Hradetsky stirred restlessly. He felt soiled somehow. He’d spent his life enforcing the law and keeping the peace. Now it seemed almost too easy to break both, even in a good cause.
Then he shook his head. His own feelings were unimportant in this case. And his first loyalty had to be to Hungary — not to any particular ruling clique. Especially not to a group of generals in French and German pay. Freeing the nation from their incompetent grasp was not a task for the fainthearted. It was time to act.
The same blond-haired man he’d first met slid into the empty chair across from him. “Good afternoon, Colonel. Do you have what I asked for?”
Hradetsky shoved the envelope across the table and waited while the man glanced inside it briefly and handed it back. He seemed satisfied.
“Follow me.”
Without saying anything more, the younger man got up and left the cafeteria. With Hradetsky in tow, he took a circuitous route through Budapest’s crowded streets — a route that ended at a small apartment building in one of the more fashionable districts.
They went in through a back entrance, climbed two flights of stairs, and halted in front of an unmarked door. The blond-haired man turned for one last look down the stairs and then knocked three times. When the door opened, he motioned the police colonel through ahead of him.
Two men were waiting for them in a tastefully furnished living room. One of them, markedly older than the other, stood up and said quietly, “I am Vladimir Kusin.”
The man in front of Hradetsky was pale and thin, almost anemic. His clothes were shabby, although this appeared to be more from long use than lack of care. Although he was only in his fifties, his hair was snow-white, and a deeply lined face added ten years to his apparent age. A winter spent in prison had clearly been hard on him.
During Hungary’s brief post-communist flirtation with democratic rule, Kusin had been the elected leader of one of Budapest’s district councils. When the military-dominated Government of National Salvation took power, he’d been jailed for unspecified acts of “agitation.” What that meant, the colonel knew, was that he’d complained too vehemently and too vocally about the new regime’s emergency decrees.
And even though Kusin was articulate enough to have acquired some following in the Western media, that hadn’t protected him from a trumped-up charge and six months in prison. The generals had only released him when they were sure he was a spent force — a weak and ailing reed unable to challenge their hold on power.
They had miscalculated.
Even illness and imprisonment hadn’t stopped him. Kusin’s ability to smuggle out statements on human rights, French and German economic and political influence, and other forbidden topics was one of the reasons Hradetsky had sought him out.
In the month since Hungary had joined the European Confederation, Kusin had become even more vocal. Pamphlets and underground newspaper articles bearing his signature called for an end to military rule and immediate withdrawal from the Confederation. He was the closest thing to a national leader that Hungary’s growing opposition had.
Kusin turned toward Hradetsky’s escort. “Any problems?”
The blond man shook his head. “No, sir. I saw no warning signals, and my boys are still in place.”
Kusin saw Hradetsky’s puzzled look and explained. “This is Oskar Kiraly, Colonel. He and a few of his friends watch over me.”
So that was it. The police colonel studied his escort with greater interest. For all practical purposes, Kiraly was Vladimir Kusin’s chief of security. Maybe these people were better organized than he had thought.
The older man motioned him into an adjacent room — from the look of it a small bedroom temporarily converted into an office and library. Kusin sat down and indicated a second chair for Hradetsky. Kiraly stood behind them, near the door.
“May I see the file you showed Oskar?”
Hradetsky gave him the manila envelope, along with a separate packet containing all the documents he’d been given by Bela Silvanus. He nodded toward the photocopied police file. “Aren’t you worried that may be false?”
Kusin shook his head. “If it is, your future is short, I’m afraid.” His eyes flickered toward Kiraly. Suddenly the colonel’s shoulder blades itched. He forced himself to sit calmly. If they wanted him dead, there wasn’t much he could do about it. The opposition leader scanned the copied file quickly, smiled, and then opened the other envelope.
Kusin’s white, tufted eyebrows rose as he realized what it contained. “This is fascinating, Colonel Hradetsky. You would make a first-class spy.”
He winced inwardly, and some of it must have shown on his face, because the older man quickly added, “That is not why we need you, though.”
Kusin leaned back in his chair. “So, Colonel, what is it that you want? Why did you seek me out?” He flicked the pile of reassignment orders and termination lists in his lap. “Only to show me these? Or for something more?”
Hradetsky sighed, knowing this was a moment of truth — a turning point from would-be reformer to revolutionary. “I started out wanting to stop this man Rehling’s orders, to bring some sanity back to the National Police. Now I don’t think that can happen. Not under this government.”
“It can’t,” Kusin agreed firmly. “Rehling and the others like him are merely symptoms of a greater illness. These French and German satraps infect our country because the generals believe they need this Confederation’s support to maintain their power. What the soldiers do not seem to realize is that their onetime allies are very rapidly becoming their masters. And our masters as well.”
“Yes. I understand that.” Hradetsky stifled his impatience. For all his eloquence, Kusin was still a politician. And politicians liked to talk. “But what can we do to stop this?”
“Beside printing futile complaints, you mean?” The older man laughed softly. “There are a lot of people like you, Colonel, who were willing to accept a Government of National Salvation, but not this supposed European Confederation. We are going to mobilize those newly dissatisfied people. We are going to expand our own organization. Recruiting some of the police officers on this list you gave us will be very useful.”
Kusin’s voice grew harder, even more determined. “And if the French and the Germans push us too far, we will fight.”
There was a fire in his eyes and his voice that Hradetsky felt warming his own blood. He wanted to act, not sit here in this study. “Then what do you want me to do?”
“You are a trained leader, Colonel. An expert in the art of managing men and controlling crowds. We will use that expertise for our own purposes.” Kusin leaned closer to him. “Very soon, we will mass ten thousand people or more for a march on the Parliament building to demand reforms. You are going to help us organize this protest.”
The opposition leader sat back. His eyes were colder now, fixed on some distant horizon beyond Hradetsky’s view. “And then?” He smiled sadly. “Then we shall see just how far these madmen in Paris and Berlin can be pushed.”
The news from Europe was grim.
“Essentially the French and German military buildup along the Polish and Czech borders is continuing, Mr. President. In fact, it may even be accelerating. The whole border area is rapidly becoming a powder keg.” General Reid Galloway, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, stood behind a podium next to a wall-sized video monitor. The fact that America’s top-ranked soldier was delivering this briefing in person emphasized how seriously he viewed the events piling up across the Atlantic. The creases across a normally optimistic, good-humored face were another clear indication.