“What do we do with him?” I wasn’t feeling very sore at Hiram any longer because the “we” slipped out naturally.
“Tie him and leave him,” Hiram said. “Borodin can release him or whatever he plans to do when he gets back from Budapest.”
“What do you mean ‘or whatever he plans to do’?” I asked.
Hiram shrugged his shoulders. “It’s none of our business,” he said, “what Felix Borodin does with the captain. But he heard our conversation and he knows a lot of things about his instructor in security that Borodin would rather nobody knew.”
When Walter returned with the car, he and Teensy hogtied the captain and stuck a gag in his mouth.
We were about to close the front door behind us when the telephone rang. Hiram hesitated a moment, then went back in the hallway and picked up the receiver. He listened, then beckoned to me. He held the receiver to my ear.
“Hello, hello, Felix?”
I’d have recognized that clipped, hard, and precise voice anywhere. I tried to disguise mine.
“Ja?” I said.
“You are late. Our engagement was for nine o’clock. I am very busy. Are you taking the next train?”
The doctor had been busy, all right. Busy enough to get away from Orlovska’s before Lavrentiev’s men arrived.
“Sehr gut,” I said. “Ich kommt schnell.”
“At the usual place, then, in thirty minutes.”
“But where?” I asked Hiram when he’d replaced the receiver.
“Borodin will tell us, one way or another.”
Hiram drove, and Teensy sat in front, with Borodin between them.
We hit the first roadblock on the outskirts of the city, near the race track. They waved us on when they saw the major’s uniform. We had to produce identification to pass the police lines in front of the Keleti station, in spite of Borodin’s presence. Hiram had satisfactory documents for all of us.
The gendarmery captain saluted. “Sorry,” he said, “but it’s orders from the MVD. Those foreigners who murdered the Russian Major Strakhov on the train.”
“Any luck?” Hiram said.
“We’ll catch them,” the gendarmery captain said. “It takes time, that’s all.”
We drove toward the Danube, stopping in front of the Belvarosi coffeehouse, and Hiram went inside, coonskin cap and all. I suppose it was part of his front as the American agricultural attaché, the sort of costume Hungarians saw in Western movies and took to be typically American. I think Hiram figured nobody would believe flamboyant dress could hide an undercover operative.
When Hiram returned to the car, he told Borodin he could leave. The Russian went off without a word, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
I thought Hiram had lost his mind to let Borodin go but I put it another way. I said, “Bet you a dollar he goes to Schmidt as fast as he can.”
“No takers,” Hiram said. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
“Did he tell you where they’re meeting?”
“Of course not,” Hiram said, “and I didn’t bother to ask him because he would have lied. He’s got to see Schmidt. Their only chance is to kill all four of us, now. Borodin’s smart enough to know what would happen to him if Lavrentiev learns his connection with the German.”
“So you calmly let him go free in the middle of Budapest,” I said.
“I’ve got a man following him,” Hiram said. “Why do you think I went into the Belvarosi?”
I still wasn’t convinced. If Borodin was an instructor in security, he’d certainly be suspicious. And know how to duck Hiram’s operative in short order. Our only chance to find Maria was through Dr. Schmidt. And Borodin was our only link with the German.
We hadn’t been at Hiram’s house fifteen minutes when the operative telephoned to say he’d lost Borodin. The Russian had pulled the ancient trick of boarding a crowded bus, getting on first because of his uniform, then ducking out the side door when the bus was about to start and Hiram’s man was helplessly jammed inside.
“You said Schmidt and Borodin will figure they have to kill all four of us to keep us quiet,” I said to Hiram. “What do we do? Wait around like sitting ducks? I don’t see how we can find them now. We never should have let Borodin out of our sight.”
“We haven’t time to wait,” Hiram said. “Come over to the window.”
He drew aside the curtain. There were two men against the building across the street.
“We’ve had too much luck so far.” I couldn’t help laughing, but he ignored it. “It can’t last much longer. We’ve only a few hours left. We’ve got to find Marcel Blaye’s envelope and get the hell out of Hungary.”
“What about Maria Torres?”
Hiram put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s nothing we can do. There isn’t time. Schmidt knows where the envelope is. If you guessed by questioning Orlovska, the Russians can put two and two together and get the answer if they have time. We’ve got to move, John. We’ve got to get that envelope tonight.”
“I’m not going to leave Maria,” I said. “I can’t do it. I went after Orlovska because you promised we’d find Maria. I took two hours of hell from Schmidt. I got you the answer you wanted. I found out where the envelope is. You haven’t the right to let me down now.”
“You’re in love aren’t you, John?”
“Of course I am,” I said.
“How do you know Maria Torres didn’t leave willingly with Schmidt? How do you know what her game is?”
“I know she didn’t go of her own accord. There isn’t any way for me to prove it. But I’m not going to leave her.”
Hiram said, “But, John, I told you what possession of that Manila envelope means to Russia or the United States. It could mean the difference between war and peace. I’m an official of the United States Government, John. I haven’t the right to risk the success of my mission for any individual. Believe me, I’m terribly sorry.”
After a long pause, I said, “What can we do about the envelope? Jozsefvaros station must be crawling with armed Russians. We can’t take over the way you did in Borodin’s house. What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know,” Hiram said. “All I know is that we’ve got to act in a hurry.”
He took a large-scale map of Budapest from his desk and spread it on the floor.
“I’d suggest you get some rest. I’ll ask Teensy to change those bandages on your hands.”
When I left the room Hiram was down on all fours studying the map.
I went upstairs to the room I’d occupied briefly the night before and stretched out on the bed. I tried to sleep but there was nothing doing. Each time I closed my eyes I saw Maria’s face.
I had come to Hungary to discover what had happened to my brother. I knew the answer. If I managed to stay alive a few more hours, I was due to leave without knowing what had happened to the girl I loved.
It seemed incredible Maria and I had been together only twenty-four hours, that little more than twice that time had passed since I boarded the Orient Express at the Westbahnhof in Vienna.
I remembered how Maria had looked the last time I had seen her. She’d turned to wave as she reached the door of the coffeehouse. Then Schmidt had opened the door as Otto, Hermann, and I were rounding the corner into the driving snow, and we heard the sobbing of the gypsy violins:
There’s a Romany tale that up in the moon,
Each midnight a gypsy is playing a tune.
The melodies sweet from his fiddle that flow,
Are heard only by lovers as silent they go.
Then, my love, let us try while the moonlight is clear,