Hard Case Crime: Passport To Peril (11 page)

“Do you recall any detail at all?”

“Only the first name on the list. I remember because the name was Ablon, the name of an old Hungarian friend. I think the notation said this Ablon was a watchmaker on the Vaci utca. Does that help?”

“Maybe,” Hiram said. “It might help if nothing else works. But we’ve got to work on the Countess Orlovska. We’ve got to get that list fast before the Russians start working on it.”

“How do you propose doing that?”

Hiram flicked his ashes into the fire.

“That’s a job for you,” he said.

“Me?” I said. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Lots,” Hiram said. “I think you’re ideal for that job. Orlovska likes handsome young men. She’s never seen or heard of you before. Your French and German are good enough so you can be French or Belgian or Austrian. Or you can just go on being Swiss.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“The only man who might be in a position to identify you in the circles in which Orlovska moves is Major Strakhov and he’s dead.”

I got up and went over to the window. “Nothing doing,” I said. “I told you, Mr. Carr, that all I want is to get out of this mess. I want to send Mademoiselle Torres back to Geneva, then I want to trace my brother. I haven’t the slightest further interest in the whole affair. I’m certainly not interested in Countess Orlovska.”

Hiram replied as if he were talking to a recalcitrant child.

“Mr. Stodder, I think you’ll do it. Do I have to repeat ad nauseam what I told you about the pressure I can apply? No, I think not. Even if you can’t see your duty as an American—”

“I know all about my duty. I didn’t spend four years in the Army Air Force for the cultural advantages.”

“I think you can understand what refusal might mean to you, Mr. Stodder.” Hiram was very patient. “Need I remind you again that you are dependent on me? Without my help, you cannot save Mademoiselle Torres. You cannot even save your own life.”

“What are you planning?” I said. I didn’t feel very friendly.

“I propose that you get some sleep. I’ll have Walter wake you at midnight,”

“Midnight? Why midnight?”

“Because,” Hiram said. “You’re going to visit a few nightclubs. I think you’ll run into the countess.”

“How about Maria? What are you going to do about Schmidt?”

Hiram rang the bell for Walter.

“We shall visit Doctor Schmidt. But, Mr. Stodder, you don’t think for one moment that he has taken Mademoiselle Torres back to the Mexikoi ut? We shall have to locate him. I already have two men on the job. You spoke of Hermann leaving the Russian staff car in Matyasfold, with a man named Felix. We shall watch Matyasfold, too.”

“Why can’t we go to the warehouse now?”

Hiram looked at me incredulously. “Mr. Stodder, we are enemies in an armed camp. Would you behave like the American police raiding a gambling den? We must move slowly and cautiously. We must operate here behind the Iron Curtain with our wits.

“Let me reassure you again, Mr. Stodder. Doctor Schmidt won’t let any harm come to Mademoiselle Torres until he knows what has happened to the precious envelope. That’s up to you to discover. Go to bed now and get some sleep.”

I was dog-tired, but it was a long time before sleep came.

I was Hiram Carr’s prisoner, whatever he chose to call it. I might possibly escape him. There were no bars on the window, and it would have been an easy jump from the second floor into the drifted snow. But the alternatives to following Carr’s orders were even less attractive.

First there was the overwhelming possibility that I’d be picked up by the Hungarians or the Russians before I’d moved very far from the house. Without a passport I was lost. If I eluded the police, I’d still have to find food and shelter. The reward offered for my capture would make denunciation certain the minute I appeared in public.

Suppose I left Carr’s house after stealing a gun, then made my way safely across City Park to Schmidt’s place on the Mexikoi ut? How could I get past the old woman in the tenement without alerting the doctor?

I thought of trying to flee Hungary, of making my way to Yugoslavia or Rumania on foot; I knew it was insanity to think of crossing the fortified frontier into Austria. But I had no money other than the traveler’s checks which I had stupidly signed with the name of Marcel Blaye. I knew there was an anti-Russian underground in Hungary but why should I expect any help there, even if I could make contact?

Over and above such considerations, however, I wasn’t ready to abandon the mission for which I’d come to Hungary. I had found it increasingly difficult to live with my feeling of guilt in regard to my brother Bob; to leave Hungary after having started my search would make life impossible. And now there was the added fact of Maria. The thought of leaving her in the custody of Schmidt after all we’d been through together didn’t make sense. If she later proved to be something other than what she had pretended that would be different. For the moment, I had no choice but to stick with Hiram Carr.

It seemed to me my head had just hit the pillow when Walter shook me. After I’d shaved a two-day beard and showered, I found a dinner jacket laid out, complete to boiled shirt, studs, and a black Homburg.

Hiram was in his study, in front of the fireplace when I followed Walter downstairs.

“How do you feel?” he said.

“Not too good,” I said. “I don’t think your idea is too smart. What happens if the police ask for my papers?”

“I’ve taken care of that.” He handed me a passport, another Swiss one. It gave my name as Jean Stodder, address—Geneva, profession—watch and clock exporter.

“Why didn’t you try cheese this time?” I said. I had begun to resent Hiram Carr intensely. I also noticed he’d lifted the photograph from Blaye’s passport which Walter must have taken from my pocket while I was asleep.

“The watch and clock business will give you an angle,” Hiram said. “Maybe you can talk to the countess about Blaye.”

“Look,” I said. I was plenty mad. “I consider this whole scheme of yours insane. How do I meet this woman in the first place? What excuse do I use? What makes you think her escort’s going to welcome a pickup by me?”

Hiram was too smart to laugh out loud, but his blue eyes twinkled through the old-fashioned pince-nez.

“If I know anything about the Countess Anna Orlovska, she’ll spot you the minute you walk in.”

“Walk in where?”

“You’d better try the Arizona first, then the Moulin Rouge. She’ll be in one or the other.”

“Suppose I meet somebody who knows me? I told you I lived here for two years. What do I tell them?”

“Tell them politely they’ve got you mixed with someone else. But you won’t meet anybody you know. The kind of people who hang out in Budapest nightclubs these days were slinking around back alleys in Moscow when you were here last. All the diplomats have changed and the government officials. I don’t think you’ll see any of the same chorus girls after nine years, even in the Arizona.”

“How do I know what this female looks like? How do I identify her?”

“You can’t miss her. She’s tall and blond and she’s always surrounded by a dozen admirers.”

“Why is it,” I said, “that female spies are always tall and blond? If you’d dream up a short, fat, dumpy one, she’d be easier to charm.”

“But not half as much fun,” Hiram said.

“What do I do after I meet her?”

“Arrange to meet her again tomorrow.”

“I can’t walk the streets. Do I come back here tonight?”

“I should say not. You never heard of Hiram Carr and I don’t know Jean Stodder from—from John Stodder. Go to the Hotel Bristol. If you’ll take the trouble to look at your passport, you’ll find you arrived in Budapest by air two days ago and are stopping at the Bristol. The night man knows you well. I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow.”

Hiram gave me a Luger in a shoulder holster and a wad of Hungarian money. Then Walter drove me to within two blocks of the Arizona.

For years I had looked forward to returning to Budapest. I had always liked the Hungarians, their friendliness toward strangers, their carefree attitude. “Let the horse worry,” the Hungarians said, “his head is bigger.” The nightclubs of Budapest, its gypsy bands, its numberless little inns and restaurants and its famous coffeehouses, were unexcelled anywhere in the world. And there had been traditionally warm friendship for Americans.

But I hadn’t counted on coming back to Budapest with a price on my head. The first thing I noticed when Walter let me out of the car was a yellow poster, freshly tacked on a wooden fence:

25,000 Forints Reward for Information Leading to the Arrest of Foreign Agents Guilty of Murdering a Red Army hero on Hungarian Soil.

It followed the radio announcement almost word for word, and there must have been a dozen such posters in the two short blocks to the Nagymezo utca where the nightclubs faced each other across the street.

I went into the Arizona, checked my hat and coat, and went to the bar. I hadn’t been in the place for nearly ten years, but it hadn’t changed. The same two-story room, open booths on raised platforms against the two side walls, the orchestra against the fourth wall opposite the entrance. The turntable dance floor was crowded with officers in uniform, men in dinner jackets, and women in evening gowns. The Arizona had been a mechanical marvel in the old days, and the gadgets still worked, for occasionally, with squeals of delight, the occupants of a booth would push the elevator button and the whole booth would disappear from sight into the cellar, to pop up again when a second button was touched.

I had scarcely time to order a drink before a slim blond girl perched on the bar stool beside me. She said her name was Ilonka and she preferred champagne. I don’t suppose she could have been more than seventeen or eighteen. The orchestra was making such a din in the small room, playing “Deep in the Heart of Texas” for the cavorting Russians and Hungarians, that Ilonka had to shout. I understood her Hungarian but I shook my head. If I admitted speaking the language I’d have to acknowledge previous visits to Budapest. The girl would report our conversation to the headwaiter who informed the police on all newcomers. Ilonka would get a percentage of my bar bill; the more I drank, the more money she made and the more information she would theoretically gather for the headwaiter. She also doubled in the chorus line.

She tried halting German. “You are new in Budapest, is it not so?” The bartender poured her a glass of champagne.

I told Ilonka I’d flown in from Geneva two days before.

“Then you are Swiss?”

I said I was.

“You are an engineer, perhaps?”

“In a way,” I said. “I’m in the watch and clock business.” I glanced at the crowded dance floor and wondered which blonde was Anna Orlovska. “Is this place always so crowded?”

Ilonka tossed down her champagne and ordered another. I told the bartender I’d coast on my whisky.

“The Arizona is always jammed,” the girl said. “It’s always full of diplomats and government people. And black-market operators.”

“I’ve heard Budapest is famous for beautiful women,” I said.

“Thank you,” Ilonka said. “Do you like me?”

“Of course,” I said. “I think you’re charming. But I mean society women. Who are some of those women on the dance floor?”

The girl smiled and slipped her arm through mine.

“You’d better take it easy. The Russians don’t like foreigners staring at their women. You’re too nice to get yourself into trouble.”

“I’m just curious,” I said. “I wondered if there were some famous people here.”

She swung around on the bar stool and nodded toward the booths. “That tall thin man is the minister of finance. That fat woman is his wife.” Ilonka giggled. “Oh, sometimes officials do come here with their wives.”

“Who’s the blonde in the third booth?” I asked. “She’s with the bearded man.”

“Oh, that’s Lilli Karvas. She’s the star of the National Theater. You wouldn’t like her. She throws things.”

“Aren’t there any Russians here?”

Ilonka looked at me curiously. “There aren’t any Russian women,” she said. “The Russians don’t bring their wives and daughters to such places.” She put her hand on my arm. “Are you married?”

“No,” I said, “I’m not married.” I looked across the dance floor. “Who’s that Russian in uniform? The one who’s alone in the booth.”

Ilonka looked the other way. “I like you,” she said. “Let’s dance.”

When we’d left the bar, she put her mouth close to my ear. “You mustn’t ask so many questions. It isn’t healthy in this place.”

The dance floor was jammed, and it was hard to move without getting an elbow in the back or a heel in the ankle. When we came in front of the band Ilonka said, “The Russian is Colonel Lavrentiev.”

“Who’s he?” I said. “He looks as if he were dressed for parade.”

“He’s head of the MVD,” Ilonka said. “Will you please talk about the weather?”

“Does he come for the show?” I asked.

“He’s in love with a Polish countess,” Ilonka said. “She meets him here every night. Now mind your business or I’ll leave you here on the floor.”

When we were back at the bar I made up a lot of fiction about trying to sell Swiss watches and clocks to the Hungarian government. Hiram Carr hadn’t briefed me but I felt I ought to tell Ilonka something she could repeat to the headwaiter. I said I was staying at the Bristol and would make my first visit to the ministry of commerce the next day.

I bought Ilonka another champagne. “You’re afraid of the Russians, aren’t you?” I said. There was no one within earshot. I didn’t realize the place might be wired. “Is everybody afraid to talk here in Hungary?”

Ilonka frowned. I noticed how thin and frail she was. Twelve years of war and occupation represented almost her whole life.

“We’re all afraid,” she said simply. “My father says the evil eye has returned among us.”

“The what?” I said.

“The evil eye. The Magyars fought hundreds of years to get rid of the Turks from the east. Now, my father says, the barbarians are here again.”