Requiem for a Gypsy

by Michael Genelin

  Nobody was supposed to be there.

  Someone obviously was.

  They called for Jana and the Einsatzgruppe, the WEGA special action unit arriving just before Jana did, effectively sealing off the location. It was a very swift, practiced operation, made easier by the fact that its focus was a single apartment floor, which helped the police minimize any threat to the operation or to the building’s other tenants.

  It was morning. Vienna was waking up. Night is always the best time to storm a location, because everyone is asleep and surprise is a strong factor. But that was not to be. They couldn’t wait; they had to go now. Jana shunned the elevator, taking the stairs to the top floor just a moment after the members of the WEGA unit had taken up their positions.

  The Austrians welcomed Jana’s presence. They were not Slovak speakers, while Jana, as a Slovak native, shared the language with Kralik and Zdenko Bogan. Equally important, she knew the players who they thought could be in the suite. She knew their mindsets and the way they might react. So the Austrians stepped back and let her step forward. Now Jana wanted time to reason out her approach in dealing with the man or men inside Kralik’s apartment.

  Jana reached the top floor, coming out on the side of the foyer. The police were stationed around the one door leading into the apartment. The setup was both good and bad. There was no back door for the people inside to try to escape through. Unfortunately, there was no other entrance through which the police could come in either; so, if they made a mistake, they would be easy targets. One of the officers had a battering ram. Jana had described the interior of the apartment behind the door in fairly extensive detail to the WEGA men, so they knew where to go and what to anticipate in the way of inanimate obstacles when they broke in. Unfortunately, knowing how Zdenko Bogan had responded when Jana and Masson had tried to deal with him in Paris, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the apartment could dissolve into a free-fire zone at any point in the attempted arrest.

  They had the phone number of the apartment, and when Jana was given the signal that they were ready, she dialed it. She let it ring for a long minute, then dialed once more. Again, there was no answer. Jana rang the doorbell, and followed it up by pounding on the door and calling out in both Slovak and German that they were police, telling the occupants to open the door. Again, no response. Jana moved to the next level, signaling to the head of the WEGA unit. With no response, the only option was a direct assault, and within seconds they’d pounded their way through the door, had tossed stun grenades into the apartment, and were flooding inside.

  No one was there.

  Except someone had to be. The officer who had seen the light come on was adamant, swearing that he’d seen the illumination, pointing to the window he’d observed it in. If the officer had, indeed, seen a light, perhaps there was a logical explanation. If, as Jana assumed, there was someone still in the apartment, the person was hidden, and that meant there was a hideaway room in the suite. That would also explain the light. If someone was occupying a hideaway room at night, he might want to come out to use the bathroom or perhaps the kitchen to get water. All it took to betray his presence was a brief moment, a quick light while the man navigated from one spot to the other.

  The window that had shown the light was in the master bedroom suite. Jana lightly tapped on the side wall facing the window, working her way to the wall against which the bed’s headboard rested. Immediately next to the headboard she heard the hollow sound she’d expected. Jana then checked along the angle of the wall and along the baseboard. No question. There was a space behind the wall.

  The special services men stationed themselves near the hideaway. When they were ready, Jana stood off to the side of the space behind the wall, reached over and knocked loudly to alert whoever was inside. After a pause she called to the man in the room.

  “Police! We’re here in force. Come out now. If you have a weapon, leave it inside.”

  Firing began from inside the hidden room, bullets patterning the wall as they came though. Jana was just out of the line of fire. She threw herself farther back so she wouldn’t be hit as the police opened up on that section of the wall, their weapons on full automatic.

  There is nothing better than automatic weapons for tearing through lath and plaster. Within a minute, the wall was completely shredded, just a few shards of plaster clinging to the edges of the hidden area’s entryway. An Einsatzgruppe man tossed a stun grenade into the hole just to make sure that the occupant would be momentarily incapacitated if he was still alive. That way, he wouldn’t be able to fire at them when they entered. Several of the officers barreled into the hideaway, dragging out the body of a man a few moments later. One of the officers carried out the assault rifle the man had been armed with.

  Jana went over the body, searching for identification.

  It was Kabil Balder. In a way, Jana was relieved. He was one of the thugs who had been at the meeting with Makine in Bratislava. He had also been Akso’s partner in trying to kill her, and, she believed, he had been half of the two-man assassination team, along with Zdenko Bogan, that had killed Klara Boganova. He’d been described by the Turkish informer and Konrad in Berlin as a “safe man.” So he was probably one of the men who had broken into the Bogan houses in Bratislava and Hungary. Another man the world would not miss.

  The Austrians went through the few items in the hideaway. It was fairly large for a construction of this sort, big enough to have been occupied by another person or perhaps two, but there was no evidence to suggest that there had been more than one person inside it.

  Jana questioned the officers who had been on the surveillance watch at the apartment. The light had come from the apartment just before dawn, and they had also seen two men exit the building just before that. Both men had been dressed in suits, both carrying briefcases. The men had looked like professionals, managers of some business or other who were getting an early jump on going to work. The officers had logged the event in their notes, but both thought the two men looked so commonplace, as they phrased it, that they hadn’t thought to call it to anyone’s attention.

  If Balder was in Vienna, Jana was confident that his master, Zdenko, was also in the city. And Radomir Kralik. In Jana’s mind, they were the two “businessmen” who had left the apartment together. Father and son had come to pick up the withdrawal authorization document for the money in the bank accounts. Jana checked her watch. Just one hour to wait for the bank to open. Perhaps there was enough time for them to get there and set up their apprehension net before the men could enter the bank.

  She quickly discussed it with the Criminal Investigation Department captain and the WEGA commander. If the fugitives were going to the bank, all of them decided that it would be better to try to confront them in the street before they got inside the bank. The Austrians got their officers organized, and they were at the bank in twenty minutes.

  The bank was still not open. Jana checked her watch against the hours posted on the door. They had just enough time to deploy a number of officers dressed in civilian clothes around the street. A few minutes after they finished doing that, Zdenko Bogan, the large chestnut birthmark apparent on his face, Radomir Kralik, and Elke Rilke, Kralik’s secretary, came walking down the street toward the bank. The only one who looked like she was enjoying herself was Rilke.

  Jana signaled the Austrian operations officer, he said a few words into his call module, and the police closed in.

  Fortune was not on their side.

  Zdenko saw them almost at once, and immediately came out with a gun. The Austrians wasted no time in firing at him. He got off one shot before he was driven to the ground by the force of the bullets. Kralik made the mistake of going down on his knees beside Zdenko, perhaps trying to comfort his son. His intention was ambiguous. And it was his bad luck to be too close to Zdenko’s gun for the uneasy officers to take any chances. Kralik was the recipient of a volley of bullets from several of the officers. All the while, Elke Rilke was holding
her hands over her ears trying to blot out the sound, adding to it at the same time by screaming over and over again.

  They covered the bodies as the bank employees began arriving. As Elke’s screams devolved into sobs and tears, Jana tried to comfort her, taking her into the bank accompanied by the Austrian captain in charge of the operation. They informed the bank officials that the bank would have to stay closed until the bodies were removed and their on-scene investigation was complete. The captain, Jana, and Elke sat at Kralik’s old desk.

  “I know this is a terrible time for you,” Jana sympathized with Elke. “You had no reason to think this would happen.”

  Elke nodded, the shock still evident on her face.

  “Zdenko was dangerous. He’d already killed Klara Bogan and his grandfather, Jindrich.”

  Elke stared at Jana. “He couldn’t have.”

  “We know he did,” Jana assured her. “When Zdenko drew a gun and fired at the officers, they had no choice.”

  Elke shook her head, either trying to deny events or to clear her mind.

  “They shot Mr. Kralik,” she moaned. “There was no reason to shoot Mr. Kralik. He didn’t have a gun.”

  Jana glanced at the Austrian captain, who looked abashed at the truth of what Elke was saying. Jana tried to smooth over the problem.

  “In a gun battle, things often don’t go as planned. He looked like he might be reaching for Zdenko’s gun. There will be an inquiry, as there is in all shootings. A magistrate will decide.”

  The Austrian captain looked even more uncomfortable. Jana glanced at him, then went back to Elke.

  “When did Zdenko and Kralik get in touch with you?” Jana asked.

  “They called me at home this morning. They wanted to take me to an early breakfast. They were very nice to me, both of them. And then, just like three friends, we came to the bank.”

  “Elke, Mr. Kralik trusted you. Do you have an item in your possession that he asked you to hold for him or for Zdenko? Were you all going to the bank to pick it up?”

  Elke was expressionless for a moment, then connected with the question. “Do you mean the package that came yesterday?”

  “From Paris?”

  “Yes, from Paris.”

  A few minutes later Elke recovered a large package from one of the bank safe-deposit boxes and gave it to Jana. There was a cover letter with the package, from the syndic, the managing agent for the property that Jindrich Bogan had owned in Paris. The letter was brief, merely stating that they had been informed by the French police that Pascal Dionne was dead and, pursuant to his instructions, they were forwarding the ownership documents for his residence, as well as other documents in their possession, to his next of kin, care of the IEB bank. Jindrich Bogan had provided for his succession.

  Jana opened the package. There were two separate parcels inside. The first held the deed for the Saint-Paul property in Paris. The second package was the more interesting. It held an old leather-covered album. In the album were wartime photos of members of the Hlinka Guard in all their glory, parading, herding prisoners, partying, a self-proclaimed elite that was, despite all their pictured grandeur, soon to be consigned to the fires of war.

  There was also a list of names of wartime contributors, enumerating the percentages of money and gold they had contributed to their paramilitary organizations’ mutual fund. And, the prize in the cake, the authorizing identification document for withdrawals from the accounts listed in the documents found in the Paris apartment. The items of trust in his possession had been delivered to his successors. Unfortunately, his successors had also arranged for his death.

  Unknowingly, they had arranged for their own deaths as well.

  Chapter 46

  Jana arrived in Bratislava on the first train from Austria. She was tired. The wound under her arm was itchy and the scab from the bullet graze under her chin still unsightly, and she found it hard to look in a mirror. Seges met her at the depot in Petržalka. He initially avoided any mention of Em. Then, as if the pressure was too much for him, he launched into a sudden tirade about Em deserting them, not caring that they cared about her, the girl just running off, doing a “gypsy” on them. It went on for some time, Jana initially telling him to shut up, then relenting and trying to be kind to the man by telling him a few white lies.

  “Her father called for her to come, and she ran to him because he needed her. Em didn’t have time to talk about it with you or to express her feelings. She did what every good daughter would do under the circumstances.” It was a bent reality, but there was enough authenticity to it for Jana to sound like she was telling the truth. “Little girls have to go when their fathers call, no matter what else is going on around them.”

  Seges reflected on what Jana had said, slightly placated. “Yes, that’s true.” He ruminated for a moment. “I didn’t know you met with her after she left us.”

  “Her father was in Paris. She looked me up.”

  “Paris? She found you in Paris?”

  “Seges, I don’t have to tell you how resourceful that girl is. You saw it yourself, over and over again.”

  “That’s true. Em is amazing. Amazing! Did she say anything that I can tell my wife? She’s still very broken up about Em leaving. She cries every night. I’d like to go back to her this evening with a few words.”

  “Em said she loved you both and was sorry that things had turned out like they had. It was sudden, and the way she left bothered her badly. She had hoped it would be different.” It was now a bald-faced lie, but Jana had to say something to alleviate the sadness in her warrant officer’s face.

  Seges lit up instantly, a thankful note in his voice. “So she cared after all?”

  “Of course she cared.”

  “My wife will be very happy.”

  “Then I’m happy too.”

  Jana felt the ache inside herself. It was deep. There was no lie someone could tell her to ease the loss. Em had left a scar.

  Now that some of his grief had been eased, Seges prattled on about this and that, personnel matters, cases. They were approaching the police building when Seges told her about the father of the young man who had been killed because of the “business” over the woman he’d made pregnant.

  The young man’s father had sought out the village chief who had ordered the boy killed. They had gotten into a shootout, and the village chief had been killed. The police were currently holding the father.

  The news jolted Jana. “And the rest of the family? Have you or anyone else talked to them?”

  She remembered them all in her office, crying, desperate to make some sense out of their loss, and their now-imprisoned father, sweet and caring, trying to ease his family’s pain, to find logic in the events, to make logic out of them. He had sought justice and killed a man. Now he was in jail. The latest killing had not helped his son; the son was still dead. And now the family had no father. The world was crazy.

  “No loss,” said Seges. “Just gypsies fighting it out.”

  “Seges, a human being has died,” was all she could say.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  They reached the police building. Seges thankfully stayed silent while they went up to their offices. Jana immediately called Trokan to brief him on what had happened over the last few days. He asked her to come over to his office, and they spent the next two hours going over the events, Jana taking him through a chronological, step-by-step accounting, spending much of the time tracing the history of the bank accounts. Millions stolen during the war, then banked; with interest over the years, they had become tens of millions, then hundreds of millions.

  Jindrich had invested in banks as well, leading to more growth in the funds. And with control of the banks, it was easy for the family to move the money around, to build up their own criminal business outside the purview of the banks, laundering the funds through the banks and reinvesting, facilitating more funds. Money makes money. Banks keep it safe and make more money themselves because of the mon
ey banked with them. A simple formula that can’t go wrong. Except it had.

  When she was through, Trokan had a few questions.

  “Why the marriage between Bogan the father and Zuzulova?”

  “The son of the number one guy and the number two guy arranged a royal marriage. Royal marriages are to safeguard the kingdom by making sure the heirs don’t fight over it.”

  “It didn’t work,” Trokan pointed out. “They fought.”

  “I guess that’s why kingdoms keep falling,” Jana reflected.

  “Why did Zuzulova arrange to kill Oto Bogan at his party?”

  “She never loved the man. I think she wanted him out of her way. She had Kralik, and her son. So, no Oto Bogan.”

  “If she planned it, why was she killed?”

  “Zdenko Bogan didn’t like his mother. Not many people did. If she was gone, it would all be his. He probably planned it. On the other hand, sitting up there on the catwalk, I don’t think he could have resisted it even if he’d planned to kill someone else. The gentleman had a personality disorder.”

  “A personality disorder?” Trokan asked, not quite believing she had said that.

  Jana corrected herself. “A crazy man.”

  “Very crazy.” Trokan reflected. “The family that kills together kills each other, eh?” Trokan laughed at his aphorism, then got serious again. “And where is Makine? Or is he using the name Koba today?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “In Paris? Austria? Where?”

  “Around.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Around. With him.”

  “I told you to stay away from her.” Trokan preened at the thought of having one up on Jana. “Next time, listen to the wise Colonel Trokan.”

  “If I’d listened, we wouldn’t have solved the case.”

  He made a rude noise to show that he disagreed, then thought about the latest events.

  “The material you found on the accounts? The withdrawal identification document?” Trokan’s voice was eager. “That thing is worth a lot of money. What did you do with it?”