“But, I … I cannot stay—”
Kaine raised his finger to his lips for silence. He returned to the Range Rover, pulled the collapsed wheelchair from the back, and snapped it open. He rolled the chair closer to Lajos, activated the brake, and unceremoniously dumped the limp and helpless man into it. If Lara had included a blanket to wrap around her patient’s knees, Kaine wouldn’t have used it. He stood to one side and waved an arm at the distance.
“Recognise this place?”
Lajos twisted and turned his head, peering into the darkness.
“Yes,” he said, eventually. “This is Rábatona Bridge.”
Kaine pointed northwest. “The compound’s that way, right? About five kilometres?”
Lajos nodded. “Four … four and a half, maybe.”
“Good. I’ll be off now. As soon as I’m far enough away from here, I’ll telephone Papa and tell him where to collect you. Won’t take your friends too long to get here. Of course, you can always try wheeling yourself home. Although, with only one arm, I can’t see you getting very far. You’ll be going round in circles.”
To keep in character, Kaine chuckled and let it build into the uncontrolled maniacal laughter of a madman.
“You really are letting me go?”
“As I said, son. Your family killed my friend and Robert Prentiss. I’ve taken one of its sons, some money, and a number of its soldiers, but I have returned you alive. I have no wish to extend this war. Tell your father, this ends here. Tell him if he makes one move against Marian Prentiss or her family, I will destroy him and the rest of the Pataki clan. Marian Prentiss is now and will always be under my protection. Do you understand?”
“Y-Yes, I do. I do.”
Kaine patted Lajos’ reddened cheek.
“Good, Lajos. Very good.”
Lajos swallowed hard and looked up, making direct eye contact for almost the first time that night. “M-May I ask you a question?”
“But of course, we’re the best of friends. Feel free to ask anything you like.”
“Who … Who are you?”
“Not that it matters, but my name is Ryan Kaine.”
Lajos frowned. “I don’t … Wait! Ryan Kaine? The terrorist who murdered all those people on that plane?”
“Yep, that’s me.” Kaine grinned and double-hitched his eyebrows.
It didn’t suit his plans to argue the details or put Lajos straight.
“My God! Ryan Kaine? And you let me go?”
For the moment.
“Yes, indeed.”
“Why? Why are you setting me free?”
“I’ve already told you. I keep my promises, and besides, you are my messenger boy.”
Kaine grasped the wheelchair’s handles, released the brake, pointed Lajos in the right direction, and gave him a healthy shove. The wheelchair rolled into the centre of the bridge and ground to a halt, sideways at the apex of the arch. Lajos turned to stare at him, dumbfounded.
“Remember what I said, Lajos. If Papa doesn’t let the matter drop, I’ll be back.”
Kaine winced at the bad Arnie impression, hurried back to the Range Rover, and took off at warp speed. The rear-view mirror showed him a red-lit and rapidly diminishing image of Lajos Pataki’s stunned face.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sunday 7th May – Viktor Pataki
Pataki Compound, Outside Győr, Hungary
“Idióta, kretén!” Viktor roared.
He kicked out. Hard.
The pointed toe of his shoe connected with Wendt’s fat ass, driving him to the floor. Viktor followed it with a kick to the belly and ground the heel of his shoe into the miserable old man’s hand. Wendt screamed and the bones crunched. Viktor pulled back his foot for a head shot.
“Főnök, no!”
Andris stepped between Viktor and Wendt. He held up his hands.
“Wendt is not to blame, főnök. He did exactly what was required of him.”
Viktor growled and lowered his foot. As usual, Andris had a good point, and he made it well. He turned to the men lined up against the wall, and pointed to a fat one with the blotchy skin who always reeked of sauerkraut. “You, take him away. Have the housekeeper treat his injuries.”
No one could say the Giant of Győr did not show pity or forgiveness.
Fatso bumbled into action and dragged the screaming ignoramus from the room. Viktor turned his back to them and stared at his long-time advisor.
“Where is Balint?”
“I’ve no idea, főnök. As planned, we separated before reaching the warehouse and I gave him and his men plenty of time to set up the ambush before we were due to arrive at the site to drop the money. Balint telephoned me to say they were about to leave their car and get into position. Since then I have heard nothing from him.”
“He does not answer his portable?”
“No, főnök.”
“And after the explosion, what happened?”
Andris shrugged and held his hands open once again. “Wendt and I took the car and made a rapid escape, covered in filth. We stopped along the route, expecting to hear gunfire from Balint and his team, but all was silent and dark—apart from the raging fire.”
Viktor ground his teeth and made fists with his powerful hands, when he really wanted to use them to throttle the person responsible for the loss of his son and his money—Őrült.
“My money, burning? So much cash. Is it all gone? Are you certain?”
“The bags were right next to the bomb, főnök. I do not see how they could have survived the inferno.”
“Why would Őrült burn my money?”
Viktor paused. The cogs in his head whirred, spun, interlocked, tumbled. Evil thoughts arrived. He tried to ignore them, cast them away, but could not do so. Was it treachery? A double-cross? He dug a hand inside his jacket, found the handle of the holstered Makarov, and closed on Andris.
Andris stood his ground, but kept his hands raised and open.
“Did Balint double-cross me?” Viktor growled, leaning closer to his man. “Did he take my money?”
“No, főn—”
“Are you in on this with him? Are you trying to deceive me?”
“Főnök! No, I swear.”
“Because if you are—”
The desk telephone’s insistent ring interrupted Viktor, mid-threat. These days, the fucking thing never stopped ringing. He pushed past his longest-serving employee and snatched up the handset, while maintaining his grip on the Makarov.
“Helló?”
“Hello, Viktor. How are you doing, old chap?”
“Őrült?”
“Don’t call me a lunatic again!” the Englishman shrieked.
Viktor signalled for Andris to pick up the extension and waited until he was in position before replying. “You have money. Where Lajos?”
“It wasn’t very nice of you to have Balint and his men set up that ambush. Not at all what we agreed.”
Viktor took a moment to breathe. The Englishman knew so much. He knew everything. How was that possible?
“You know the name Balint?”
“Yep, Lajos told me. As it turns out, your only surviving son is a rather chatty fellow. Not the most sparkling of wits, mind you. I won’t be inviting him to any future dinner parties, but he is rather informative.”
“Where Lajos is?”
“I left him alive and well at Rábatona Bridge. You might want to send someone to collect him. He’s not too sprightly, I’m afraid. Can’t wheel himself all that far with only one arm. Actually, he’s spinning himself around in tight circles. A pitiful sight, really.” Őrült laughed long and hard. “Oh dear, I crease myself up sometimes.”
Őrült was enjoying himself. The English had a phrase for it. What was it? Barking mad. Yes, that was it. The man was barking mad. There was no reason to him. To burn all that money. Illogical. Out of his mind. The fact that he could not be reasoned with and was completely unpredictable made the man doubly dangerous.
V
iktor turned to Andris and urgently waved him on his way. Andris replaced the extension telephone, signalled to one of the men, and they rushed from the room.
“You hurt Lajos again?”
“Not at all, but being tied up in the back of a car for hours on end isn’t the most beneficial post-operative treatment protocol. Not according to my medic, that is. But he’s young and should recover, given time. Might even walk again if the bone sets properly. Mind you, he will have difficulties tying his shoelaces.”
Another cruel laugh spewed down the telephone line. Őrült was enjoying taunting Viktor. He enjoyed toying with the Giant of Győr. Somehow, someday soon, he would learn the error of his ways.
“Where Balint is? I not pay you again for his safe return.”
Őrült sighed. “Haven’t I already demonstrated what I think of your money? Fuck your goddamned money.”
“What you do with Balint!”
“I killed him, Viktor. I killed him and his three friends. They are all dead.”
Isten a mennyben! God in Heaven.
Viktor dropped into the chair next to the desk.
“Dead?” he gasped. “You kill them all?”
“Yep. Couldn’t avoid it, I’m afraid. They would have done the same to me, right?”
“I-I …”
“Viktor, oh mighty ‘Giant of Győr’, listen to me,” he said, again taunting. “I’ve returned Lajos to you as a sign of my good faith. He has a message for you. Listen to what he says and listen carefully.”
“Why wait? You give me message now.”
Silence.
“Helló? Englishman? Helló? Helló!”
The line clicked dead and the intermittent dial tone burped into his ear. Viktor screamed. He called down an ancient curse on the heritage of the lunatic Englishman and slammed the handset onto the desk. He turned to the remaining guards. Five stupid-looking men about the same age as Vadik stared back at him, their expressions vacant. What use were these fools?
Balint was dead. Murdered by the Englishman. The old ally of Viktor had not betrayed him, and Andris had not sided with Balint against him. Szar, Andris was his last remaining friend from the early days, and Viktor had insulted him in front of the others. Would he forgive Viktor his anger, the affront? Should Viktor ask the pardon of his friend?
Szar nem! Shit no!
He was Viktor Pataki, the Giant of Győr. Viktor would never beg. Viktor would plead with no one.
No one!
Andris would be upset over the death of Balint, of course he would, but he would remain loyal to his főnök. Andris would bring Lajos back home, and Lajos would identify the English őrült. Lajos would also help Viktor find Marian Prentiss so they could send the bitch and the whole of her pitiful family to Hell, alongside her husband.
No one toyed with Viktor Pataki and lived. No one! The world would tremble in his wake. Őrült would die along with the whole Prentiss tribe. History books would chronicle the deeds of the Giant of Győr. They would tell of his wrath and his terrible vengeance.
Viktor looked up to find himself in the middle of the room. When had he stood up and started pacing? He stopped mumbling to himself, stopped his wandering, and pointed to the man on the far end of the line, a man who appeared to have more spark about him than the others. Perhaps the square glasses made him seem more intelligent.
“You!”
The man stiffened.
“Yes, főnök?”
“Your name. What is your name?”
“Jael, főnök.”
Viktor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded.
“Come here.”
The man crossed the room and stood before Viktor. Did he tremble? Did he wilt under the dominant gaze of his főnök?
Yes, he did. Good. Very good.
The men should tremble. They should all quake before him. It was right for underlings to pay such a tribute. This one, Jael, could not meet the eye of his boss, his főnök, but he focused his attention on Viktor’s barrel chest.
Viktor looked down. His right hand still dipped inside his jacket and rested on the butt of his Makarov. Another oversight, but this one was a powerful way to keep the men under his control.
“Yes, főnök?” Jael asked, his voice low, subservient.
“You have the number for the portable telephone Andris uses?”
The young man nodded. He pulled out his own portable and showed the screen to Viktor.
“Call him. Find out what is happening with Lajos.”
“Igen, főnök,” Jael said. Without hesitation, he dialled.
Viktor turned away from the man. He headed for the drinks table and the bottle of pálinka. He picked it up. Empty!
What?
Why was the bottle empty?
Did no one do their jobs correctly anymore?
He pointed at the next man in line. “You! Go fetch me a fresh bottle. Do it now!”
“Yes, főnök,” he said and all but raced from the room.
That was more like it. Viktor needed the people around him to obey. Obedience was good. Essential for an individual’s survival.
“Főnök?” Jael said.
Viktor spun to face him. “What?”
“I have Andris,” he said, holding out his portable.
Viktor ripped it from his hand. “Andris? You have Lajos?”
“Yes, főnök,” he replied, but something in his tone made Viktor uneasy.
Was Andris still upset by his ill-judged accusation and by the demise of Balint? Maybe Viktor should try to placate him. Should he offer Andris solace? Perhaps. Perhaps not. In either event, Andris would have to be watched—and watched carefully.
Since the death of Vadik, things had begun to fall apart. Viktor growled. He should never have agreed to the English adventure, but Vadik had made it all appear so easy.
“The English are weak and flabby,” Vadik had announced. “They will fold like wet tissues.”
Lajos had agreed and look what had happened to him. To them both.
Vadik dead. Balint dead. Lajos crippled, and now, there were doubts as to the loyalty of the once-trusted Andris.
Things were turning to shit in his hands. No! Viktor could not allow things to continue in this manner. He would think on it. Plan his next move carefully.
“How is he? How is my son?”
“Alive, főnök.”
“Bring him home to me.”
“Főnök, I think it would be better to take him to the hospital. He is seriously injured and in great pain.”
What is this?
Andris arguing with his főnök? Did the turncoat want to keep Lajos from his Papa and his home. Why?
Viktor paused. He knew why. Yes, yes.
The intentions of Andris were obvious. He wanted revenge on Viktor for the perceived slight. He wanted money. Andris wanted to use Lajos as a lever, as had Őrült.
“No! Bring him home. He needs to be here, with his family and his friends. I will send for a doctor. Once here, under my protection, he will receive the best care possible.”
And he will be able to answer all my questions.
“Yes, főnök … as you command.”
The whole world might try to stand against Viktor Pataki, but the Giant of Győr would endure. He and Lajos would rebuild. The family would prosper.
It was time to clean house and resume control.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sunday 7th May – Viktor Pataki
Pataki Compound, Outside Győr, Hungary
Twenty-three minutes had passed. Seventeen minutes since the telephone call from Andris. Where were they?
Viktor stood at the open front doors, waiting, and as each second dragged by, he became more and more certain of the betrayal.
Andris, the evil, snivelling traitor had abducted Lajos. The swine had kidnapped his only son to use for ransom. Andris had stolen Lajos to take his revenge for the insult and for the death of Balint.
Damn his black heart.
&nb
sp; The pressure built. Viktor paced and tried to fight off the headache growing behind his eyes. The cold night air should have chilled him to the bone, but the burning anger kept him warm.
Twenty-four minutes.
How long did it take to drive less than five kilometres? Five minutes? Ten? Why was it taking so long?
Andris and Lajos should have returned long ago.
From his lofty position at the top of the steps leading down to the front courtyard, he could see all the way to the entrance gates and the two armed guards who patrolled them. Beyond the gates, the land dipped away into the darkness of the night and to the confines of the woods. If he re-entered the house and climbed upstairs to the master bedroom, he would have an even better view, but that would make it seem as though he was hiding, running scared.
Where are you, Andris?
The bespectacled Jael guarded the left side of the opening. Another man took the right. Strong and silent, former soldiers hired by Vadik, they stood tall and stiff. They held their semi-automatic rifles at the ready and their sidearms holstered. Viktor rarely stepped beyond the safety of the house, but tonight of all nights, he soaked in the chill air.
Twenty-six minutes.
How long should he wait before ordering a countrywide manhunt for the traitor? Too quickly and he would appear like a panicked child. Too slowly and Andris would have time to escape. Half an hour. Thirty minutes. Any longer would be foolish.
Twenty-eight minutes.
Lights! In the distance, along the only road into the valley, headlights cut through the darkness. Moving at the pace of a snail.
The portable in Jael’s pocket buzzed. He answered.
“Főnök,” he called, smiling. “It is the guard on the front gate. Andris is coming. Driving very slowly.”
At last.
“Good. Tell them to open up.”
Viktor, hands clasped behind his back, watched the main gates open and the headlights draw ever closer. Eventually, they broached the opening in the wall and added to the floodlights that turned night into day.
Slowly, the white Shogun rolled to a stop at the front the house, and out climbed Andris. He nodded to Viktor, his expression grave, and opened the rear passenger door. His driver jumped out and raced around the back to raise the tailgate. He grunted under the load of a wheelchair.
On the Hunt Page 26