by Allan Topol
The finance minister cut him off. “Yes, sir. We will.”
Kuznov hoped Dimitri brought good news, but he was already grateful to his aide for giving him a reason to conclude the economic meeting.
Dimitri’s face was flushed with excitement as he entered the room. “Everything has been finalized,” he said. “Szabo has agreed to sign the Friendship Pact at a ceremony a week from Wednesday, ten days from now, in Budapest’s Parliament Square. In return, I transferred fifty million euros to his bank account at the Republic Bank in Lucerne. He will get the other fifty on Friday, two days after the signing.”
“Excellent. That is very good news.”
Though it was only noon, Kuznov walked over to a credenza along one wall and pulled out a special vodka made only for him. He poured out a glass for each of them, then he raised his glass. “To the Russian–Hungarian Friendship Pact.”
For Kuznov, this agreement was the key to Russia’s resurgence and the re-creation of its empire. Under the pact, Russia would be able to station troops in Hungary and operate freely from that country as a base. That meant Russia could control Central Europe again. Then Russian troops could travel west from Russia through Ukraine and north and east from Hungary to conquer Poland, the Czech Republic, and Romania.
Thinking about his just concluded finance and economic meeting, Kuznov saw another advantage. By focusing on foreign conquest and Russia’s expansion, Kuznov would increase his popular support. He could divert attention from the economic misery rampant throughout Russia. The people’s bellies might not be full but their national pride would be bursting.
“What are the logistics for the execution of the Friendship Pact?” Kuznov asked Dimitri.
“You will fly to Budapest on that Wednesday, arriving at ten o’clock in the morning. The ceremony will be at noon in front of the parliament building. There will not be any advanced public announcement on the subject of the gathering or even that you will be in Budapest. The media will be told Prime Minster Szabo has an important statement to make. That should produce a crowd. You and Szabo will appear on the platform in front of parliament. With so many of the Western leaders away on August vacations, this is the perfect time to do it.”
Kuznov broke out in a broad smile, something he rarely did. “Excellent. I will give the order to the generals to begin moving our troops into Hungary on Thursday, the day after the ceremony. Now tell me what happened with Nicholas Toth.”
“Boris flew to Moscow last evening and provided me with a report. I thought it would be better if you heard it directly from him. He’s waiting outside.”
Kuznov frowned. This had to be bad news. Dimitri didn’t want to be the one to deliver it. If it had been good, Kuznov knew Dimitri would have provided the report himself, taking credit for the result.
“Bring Boris in,” Kuznov snarled.
When the three of them were seated around the conference table, Kuznov stared at Boris who looked away. “Were you able to seize the boy?” he asked.
“No sir, Mr. President,” Boris stammered.
“Well, what happened?”
“Elizabeth Crowder brought him to the baseball game in the park. I used two of my best men for the job. I watched everything from a distance and remained in constant contact with them. My men could have easily killed him during the game, but I understood that our primary objective was to capture him and force him to talk.”
“Correct,” Kuznov said.
“So, I told my men to follow Elizabeth and the boy after the game, when they would have a better chance to seize him. After the game they went to an ice cream shop.”
“Who is they?” Kuznov asked sharply.
“The boy, Elizabeth, and a man with her. I recognized him from pictures in Elizabeth’s apartment to be the Italian race car driver Enrico Marino, who is her boyfriend. I told my men to go into the ice cream shop armed and to seize the boy. I was waiting outside a little distance away.”
Kuznov was at the edge of his chair. “What happened then?”
“Before they could get to the kid, Enrico Marino opened fire and killed both of them. He grabbed Elizabeth and the kid and escaped by car before the police got there.”
“Didn’t you try to stop them?”
“Absolutely, Anatol was in a car a block away. I gave him the order to crash their car and grab the kid. Anatol chased them, but Enrico is a race car driver,” Boris added sounding defensive. “He couldn’t keep up.”
Kuznov sighed deeply. What a bunch of fucking incompetents. He recalled that Elizabeth had been involved with Craig Page when Kuznov had last dealt with him, but that had been a couple of years ago. Still, this shootout sounded like something Page would do.
He turned to Dimitri. “Go outside to Irina and ask her to find out how long Enrico Marino has been racing cars. Also, have her print me a picture of Marino.”
Kuznov thought possibly the answer would be about two years, confirming his suspicion that Enrico Marino was really Craig Page.
Two years was the answer Dimitri returned with a few minutes later. The picture Dimitri handed Kuznov didn’t look like Craig Page. He must have had plastic surgery, Kuznov decided.
“You know him?” Dimitri asked.
“As Craig Page before plastic surgery.”
“The former head of EU Counterterrorism?”
“Precisely. Craig and I have a history. We did some business together before he reinvented himself as Enrico Marino. He’s tough and ruthless, but also smart.”
“Sounds as if you like him.”
“Respect would be more accurate.”
“So you think Craig Page killed the two men I sent to grab the boy?”
“Exactly. And he must have figured out they were Russians.”
“Suppose he did. What can he do with that information?”
Kuznov leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to think like Craig Page.
It took Kuznov two minutes to come up with the answer. “Craig Page will fly to Moscow and confront me. He’ll demand to know why I wanted to kill or kidnap Nicholas Toth.”
“That would be insane,” Dimitri said, the disbelief evident on his face. “You’re in control here.”
“Of course I am, but Page is gutsy. He takes chances no one else would. I learned never to underestimate him.”
“Suppose you’re right, and—”
Kuznov was irritated. He didn’t like his judgments being questioned. “I am right,” he said, cutting Dimitri off curtly.
Dimitri’s face turned red. “Of course you’re right. What should I do to deal with him?”
“Alert all the airports in the country to be on the lookout for Enrico Marino. When he enters the country, tell them to hold him in a detention room and immediately let you know. Then you tell me.”
“What will you do with him?”
Kuznov thought about killing Craig, but the former CIA director might have friends in high places in Washington, and as long as he could get Craig out of circulation, he wouldn’t pose a threat to Kuznov.
“Transfer him to a prison and lock him up until after the ceremony in Budapest. I don’t want Craig Page or anyone to stop that ceremony from taking place. I’m afraid if he were on the loose, he’d find a way to do that.”
“What do we do about the kid, Nicholas?” Dimitri asked.
Now that Page was in the act, Kuznov had no doubt that Craig had learned everything Nick knew and that he had stashed the boy somewhere so hidden or well-fortified that they would never be able to get to him. Recognizing a hopeless situation when he saw one, Kuznov decided not to waste any more resources in a futile effort to find the kid. Instead, they had to shift their attention to Craig Page.
Kuznov ordered, “Forget about the kid. We have Craig Page in our sights. As long as we control Craig, we control the situation.”
Washington and Maryland
When Elizabeth told Nick early Monday morning at the clinic that he would be flying to Washington with her an
d Craig and that he might even be going to the White House to meet the president, the boy was thrilled. As Elizabeth helped him pack, Craig was outside conferring with their security for the ride to the airport and in the terminal.
An eventless two hours later they were in an Air France business cabin winging their way to Washington. Elizabeth was on the window, Nick next to her, and Craig across the aisle. When people saw them, Elizabeth thought, they looked like a happy family.
On the flight, Craig and Nick watched action movies and Elizabeth read a history of the 1956 revolution. She wanted to learn more about Zoltan Toth, who she was planning to meet with as soon as they arrived in Washington. Her hope was that Zoltan, notwithstanding what Nick had said about his relationship with Peter, might be able to shed some light on what Peter was planning.
Elizabeth read through events leading up to the revolt and its early days, much of which she had heard from Gyorgy’s father. Finally, she came to material about Zoltan Toth.
While the cease-fire held in Budapest, Zoltan Toth, the special emissary of the Free Hungarian Government, arrived at the UN. “We cannot believe that we are alone,” Toth said. “We cannot believe that the world will sit by passively and let our freedom be crushed, the flowering of our manhood annihilated.” To the American government, Zoltan Toth pleaded, “You told us to revolt. We believed in you. Now, help us.”
Elizabeth saw a picture of Zoltan Toth taken at the UN. Glancing at Nick in the seat next to her, she was struck by their resemblance.
The author went on to describe Zoltan Toth as “a freedom fighter turned diplomat,” who was earning high marks with diplomats at the UN. Elizabeth read:
Zoltan Toth was born in Budapest in 1920, the oldest son of a judge and well-respected legal scholar. It was always expected that Zoltan Toth would become a lawyer himself, and he did not disappoint his father, who saw that dream realized when Toth completed his education at Eötvös József College, the elite training school for lawyers, only months before the Germans began their invasion of Hungary. During the war both of Toth’s parents were killed by Germans.
After the war, Zoltan Toth joined the Communist Party. He became a practicing lawyer in Budapest and an articulate spokesman for the government in international forums. Later he, like many other members of the party, became disillusioned with the severity of the regime and joined the freedom fighters. During the early days of the struggle, Zoltan Toth manned a rifle that he seized from an AVH guard. Then words became his weapons.
Toth was married, with an eight-year-old son at the time. His wife, Anna, and son, Peter, did not come to New York with Zoltan Toth, but rather remained in Hungary.
Zoltan Toth failed to gain any support from either the UN or the United States. In Washington, his words fell on deaf ears. All of the attention of John Foster Dulles’s State Department was riveted on Egypt. The seizure of the Suez Canal by Britain and France had so infuriated Dulles and President Eisenhower that they had little time for other concerns. The dignity of Nasser, the Egyptian dictator, had to be preserved at all costs. America’s oldest and best allies had to be punished. In any case, Dulles and Eisenhower had no desire to confront Russia at this critical time.
Zoltan Toth then received an urgent message from his colleagues in Budapest reporting that the Russians had begun a military attack on the city. He returned from Washington to New York, driven nearly to the point of despair, and again pleaded Hungary’s cause before the UN Security Council. “It is now a matter of life and death,” he said. “It will be death for thousands of our people if you do not act immediately.”
The Soviet ambassador calmly responded that Mr. Toth’s hysterics were totally uncalled for. “Just now,” he said, “our negotiations in Budapest are making great progress. Give us a three-day recess, and it will all be ended peacefully.”
The Western nations agreed. The three-day recess was voted for, prompting the New York Times to conclude that “the big Western powers appear to have decided to keep the Hungarian question to one side for the moment, until such time as it becomes clear that the anti-Soviet rebellion has either attained its objectives or has been checked.”
Without any help from the US or the UN, the result was inevitable. The Red Army smashed into Budapest destroying everything and everyone in its path.
The author included a dozen photographs showing the devastation in Budapest. Rubble was everywhere, and dead bodies littered the streets.
Looking at them made a powerful impression on Elizabeth. It was outrageous that the US government, after urging an uprising, had permitted this slaughter to take place.
She turned back to two sentences which had stuck with her. “Zoltan’s wife, Anna, and son, Peter, did not come to New York with Zoltan Toth, but rather remained in Hungary.”
She hoped that Zoltan could tell her what happened to Peter then and afterwards. Her reporter’s instinct told her that the trail to understanding the fire at Peter’s house in Potomac began when Peter was eight years old in Budapest in 1956.
When Elizabeth, Craig, and Nick exited baggage claim at Dulles Airport, two teams of FBI agents were waiting for them. One drove Craig and Nick to Craig’s house in Georgetown, while the other took Elizabeth to Deerwood Senior Facility in Potomac. It was a hot and muggy day—par for the course for Washington in August. Elizabeth did not miss the summer weather of the nation’s capital, which had been built on a swamp.
Deerwood was a high-end operation with three stages as residents moved from apartments to full-time assisted living and then nursing care. Elizabeth imagined the fees were astronomical, but Peter had been wealthy, and according to Nick, Peter had been paying the bills.
After stepping out of the FBI car on the Deerwood premises, Elizabeth went right to the director’s office. Mary Jane Gorman, the director of Deerwood, was a kindly gray-haired woman.
Elizabeth identified herself as a friend of Peter Toth’s and said she’d like to talk to Zoltan.
“Terrible accident that fire,” Mary Jane said. “Zoltan was very upset when he first learned about it, although he’s starting to do a little better now.”
“I understand that his mind is very sharp.”
“Incredible for someone that age.”
“Where can I find him?” Elizabeth asked.
“Zoltan spends a lot of time sitting outside in the garden in the back, often reading. Let me take a look.”
She stood up, turned to the window behind her desk, and looked out. “He’s there now. I’ll take you out.”
Mary Jane led Elizabeth along an immaculate, blue-carpeted corridor and through a door behind the building. They were in a well-kept garden filled with flowers. Elizabeth saw a solitary figure seated on a wooden bench dressed in gray slacks and a white shirt. He was clean-shaven, with a thick head of bushy white hair and black-framed glasses. Next to the bench was a walker. He was dozing, and his book had fallen to the ground at his feet.
“Mr. Toth,” Mary Jane said as they approached, waking him up, “you have a visitor. This is Elizabeth Crowder. She’s a friend of Peter’s.”
Zoltan looked intently at Elizabeth, trying to decide if he recognized her.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Mary Jane said and withdrew.
Zoltan was alone in the garden. Elizabeth picked up his book and handed it to him before pulling over a chair.
“Have I met you before?” Zoltan asked.
Deciding what to divulge was tricky, Elizabeth thought. She hated lying to Zoltan, but she couldn’t tell him his great-grandson was still alive.
“We haven’t met, Mr. Toth. I live in Paris, which was where I became acquainted with Peter.” Well that was sort of true. “He was an amazing individual. I was so sorry to learn of his death, and I flew here for the memorial service tomorrow.”
“It’s an awful experience,” Zoltan said, his eyes filled with pain, “to have a child die, even if a parent is as old as I am.” He shook his head and, seeming to recover himself, asked, �
�What do you do in Paris, Miss Crowder?”
“I’m a newspaper reporter with the International Herald. Actually the foreign news editor.”
He looked at Elizabeth for a moment without saying a word. She guessed he was trying to decide whether he should talk to her or not. Elizabeth frequently evoked that reaction when people first learned she was a reporter. Some decided they had to be careful lest something troublesome appear in one of her articles; others decided they could use the press to achieve some objective. She hoped that Zoltan fell into the latter category, that way she might learn something useful.
Finally, he said, “I think the Russians set the fire and killed Peter, Reka, and Nick.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Toth?”
“About a week ago or so, I’m not sure how long, I lose track of time, Peter came to me. He said he wanted to forgive me, and that he had a plan to repay the Russians for everything they did to us. Not just in Hungary but in murdering Viktor and Ellina, too.’”
“Did he have any evidence that the Russians killed Viktor?”
“If he did, he didn’t tell me, but losing his son, his only child, was unbearable.” He paused, and then added, “I, too, lost mine, more or less, when he was just a child.”
“Did he tell you what he planned to do?”
“I asked him, but he wouldn’t say. Only that I would read about it in the newspaper. I told him to be careful.” Zoltan took a deep breath. “So that’s why I think the Russians killed him. They found out what he was planning to do and murdered him before he could act.”
Elizabeth thought about what Mary Jane had said. Zoltan’s mind was incredibly sharp. He had put together what had happened.
Zoltan said, “You’re probably wondering why I’ve told you all this. After all, you’re a stranger.”
“That thought has occurred to me.”
“If you’re a reporter who covers international stories, I figure you might start digging and make out a case against the Russians for the fire, or at least tell someone in the FBI or the police. Will you do that?”
“I will investigate the fire. I promise you that.”