by Adam LeBor
‘Something’s happening. Put the radio on,’ said Balthazar.
Attila flipped a switch on the steering wheel. Bartok spilled from the speakers, the sweeping music full of yearning.
‘I never would have guessed you were a classical music fan,’ said Anastasia.
‘I’m not,’ said Attila, flipping through the stations, as they came off the bridge and turned right, towards Parliament. Now the roads were jammed with people and the traffic crawled. ‘I’m looking for the news.’ Attila flicked through half a dozen different stations. All were either broadcasting white noise or Hungarian classical music. Eventually Reka Bardossy’s voice sounded through the speakers, distant and crackly, ‘… Hungary will be a democracy, not a dictatorship. But we need you to make that happen. Please come now to Kossuth Square. Thank you.’
A male announcer said, ‘This is Budapest Kaloz, pirate radio, broadcasting on the move to evade the Gendarmerie. All commercial stations have been closed down. State radio is broadcasting classical music. But we are still on air. Catch our live feed on the internet. Kaloz.hu. Here again is Prime Minister Reka Bardossy.’
Balthazar, Anastasia and Attila fell silent as they listened to her broadcast in full. Balthazar watched the crowds gather and thicken as they walked along the embankment.
Pal laughed as Reka finished her broadcast. ‘Do you think that’s enough? Some students and nenis walk to Kossuth Square, Reka makes a plea on the Internet and pirate radio? You cannot stop us. You have no idea what or who you are dealing with.’
‘Tell me, then, Mr Dezeffy,’ said Balthazar, ‘who are we dealing with? Your Arab friends, the terrorists that you let pass through this country? Or the Gulf investors that want to turn us into a colony so they and their families can get Hungarian passports?’
Pal coughed and wiped the blood from his nose before he answered. ‘Don’t ask me. Ask Reka. She knows all about them. She invited them here in the first place. Arab money is just a tiny part of this. There are forces here, in this country, that you have no idea about. Reka and I, we are two sides of the same coin. We go back a long way. We fight, then we ally, then we fight again. In bed and out. This isn’t your war, Detective Kovacs, and I am not sure why you are in it.’
Balthazar said, ‘But it is. We know you plan to release some kind of poison gas onto Kossuth Square. A lot of people will die.’
Pal shrugged. ‘No they won’t. A lot of people will feel sick and go home and Reka Bardossy’s last tiny bit of authority will be finished.’
Balthazar said, ‘And that’s why you engaged two of the men who were responsible for the Halabja massacre? To make people feel sick and go home? You could do that yourself, just tip something into the machine that pumps the steam out. But only they know how to kill people. Once that gas is rolling across Kossuth Square nobody will be going anywhere, except to the morgue, or maybe the hospital if they are lucky.’
‘What nonsense,’ said Pal. He leaned forward, said to Attila, ‘Attila, did you really think I would kill hundreds of people? I told you once. I will tell you again. Nobody is going to die. They are just going to throw up a lot. And that will get the job done.’ Pal laughed again. ‘And Reka, poor Reka. She thinks she will win by bringing the people onto the streets. She has done exactly what we expected her to.’
Balthazar looked at Anastasia in the mirror. Their eyes met and both silently asked the same question: Was Pal lying? There was one way to find out. They needed that radio controller. Balthazar said, ‘Attila, can you speed up?’
‘Not much more, but I’ll try,’ said Attila as he yanked the steering wheel to the right and the SUV lurched down Honved Street. They were now half a mile from the edge of Szabadsag Square where Pal’s foundation had its office. Attila heard his telephone beep. The handset was in a well by the gearstick. ‘Tazi, get that please,’ he asked. ‘See what it is.’
Balthazar took out the handset and opened the messages. A photo appeared of two teenage boys in the demonstration, a block or so from Kossuth Square, Parliament rising high in the background. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that the image might somehow become something else when he reopened them. It did not. It showed Alex and Henrik, with their arms around each other, Henrik holding his rainbow flag.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Bardossy home, 11.10 a.m.
Eniko checked her Twitter feed once more then put her telephone down. #saveHungarydemocracy was trending now internationally, #kossuthsquare not far behind it. #honestreportingHungary, she was pleased to see, had all but vanished, overtaken by events. All the major international news organisations were reporting from the square, even though cable television networks were not available, flooding the Internet with coverage. CNN had set up from a balcony on Alkotmany Street, panning back and forth between the junction with Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Way at the top and Kossuth Square at the bottom. The street was completely full with people and more were pouring in from the side roads. The small speaker on her phone blared out the crowd’s chant, ‘Democracy, not dictatorship’.
Eniko turned to Reka. ‘It’s time, Prime Minister. We need go to Kossuth Square, now. There’s a critical mass. We can win this.’
‘We can. But from here,’ said Sandor. He turned to Reka, ‘You’re not going anywhere. It’s not safe. Pal has planned something. We don’t know what exactly, but nothing good.’
Reka sat back and took a drink of her coffee. ‘Sani, if fifty thousand—’
Eniko looked down at her phone again, checked her browser. 555.hu had set up a live feed from the square, fronted by Zsuzsa, and a real-time ticker giving an estimate of the numbers of protestors, ‘Sixty-two, sorry to interrupt,’
Reka nodded, continued talking, ‘… a thousand people are walking into an uncertain situation to support me, I really think I ought to be there, don’t you?’ She turned to Antal. ‘Antal, you’re my security chief. What do you think?’
He thought before he answered. ‘The situation is unstable. Possibly dangerous. We don’t know enough about the nature of any threat to properly assess it. But you’ll be in much more danger if Pal returns to power. I would say, Prime Minister, that you don’t have a choice. You need to be there.’
Eniko smiled. ‘As your communications chief, I totally agree.’
Akos nodded, ‘And so do I. Eniko is right. This is the moment. You really need to take ownership of the square. Otherwise it will all fizzle out and we will still be sitting here in this room, wondering what to do next.’
Reka looked at Sandor, an indulgent smile on her face. ‘It seems you are outnumbered, Sanyi bacsi.’ He was about to reply when her telephone rang. Reka looked down at the screen, glanced at the others, mouthed ‘Peter’ and left the room. Eniko knew her husband was in the Gulf, on a business trip, had been there all week. Eniko was somewhat mystified as to why he had not flown home earlier, once it was clear that Reka’s grip on power was slipping. But Reka had intimated that they led somewhat separate lives. She focused on her political career, he on business, and when they could, they enjoyed weekends together. But not this one, even though Reka’s political career hung in the balance and would likely be decided by the end of the day.
Eniko stood up and started gathering her bag and her jacket. However cautious Sandor was, it was inconceivable that Reka would remain at home. Politicians, she knew, lived for moments like these. Reka was probably already imagining the roar of the crowd when they saw her walking among them. Eniko yawned as a wave of tiredness hit her, mixing with the caffeine and adrenalin that she was running on. She, Sandor and Akos had all spent the night here. The guest bedroom had its own bathroom and was extremely comfortable, but she had barely slept, her mind churning over the last couple of days. Eniko had left Balthazar’s flat around midnight the previous evening. Scared as she was, there was not much comfort in sitting alone in someone else’s apartment. In any case she was annoyed with herself for turning up there in the first place. She had virtually offered herself to Balthazar when they were st
anding on his balcony. Instead he had driven off into the night with Anastasia Ferenczy.
Soon after Balthazar had left, Eniko had called Reka. She had insisted on sending a government car, an Audi driven by Antal Kondor, to come and get her. The car had arrived ten minutes later. They had driven up Dob Street onto the Grand Boulevard. When they approached Blaha Lujza Square, and the Gendarmes’ checkpoint came into view, Eniko’s reporter instinct kicked in. She asked Antal to park on the side of the road, just before the crossroads with Rakoczi Way. He was reluctant – the situation was unstable and his orders were to bring Eniko straight to Reka’s house. But she had insisted and when the car slowed right down in traffic, she had opened the door, got out and filmed the night-time scene, ignoring the repeated requests from the driver to get back into the vehicle. That was the footage that Reka had used in her broadcast. Two Gendarmes had come over to question her, and probably detain her. At which point Antal had stepped out of the vehicle, his weapon clearly visible. The Gendarmes had glanced at him, his pistol, the government number plates on the car, turned on their heels and waved the vehicle through their checkpoint.
Reka came back into the room, holding her coat. She looked drawn and preoccupied until she realised the three of them were all looking at her and instantly broke into a bright, professional smile. ‘What are we waiting for? Let’s go, people.’
Szabadsag Square, 11.35 a.m.
Balthazar stared at the text message on the screen of his telephone as Attila skid-parked the SUV on the corner of Square and Sas Street, narrowly missing three teenage girls walking arm in arm to nearby Kossuth Square.
Alex Sarah Henrik Monika – get out of Kossuth Square NOW and get as far away as possible. This is NOT a joke u r in danger. Balthazar
Written in smaller type, underneath was the single word: ‘Undeliverable’
Balthazar tried calling Sarah again, then Alex. Neither call went through. He looked down at the top left-hand corner of the screen again. The space where there were usually three or four bars was empty, apart from even tinier lettering: ‘No network available’.
He looked around, as though the surrounds might provide a solution. What should have been a five-minute drive from Margaret Bridge had taken more than twenty. The streets around Parliament, all the way back to the Great Boulevard, were jammed with demonstrators and almost impassable. And with Pal a prisoner, walking was not an option. The Hungarian National Bank stood on one side of the road, a grand monumental building in pale stone, its walls decorated with ornate sculptures of toiling, busy workers. On the other side was a small park lined with hedges and a low metal fence. Two young women in their early twenties had set up a stall on a ping-pong table, selling drinks, snacks and sandwiches to the steady flow of people heading towards Parliament. Many of those walking through were staring at their phone, frowning, or handing them to their friends to check. Nobody was using them to talk.
Attila switched the engine off and glanced at Balthazar, who said, ‘Nothing. There is no coverage. We might be able to get a wi-fi connection to send it, but there’s no guarantee that it will arrive or even if it does that they will see it. And they would need one to get it.’ He turned to Pal. ‘Did you do this?’
Pal smirked. ‘Not personally.’
Attila nodded, turned around in the seat and addressed Pal. ‘I want to explain something to you, Comrade Pal.’ Attila’s voice was low and even as he spoke, but his eyes were wide, his nostrils flared and his body coiled like a spring ready to leap forward.
Pal shrank back. ‘Are you going to hit me again? I told you where it is. It’s in the drawer of my desk. It’s not locked. You know what it looks like. You’ll find it. I can come with you if you like. There’s still time. You just to need to get to the edge of Kossuth Square. That will be near enough.’
Attila shook his head. ‘Nice try. But there are security guards and CCTV cameras in the office building. The sight of you, a former prime minister, will raise the alarm. I’ll go with the duchess here, and Detective Kovacs will look after you. Is that OK?’ he asked, turning to Balthazar and Anastasia.
‘Sure,’ said Balthazar while Anastasia nodded, rolling her eyes.
Pal asked, ‘Is that what you wanted to explain to me? Or is there something else?’
‘There is,’ said Attila. He reached for his telephone, showed the photograph on the screen to Pal. ‘This.’
‘Good-looking boys,’ said Pal. ‘Who are they?’
‘My son, and his son,’ said Attila, pointing at Balthazar. ‘Both now on Kossuth Square.’
‘Oh,’ said Pal. ‘That might be unfortunate. But very progressive, to be waving a rainbow flag. Is that a big thing in your family, Attila? Gay rights?’
Attila refused to rise to the bait. ‘The big thing in my family is not killing any of us.’
Pal’s tone changed. ‘Meaning?’ he asked, no longer flippant.
Pal leaned forward, grabbed Pal and jammed his forefinger into the wreckage of his nose. Pal yelped in pain. Attila said, ‘That’s nothing to what will happen to you if something happens to either of our boys. Nothing at all. I will kill you. I will break each of your limbs one by one with a hammer, then your joints until you are screaming to be put out of your misery. And nobody will find your body. You will vanish from this planet.’
Pal coughed and swallowed. ‘I’ve got a son as well.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Balthazar.
‘New York.’
‘He should stay there,’ said Attila.
‘Do you think so?’ asked Pal. He glanced at his watch. ‘I guess we’ll find out in a few minutes.’
Anastasia asked, ‘What do you mean?’
Pal smiled. ‘You are all misinformed. The radio controller stops the gas emission. There is a code for the controller’s keypad. Only I know it. The timer is set automatically. I don’t have to do anything. It’s all going to happen. At 11.45 a.m. On the dot.’
‘What is the code?’ asked Balthazar.
‘Take a guess.’
Attila extended his forefinger and moved towards Pal’s broken nose.
‘Wait,’ said Balthazar. ‘Let’s ask him again.’ He turned towards Pal. ‘The code?’
Pal said, ‘The year I first took power, Detective Kovacs. The year our revolution started. You remember when that was?’
Balthazar nodded. ‘2006. Fifty years after the 1956 uprising. How do I know that you are not lying?’
Pal stared at him. ‘You don’t, Detective Kovacs. But Attila here has made the consequences very clear if I don’t help you. And as I don’t wish or plan to be dismembered, I am telling you the truth.’
Balthazar thought for a moment. Pal’s answer made sense. In any case they had to move forward.
Attila looked at Balthazar and nodded. ‘OK. He should stay there,’ said Attila. ‘I’ll tell the Gendarmes on the square to stand down,’ he said to Balthazar as he stepped out of the car and strode rapidly through the small square, Anastasia rushing to catch up with him, not noticing that her phone had fallen out of her pocket and was now lying on the car seat.
Pal saw the handset on the edge of his field of vision. Balthazar was watching him closely, he saw, in the rear-view mirror, but had not looked down and seen Anastasia’s handset. Pal raised his arms and stretched forward. Balthazar snapped, ‘Sit still.’
‘Sorry. My muscles are seizing up,’ said Pal. ‘Actually, I don’t feel very well. I think I am going to be sick,’ he said, his arms falling to the side of his right leg, inching towards Anastasia’s telephone.
Balthazar frowned, exhaled. ‘Then stick your head out of the window. Throw up there.’ He looked back in the mirror. The street was filling slowly with protestors heading to Kossuth Square. He watched an elderly couple, hand in hand, chatting with a lanky student, waving an EU flag.
‘I just need some air, Detective,’ said Pal as his fingers closed over Anastasia’s iPhone. The handset was a small 5e model and had a hard metal case. He slipped it bet
ween his palms and glanced down. With both hands extended, his fingers were just long enough to cover the handset from view.
‘Can we step outside? Just for a minute. I really don’t feel well. I’ve got a broken nose and I think I have a concussion as well.’ Pal started inhaling rapidly and deeply and rocking back and forth. ‘Detective, I really think I am going to throw up. It will go all down my front. I can’t sit here in my own puke.’ He lifted his hands. ‘Look, I’m cuffed. You’ve got a gun. Even if I wanted to I’m in no state to make a run for it, and where would I go?’ He stopped talking, heaved convincingly.
Balthazar exhaled loudly, stepped out of the car, walked around the back to the rear passenger door and looked inside. Pal did look like shit, it was true. There was dried blood all around his upper lip. His nose was red and swollen. Sooner or later there would be an inquiry into all of this. Refusing a prisoner air, making him vomit in a vehicle, would not look good, whatever he had been planning. Balthazar opened the door, helped Pal out, stood next to him as he leaned on the SUV. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘Much better, thanks,’ said Pal. ‘By the way, your friends are wasting their time. The radio controller’s not in the office. Although it is nearby.’
‘What?’ asked Balthazar.
‘You heard,’ said Pal.
He twisted on his left foot, whirled towards Balthazar and smashed the edge of the iPhone into the side of his head. Balthazar felt the pain mix with fury as he stumbled backwards against the car, before the edge of the iPhone slammed into his head again. The world wobbled, was filled with pain. He pulled his gun, but the weapon was useless as he watched Pal run forward weaving in front and behind the protestors and disappear into the crowds walking across Szabadsag Square.