Europe in Winter (The Fractured Europe Sequence)(49)

It was starting to get dark when they arrived in Esztergom, and it occurred to Carey that she had seen quite enough of Hungary to last her a lifetime, thank you very much, and if she managed to get out of this nightmare with her wits intact she was never coming back.

They drove through an historic district of the town, with a castle high on a hill to their left, then turned down a side street and parked outside a high-end leather goods shop, its window full of handbags and shoulderbags and expensive jackets. Balász led her through the shop to a flight of stairs at the back – none of the shop assistants batted an eyelid at the newcomers – and up to what seemed to be a staff refreshment area. Here were some worn but comfy-looking chairs, a low table with a scatter of magazine printouts, a coffee machine, a cork noticeboard on the wall, and a very large blond gentleman in an exquisite suit approaching her with his hand outstretched.

“Ms Tews,” he said, shaking her hand. “May I be the first to apologise for your treatment at the hands of our frankly psychopathic authorities. I hope they didn’t harm you?”

Carey blinked at him.

“I am László Viktor,” the large man told her. “It was my merchandise that you were transporting.”

Carey felt as if she might very well be on the verge of overload. She said, “Oh?”

“Do you dance?” Mr Viktor said. “I dance. It’s good exercise.”

“What?”

“Have you ever,” asked Mr Viktor, “danced the Argentinian tango?”

“No,” said Carey. “I have not. And if you’re asking, my dancing days are far behind me.”

Mr Viktor smiled. “It takes a lot of... intuition. One must read the body language of one’s partner, almost on a subconscious level. They move, you move. There’s no time to think, or the music will lose you – it only takes one misstep. It’s very rigorous. The moves themselves are simple to learn, but the relationship between partners can take a lifetime.”

Carey sighed. “I’m really too old to be impressed by a cute metaphor, Mr Viktor. I’m grateful to you for getting me away from the authorities, but say your piece and I’m out of here.”

“You have no money, no resources. Where would you go?”

“I can take care of myself, thank you.”

Mr Viktor sat down in one of the comfy chairs and clasped his hands across his stomach. He looked like a particularly contented blond bear. “You lost my merchandise,” he said. “It was unique, irreplaceable, and now the authorities have it.”

“We don’t give any guarantees,” she told him. “Jumping stuff across borders is tricky, you know that.”

“I want it back,” said Mr Viktor.

“I don’t have it.”

“I want you to get it.”

She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Mr Viktor gazed at the Coureur serenely. “It was your responsibility to take my merchandise to its destination, and you failed in that. I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to expect you to return it to me.”

“I think you’re confusing us with UPS, Mr Viktor.”

He chuckled, a deep, happy sound. “You get my merchandise back and return it to me. Then maybe I’ll send it UPS.”

“You can’t make me do that.”

“Well, no,” said the Hungarian. “Obviously I can’t make you. I can, though, help you.” He nodded to Balász, who had been waiting patiently on the other side of the room. Balász trotted down the stairs to the shop, and returned a few seconds later with another man. This one was young and lithe, with a rodent look to him.

“This is Benedek,” said Mr Viktor. “Benedek will do anything you tell him.”

Carey looked at Benedek and said, “Fuck off.” Benedek stood where he was.

“Well, almost anything,” said Mr Viktor. He became serious. “Ms Tews, to my mind this is a matter of trust. I trusted your organisation to transport my merchandise to its destination, and you not only failed but you lost the merchandise. Not only did you lose my merchandise, you delivered it into the hands of the people I was trying to keep it away from. Surely you can see my point.”

Carey had had about enough of this bullshit. “They knew I was coming,” she told him. “They knew where I was going to cross the border, and they knew there was something in the car. I didn’t tell them any of those things.”

“Nor did I,” Mr Viktor said equably. “Chiefly because I didn’t know.”

“Nobody knew,” she said. “The mechanic who put the Package in the car knew it was there, but he didn’t know where I was going. The only way anyone could have known where I was leaving Hungary would have been to follow me, and nobody followed me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hertz tags all its vehicles,” Mr Viktor said. “Someone could have hacked into their location system.”

“My mechanic took the tag out.”

“Are you sure?”

Carey opened her mouth. Closed it.

Mr Viktor rubbed his eyes. “You should tell us who this mechanic is,” he rumbled. “Then maybe Balász can go and have a quiet word.”

Carey looked at Mr Viktor, at Balász, at Benedek.