Russian Resurgence

by Allan Topol

  Craig smiled as well. “I didn’t realize I had you to thank for that little treat.”

  “Friends do favors for friends. Grozny can be a little drab and dull at night. I thought you might enjoy some company and what Olga had to offer.”

  “And to be sure, I did.”

  “Well, now we have something in common. We both appreciate her many attributes and talents. Anyhow, it’s unfortunate our last meeting didn’t produce the result you and I intended.” He paused and added, “Or at least that I intended. You may have had your own agenda.”

  “I was surprised as well. It just proves that no matter how much one plans, there is a human factor. Let’s just say it was a bittersweet ending for both of us. Although not for your man Orlov.”

  “Orlov was a fool. He deserved what happened to him. But I gather you’re not here to rehash old stories.”

  “That’s right. I’m here to save your life.”

  “I already heard about that so-called threat from President Worth. I firmly believe that the US wants to stop me from solidifying my relationship with the Hungarian people, and that’s what I told him. Personally, I doubt that Omar is within a thousand miles of Budapest.”

  “I personally saw Omar with my own eyes just last night.” Craig then described for Kuznov what had happened the previous night at the castle.

  “You’re sure it was Omar?”

  “Beyond any doubt. I’ve studied that bastard’s photograph until my eyes hurt. I have a score to settle with him for killing a friend of mine.”

  “Then why didn’t you pursue him last night.”

  “I was delayed taking care of a wounded Hungarian colleague. By the time I gave chase, it was too late. Omar had too much of a head start. Even with dogs we couldn’t catch him.”

  The smile was gone. Kuznov sat up with a start. “How do you know Omar’s objective is to assassinate me and Prime Minister Szabo?”

  “Financing came from Peter Toth, who, as you know, hated both Russia and Szabo. We traced the money trail from Peter to Omar. And of course, you no doubt know that Peter wanted to prevent your agreement with Szabo.” He continued, “I assume that’s why you had Peter killed. And for the same reason, you arranged Emma Miller’s murder.”

  “I won’t respond to those baseless accusations,” said Kuznov, his face unreadable.

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  “Is Prime Minister Szabo aware of your claim that Omar is here and intends to kill us?”

  “He authorized last night’s attack. He even micromanaged it, which was why it failed. I gather he didn’t tell you.”

  When Kuznov didn’t reply, Craig added, “I guess he didn’t want to risk your turning around and going back to Moscow. He must want this agreement as much as you do.” Craig decided to twist the knife, so he added, “It can’t give you a good feeling forming an alliance with a partner who withholds key information.”

  After a moment’s silence, Kuznov said, “Listen, Craig, your concern for my welfare is genuinely appreciated. However, I’m no coward. I don’t run and hide. I brought soldiers with me, and I’m confident they’ll be able to protect me.”

  Kuznov paused. He was hesitating, as if he had something else to say and he wasn’t sure whether he should. Finally, he continued, “And besides. Omar has been a nemesis of mine for a long time. He has managed to elude me from the time that I was in Grozny.”

  When you killed his wife and children, Craig was thinking.

  “If Omar is in Budapest,” Kuznov continued, “and he rears his head, that is good news. It means that I will at last get a chance to cut it off. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have somewhere to be.”

  Craig guessed Kuznov was going to meet Szabo before they went to the ceremony.

  Having failed again, Craig left the Russian Embassy, thinking about his next move. He checked his watch. The ceremony would be starting in another thirty minutes. He could always do what Elizabeth had said: be present in Parliament Square and try to kill Omar once he attacked Kuznov and Szabo, but the two leaders might be dead by then.

  There had to be a better way. He racked his brain. Then it struck him. Earlier that morning, he had made a serious error by not searching the other building, the Peter Toth building in Parliament Square. Omar must have given him a false trail with the broken lock and blood on the wall so he’d think Omar had holed up in the other building. And Craig had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Omar must have picked the lock on the door of the Peter Toth building, gone in, and then locked it from the inside.

  At breakneck speed, Craig drove to Parliament Square. From the car, he called Elizabeth. “I struck out with our friend, but I’m on to plan B. I want you to get a cab and come with Nick and Pierre to Parliament Square in time for the ceremony. Stay in the car until you hear from me. I’ll let you know when it’s all clear.”

  He was ready to put down the phone when he realized he needed Elizabeth’s help for something else. He couldn’t just break into the Peter Toth building. Soldiers would be all over the square. He’d never be able to explain it to them, and they’d arrest him. Nor did he have time to get Szabo’s authorization to break in.

  He told Elizabeth, “Call your friend Gyorgy. Have him get to his office building on Parliament Square with the key to the front door to let me in. I’ll meet him in front.”

  When Craig arrived in Parliament Square it was fifteen minutes to the start of the ceremony. The crowd was large, and the chairs were filling up. Hungarian music was playing. Craig counted twenty-five soldiers and scores of policeman in the area.

  His phone rang. It was the medic from the castle. Craig held his breath. “General Nemeth just got out of surgery,” the medic said. “He’s going to be okay.”

  Craig sighed with relief. “Thank you for calling.”

  Calmly and nonchalantly, Craig walked over to the Peter Toth building. Nobody was standing near the door. He just hoped to hell Elizabeth had reached Gyorgy. He thought of calling her, but concluded that she would have called if she’d hit a snag.

  Impatiently, he paced near the door. C’mon Gyorgy, he thought. You have to get here.

  Two minutes later, a gray-haired man got out of a car on the edge of the square and limped toward the Peter Toth building. The man looked pale and frightened.

  “Gyorgy,” Craig said.

  “Yes, Elizabeth called.”

  “Step behind me,” Craig said. “I’ll cover you. The building is off-limits today. We don’t want soldiers to ask any questions.”

  Gyorgy nodded and did what Craig told him. Once Craig heard the click of the door opening, he said, “Switch positions.”

  Craig moved around Gyorgy and slipped into the building. Gun in one hand and flashlight in another, he decided to climb the stairs, not wanting to alert Omar to his presence and figuring he would be on the top floor for the best vantage point. If he didn’t find Omar on six, he’d work his way down, one floor at a time.

  As he climbed, he checked his watch. He still had seven minutes until the start of the ceremony. Not much, but it had to be enough. Omar had better be in this building.

  Treading softly, Craig opened the door leading from the inside staircase to the sixth floor corridor. He had four minutes. As he stepped onto the floor with its fading and frayed carpet, he smelled something. It was garlic. Omar must be on this floor.

  Walking softly, gun in hand, Craig followed the scent. It led him toward the side of the building facing Parliament Square. A door opening on to the corridor was ajar. Craig nudged it open all the way with his foot. From one of the outside offices, he heard a sound: a rifle being loaded.

  As quietly as possible, Craig went through one interior door, then another. On the toes of his feet, he passed three deserted desks with disconnected phones and old computers. When he passed through the second door, he saw the back of a man crouched down on a low table in front of the window aiming a sniper’s rifle.

  Omar had no idea Craig was there. Craig ra
ised his gun. He could have just pulled the trigger and blown Omar’s head away, but he wanted the Chechen to die knowing what had happened to him.

  Though it was risky, Craig cried out, “Omar!”

  The Chechen dropped his rifle. He grabbed a pistol resting on the table and wheeled around.

  Craig locked eyes with Omar. In a penetrating voice he shouted, “This is for Amos Neir, my friend whose body you dumped in the Seine.”

  Before Omar had a chance to respond, Craig pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped into Omar’s head. Blood and tissue splattered against the window, and his lifeless body dropped to the floor.

  Craig let out a deep breath and called Elizabeth. “Omar’s dead,” he said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Perfect. Head over to the ceremony, I’ll meet you there.”

  The ceremony was just beginning. Practically every seat was taken. Nick was sitting between Craig and Elizabeth, and a band was playing the Hungarian national anthem. Craig watched Szabo and Kuznov climb the stairs onto the platform.

  Craig felt a strange ambivalence. While he had avenged the death of Amos Neir and rid the world of a terrorist, now the Russian–Hungarian agreement would go into effect. It might not only destabilize Europe, but lead to another war.

  When the music stopped, a beaming Szabo moved up to the lectern. The television cameras were rolling. He was opening his mouth to speak when suddenly two men in suits and ties, followed by a contingent of twenty armed soldiers, climbed onto the podium.

  Nick said, “Hey, there’s Grandpa on the stage. And he’s not in disguise.”

  What the hell’s going on? Craig wondered.

  Elizabeth leaned behind Nick and poked Craig in the ribs. “The man with Peter is Janos Rajk, the justice minister,” she whispered.

  Janos roughly shoved Szabo aside. He leaned over the microphone. Looking into the television cameras, he announced, “I am Janos Rajk, the Hungarian justice minister. With me is Peter Toth, known to many of you as one of our most successful business people and a true patriot. Thanks to Peter, we have regrettably found evidence that Prime Minister Szabo has taken a bribe of fifty million euros from the Russian government to enter into the Friendship Pact he planned to announce today. This agreement would have permitted Russia to station their troops in our country once again.” Janos took a piece of paper from his pocket and waved it around. “I am here with an order from the Curia, the Supreme Court, to arrest Prime Minister Szabo for this crime, making his agreement with Russia null and void.”

  A gasp went up from the crowd.

  The justice minister continued, “I assure all of you that there will be a free election within sixty days and a new prime minister will be selected.”

  An outraged Szabo reached for the microphone, but before he could get his hands on it, the justice minister gave the soldiers the order to arrest him. While Szabo thrashed his arms, two soldiers grabbed him and slapped on handcuffs. Then they led him away.

  Craig, who had been watching and listening to the justice minister, now turned his head toward the chair Kuznov had occupied. It was empty. The Russian president was walking down the side stairs and away from the platform looking furious. Kuznov may have escaped with his life, but his plans for the reconquest of Central Europe had just suffered a huge setback. This had been a major defeat for Kuznov.

  Janos announced, “This ceremony is now concluded,” and the crowd began drifting away.

  Another man in a suit and tie approached Craig, Elizabeth, and Nick. He told them, “I’m an aide to the justice minister. He would like to talk to the three of you in the parliament building. Will you please come with me?”

  “Sure, and my security man comes with us,” Craig said, pointing to Pierre.

  The aide led them up a wide, ornate staircase. At the top in the center of the domed hall, the crown of St. Stephen, the country’s most important national icon, was on display in a thick glass case. They followed him to a caucus room off the legislative chamber. Peter and Janos were already in the room. Then the aide departed, closing the door behind him.

  As soon as Nick saw his grandfather, he ran up and hugged him.

  “Hello Elizabeth,” Janos said. “Good to see you again.”

  “And you. This is Craig Page,” she added, introducing him.

  “I know all about you, Craig,” Janos responded. “What happened to Omar?”

  Craig guessed that Peter had briefed Janos. “You’ll find his dead body on the sixth floor of Peter’s office building.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that,” Janos said. “I want to thank you and Elizabeth on behalf of the Hungarian people for everything you did.” Janos turned to Peter. “I’m extremely grateful to you for uncovering the bribe that Szabo took from the Russians. I’m hoping to be appointed the next prime minister, and if I do, I’d like you to come back to Hungary and take a position in my government as finance minister.”

  Craig watched Nick’s face fall. He was no doubt afraid his grandfather would abandon him again in Washington. But to Craig’s pleasant surprise, Peter told Janos, “Thank you for offering me such an honor. However, I must decline. I want to spend my time with my grandson, Nick, in Washington.” Peter turned to Nick. “I plan to build a new house in Potomac and live there full-time with you and your grandmother.”

  Before the gathering broke up, Elizabeth took Peter off to one side while Pierre and Janos took Nick to look at St. Stephen’s crown. Craig stuck around, eavesdropping. He heard Peter thanking Elizabeth for taking such good care of Nick.

  She replied softly, “Your son is a wonderful boy.”

  “You mean my grandson,” Peter corrected her.

  “I know about you and Emma.”

  Peter was taken aback. “Does Nick know?”

  “I didn’t tell him. That’s up to you.”

  With a trembling hand, Peter reached out and grasped Elizabeth’s arm. “Thank you.”

  The three of them left the room and went to the hall outside where Janos was explaining to Nick about the crown and how the US had kept it for thirty-two years after the Second World War.

  Then it was time for Craig and Elizabeth to say goodbye to Nick. With tears in her eyes, Elizabeth promised to see him when she came to Washington.

  Once they were alone, walking back to the hotel, Elizabeth said to Craig, “Will Peter be safe? Do you think Kuznov will try to have him killed again?”

  Craig shook his head. “It’s unlikely. Kuznov has more important things to focus on now that we quashed his alliance with Hungary. He’ll have to find another way to achieve his ambitious goals for Russia.”

  She thought about it for a minute and said, “You’re right. I have to say, though, Peter is a very complex man.”

  “That’s true. What really matters is that you did a great thing. You saved Nick’s life. You can be proud of yourself.”

  “And I could never have succeeded without you.”

  “We’re a good combination.”

  He stopped walking, took her into his arms, and kissed her.

  About the Author

  Allan Topol is the author of fourteen novels of international intrigue. Two of them, Spy Dance and Enemy of My Enemy, were national best sellers. His novels have been translated into Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, and Hebrew. One was optioned, and three are in development for movies.

  In addition to his fiction writing, Allan Topol coauthored a two-volume legal treatise entitled Superfund Law and Procedure. He wrote a weekly column for Military.com, and has published articles in numerous newspapers and periodicals, including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Yale Law Journal.

  He is a graduate of Carnegie Institute of Technology who majored in chemistry, abandoned science, and obtained a law degree from Yale University. He later became a partner in a major Washington law firm. An avid wine collector and connoisseur, he has traveled extensively researching dramatic locations for his novels.

  For more information, visit www.al
lantopol.com.