizabeth was relieved Craig had arranged for security. Pierre, in his black BMW SUV, had no trouble following her while maintaining a comfortable distance.

  She parked in front of a men’s clothing store on Boulevard Saint-Germain close to Saint-Germain-des-Prés. While she and Nick went into the shop, Pierre remained outside. Nobody seemed to be following them.

  Watching the clerk help Nick select several shirts, slacks, shoes, and underwear, Elizabeth felt a pang of sadness. She was forty and had never had a child and never would because of the severe endometriosis she had suffered at the age of twenty-two.

  From the clothing store, with Pierre following, she drove north to the clinic on the outskirts of the city, breathing a sigh of relief when they arrived without incident. Again Pierre remained outside.

  From the moment they entered Dr. Cardin’s office, Nick seemed to like the doctor. He was impressed with the photographs on the walls showing Dr. Cardin climbing various mountains.

  Dr. Cardin led them along an immaculate corridor with white walls that looked as though they had been recently painted. Nick’s room at the end of the corridor was bright and airy with a bed, a desk, and a couple of chairs. Sunlight was streaming through pine trees outside and into the sparkling windows. The clinic was clearly well maintained.

  After Dr. Cardin had introduced Nick to some of the staff he withdrew, leaving Elizabeth alone with Nick.

  “You’ll be okay here?” Elizabeth asked.

  Nick nodded.

  She hugged him before turning to leave, tears beginning to well in her eyes. He was such a nice kid. It wasn’t fair that this had happened to him.

  In front of the clinic, she approached Pierre. “Thanks for everything you’ve done,” she said. “The boy is safely stowed away, so your mission is complete.”

  “No, Mademoiselle Crowder, my instructions came from Craig,” he replied, his suntanned face almost apologetic.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “We’re supposed to remain with you until he returns to Paris.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Those are my orders, Mademoiselle Crowder. So you go anywhere you have to, and I’ll follow without drawing any attention.”

  She was convinced it was unnecessary, but Craig wasn’t here to argue with. “Okay. I understand.”

  She got into the Audi and drove away. Ten minutes later, Craig called.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “No issues. I just dropped Nick at the clinic.”

  “Happy to hear that.”

  “You can let Pierre and his people go. I don’t need them anymore.”

  “Wrong,” Craig said emphatically. “They stay until I get back tomorrow.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “Listen, Elizabeth.” He sounded emotional. “I just came from the funeral of a good friend. It wasn’t so long ago that I buried my daughter, as you’ll recall. I don’t intend to bury you as well.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. Have you learned anything about what Amos was doing in Paris?”

  “Only that he was still with the Mossad. I’ll find out more this evening. We’ll talk tomorrow when I get back.”

  As she drove, Elizabeth thought about Nick. Hopefully Dr. Cardin would be able to help him get better, but in any event what would happen to him? From the CNN story she had learned that he was an only child and that his parents had died the year before. He had been living with his grandparents, but they were now dead. His great-grandfather Zoltan had to be too old to take care of a child. She had no idea whether Nick had any relatives who would want to raise him. No other family members had been mentioned in the media. When all this was over, she couldn’t just abandon him.

  For now, she had done what she could to help Nick. She had to stop worrying about him and concentrate on Peter and Emma to learn about the operation the two of them had been planning, which had undoubtedly gotten them killed. The police captain at the scene of Emma’s murder had refused to provide any details about her death, which was unusual. Elizabeth had to get some information. It was time to collect on a large IOU.

  Last year a terrorist had killed a French diplomat in India. The French had tracked the man to the United States, where he was hiding outside of Los Angeles. When they had sought extradition from the US to try him for the murder, the State Department had inexplicably dragged its feet. During her time in Paris, Elizabeth had developed a good relationship with Alain Rousseau, the director of the French Foreign Ministry’s security branch. Alain knew that Elizabeth was close with Betty, the CIA director, and asked her to intervene. Elizabeth never knew how Betty did it, but two days after Elizabeth’s call, the terrorist was on a plane to Paris whe
re he was tried, convicted, and sent to jail. Alain had told her he would owe her big time.

  So when she called Alain from her car and asked if he was free for lunch he said, “I’d love to. I imagine it’s time for me to pay you back.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Any background you can give me so I can do some prep work before we meet?”

  “A Hungarian national was murdered yesterday in her apartment in Place des Vosges.”

  “Emma Miller.”

  “How do you know about it already?”

  “The combination of Emma being a Hungarian national and working for a foreign bank was enough to get me copied on the emails. I’ll see what I can find out. How about Chiberta at one o’clock?”

  “With pleasure. See you then.”

  One of the things Elizabeth liked about Alain was that he still enjoyed a two-hour lunch. Parisians, even top professionals like Elizabeth, had increasingly started copying their American counterparts by opting for a quick lunch at a fast-food restaurant or a sandwich at their desk. But not Alain.

  When Elizabeth reached the dimly lit Chiberta, with its sleek modern interior and well-spaced tables, Alain was already seated. Dressed in a double-breasted, pin-striped suit, white shirt, and red Hermes tie, Alain had a full head of gray hair and an almost aristocratic appearance. As he rose to kiss her on the each cheek, he said, “Good to see you again, Elizabeth. I’m glad you called.”

  The waiter came over and they ordered—salad and sea bass for Elizabeth and pâté and duck breast for Alain. Alain also selected a Vosne-Romanée from Domaine Daniel Rion for them to share.

  When the waiter departed, Alain said, “A lot about this case is sensitive.” He looked troubled. “So can we do it off the record, strictly for background? And you won’t incorporate anything I tell you in your article?”

  “I can agree to that,” Elizabeth responded. “I’m not looking for a story about Emma Miller.” She paused. “Well actually I am, in the long run, but it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Elizabeth briefly pondered how to explain the situation to Alain without involving Nick. After careful consideration, she said, “My primary focus is on a story about a suspicious fire outside of Washington in which a Hungarian industrialist named Peter Toth died. Shortly after that fire, Emma Miller was murdered. Perhaps there’s no connection, but more likely, what happened to Emma may shed light on what happened to Peter. Regardless, I won’t incorporate anything you tell me in my story about Peter. And it will be off the record.”

  “Fair enough.”

  After the waiter brought the wine their first courses arrived. As Elizabeth picked up her fork, Alain said, “It was awful what happened to Emma Miller.”

  She put the fork back down. “What do you mean?”

  “The woman was tortured horribly. She had bruises over almost her entire face. Four fingers had been broken. The autopsy showed she had been raped and sodomized. Then she was stabbed multiple times in the chest, causing her death.”

  Elizabeth was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the people responsible for this were trying to obtain information about the operation that Emma and Peter had been planning. Fortunately, Elizabeth had been able to safeguard Nick or God only knows what these people would have done to him.

  “Who called the police?” Elizabeth asked.

  “A neighbor in the next building, which has a common wall with Emma’s house. He said he heard screams. He also heard men shouting in a foreign language. He thought it was a Slavic language, perhaps Russian.”

  Elizabeth sat up in alarm. Peter’s obit was full of how Russian involvement had marked his life.

  Noticing her reaction, Alain said, “Something I said struck a chord?”

  “The Russians under Kuznov are making plenty of trouble,” she remarked.

  “Don’t rely too heavily on what I said. The neighbor wasn’t sure. The police are pulling out all the stops, but so far they don’t have any leads.”

  “What about Emma’s job?”

  “She worked for Credit Suisse evaluating business investments in Asia, nothing related to Eastern Europe or Russia, and that’s all I could learn.”

  For the rest of lunch they discussed foreign policy matters. Then Alain returned the topic to Russia, expressing how worried he was about Kuznov.

  Elizabeth could hardly eat. Alain’s description of what had happened to Emma squelched her appetite. She merely pushed her food around on the plate while she drank a couple of glasses of wine.

  Once they separated after lunch, Elizabeth was determined to find out more about Emma Miller. She still had time to do some research before her meeting with Betty, so she went to a brasserie close to the US Embassy and settled in a corner with a cappuccino and her computer. It was clear to Elizabeth that Emma was a critical part of this puzzle. She had to see what she could find out about the Hungarian woman.

  From the internet, Elizabeth discovered that Emma was nineteen years younger than Peter. Her father had been a leader in the 1956 uprising against Russia, just like Peter’s father. She had never married. Elizabeth saw a picture of Emma taken twenty years ago and another from last year. The woman was positively beautiful with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a model’s figure.

  Born in Budapest, Emma had gotten a degree in finance at the London School of Economics. Following that, she returned to Budapest to work for a London-based international bank. Shortly after Peter had set up his business in Hungary, she joined him as the company’s chief finance officer. Two years ago, when Peter liquidated most of the company and moved to the States, Emma relocated to Paris where she took a job as vice president of finance with the huge Swiss bank Credit Suisse.

  Next, Elizabeth Googled Peter Toth Industries. It was a privately owned firm with Peter Toth as the only stockholder. Ten years ago it had huge holdings in Hungary in telecommunications and energy. Two years ago almost all of the assets were sold off, and Peter Toth moved to the United States.

  Currently, the resident agent in Budapest for Peter Toth Industries was Gyorgy Kovacs, who had been with the company since its inception. She saw an address, phone number, and email address for the company. With Peter and Emma both dead, Gyorgy was likely to be her best source for information. He might have some idea of what was happening.

  As Elizabeth reached for her phone, she decided against identifying herself as a reporter. Gyorgy might not be willing to meet with her. Two people he must have been close with had been murdered within twenty-four hours of each other. Gyorgy would have to be worried himself.

  So when he answered the phone she identified herself as “Jane Wilson, a friend of Peter’s in Washington.”

  “Why are you calling?” he asked with wariness in his voice.

  “I am currently in Paris and would like to fly to Budapest to meet with you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “It would be better if we spoke in person.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Please, if you cared about Peter then we have to talk.”

  After a few minutes, he said, “Come to my office at 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. Number 6, Szalay U, along the square in front of the parliament building.”

  Elizabeth felt as if she were starting to make progress.

  Betty was waiting for Elizabeth in a palatial VIP visitor’s office at the US Embassy. Four months ago, Elizabeth had been in this very room interviewing US Secretary of State Harrison Barton about President Kuznov’s unveiling of powerful new weapons during a parade in Moscow. The secretary of state refused to express alarm, telling her the show of weaponry was “only to lift the spirits of the Russian people suffering economic hardship.” Elizabeth had retorted, “Don’t boys always use their new toys?”

  Barton had dismissed her concern and promptly terminated the interview. The next day Elizabeth wrote up the interview and characterized Barton as being “nonchalant about the threat posed by Kuznov.”

&nbs
p; Today, Elizabeth picked a different bergère than the one she had sat in during her interview with the secretary of state. She didn’t want to jinx this meeting. When she explained to Betty why she was sitting in that particular chair, the CIA director burst out laughing.

  “Barton has a noodle for a spine,” she said, grinning. “President Worth should have sacked him long ago.”

  “I assume you told your leader that?”

  “Of course. Craig taught me that to be a good CIA director, you have to speak your mind with the president. Of course, following that approach got Craig fired.”

  They both laughed.

  “How was the NATO security conference?” Elizabeth asked.

  “A tough session. For two days we did nothing but talk about Russia. As far as I’m concerned, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is how to contain Kuznov. I strongly believe, and the French agree, that he is no longer content with controlling Crimea and battling Ukraine. His ultimate dream, in our view, is to gobble up other countries in Central Europe and reassemble the Russian Empire.”

  “The Germans don’t agree?”

  “They have their heads in the sand. They want to avoid any confrontation that would be bad for business—their business.”

  “And the British?”

  “No opinion as usual, ‘on the one hand and on the other hand.’ It’s a shame the British don’t have three hands.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Your people did a good job of concealing those differences. I sent a reporter to Berlin to cover the conference. He didn’t pick up these nuances.”

  “Glad to hear that. We tried to sweep it all under the carpet—a friendly disagreement within the family. Okay Elizabeth, what’s on your mind?”

  “First, let me say I really appreciate you making a pit stop in Paris to see me.”

  “If you want to talk to me, I know it has to be important,” Betty replied with a shrug.

  Elizabeth had no hesitation telling Betty about Nick. She described what happened from the moment she reached Emma Miller’s apartment, to dropping Nick off at Dr. Cardin’s facility and her lunch with Alain.