At 4 o'clock their S-A-S jet thundered low over the outskirts of the Hungarian capital and landed them, if not behind the Iron Curtain, at least within one of its shallower folds. Passports and visas had been checked through the United Network Command office from Copenhagen, but as usual in this part of the world something had gone wrong.
Illya, fluent in Hungarian, attempted to deal with an official who held custody of the validating stamp, and who seemed to have an almost pathological fear of anything not covered explicitly in her book of regulations. Illya alternately bullied her and comforted her until she was completely confused, while Napoleon anxiously scanned the faces in the concourse for someone from the local branch of U.N.C.L.E.
With one ear he tried to follow the conversation between his partner and the clerk. Illya was saying, "My dear madame, we are (—something—) tourists who want (—something—) to see your beautiful country. Would you have us stand here three days and (—something—) the next airplane back to Copenhagen?"
Napoleon usually left the more guttural Slavic tongues to Illya, who possessed a native ability to pronounce interminable strings of consonants as if vowels were an unnecessary bourgeois luxury. Rumanian had enough in common with Italian, however, that Napoleon could make himself understood quite adequately, even if his accent left something to be desired.
A tall dark man with a long, mournful face came hurrying across the floor towards them, wallet in hand. As he came up to Napoleon the wallet popped open and a gold card caught the light. "Mr. Solo?" he said. Napoleon nodded. "I am Djelas Krepescu. Sorry for the delay—we had automotive trouble. Is there any difficulty here?"
He turned toward the counter, where Illya had stopped talking and was looking at him. He frowned at the clerk, whose eyebrows crept up her forehead, and spoke swiftly in Hungarian. Illya answered, and Krepescu said something to the clerk, emphasizing with a wave of his hand. She nodded vigorously and stamped the passports. She smiled apologetically at Napoleon, displaying a glittering row of metallic teeth, and said something to Illya about the noble gentlemen being very patient.
Once in the car, Djelas explained, "The clerk was being uncommonly difficult. She thought you were both Russian tourists, and there are many Hungarians who have no reason to love the Russians. As soon as I explained to her that you were Americans, and friends of mine, she was pleased to cooperate."
Napoleon glanced at Illya, who sat staring out a window, apparently lost in thought. It would be hard to explain to the poor woman how someone could be both Russian and American at the same time. "Well," he said, "we appreciate your help. We're going to need a lot more before we get out of here. Is everything cleared for us to fly to Bucharest this weekend?"
Djelas looked very sad. "The swiftness with which this has come upon us has made air reservations impossible to obtain. However, you can leave by rail Monday afternoon and arrive in Brasov Tuesday evening. It will be faster than waiting a week and flying to Bucharest, and then making rail connections from there."
Napoleon nodded. "It'll give us a better look at the country. I hear it's beautiful this time of year."
"Yes," said Djelas. "The air is rare and clear in the mountains, though it is quite cold."
Illya looked away from the passing view of the Andrassy Avenue and said, "What do you know about our reason for going to Brasov?"
The long face grew even longer. "The tragic death of Carl Endros. I met him only once, but I do not think such a man could kill himself unless something very wrong had happened to him. He was here for a few days on his way to Brasov about a month ago. We heard some strange things reported to our office in Bucharest, and Carl was interested to go and look them over."
"What sort of strange things?"
Djelas was hesitant. "Very strange things indeed—things which the peasants talk about among themselves and blow out of all proportion. We have the reports available for you to study. But please remember the facts are not known—all we have are rumors."
"What sort of rumors?" Illya persisted.
Djelas toyed with the end of his tie and looked about him. "As well as we can find, a pair of months ago or more or less, a body was found in the woods near the village of Pokol. Then, some few days later, another body. Both were dressed in peasant clothes, but neither was known to anyone in the area, and of course neither had any identification. Both were apparently killed the same way—very brutally. They were buried in the community cemetery at Pokol, with more ceremony than you would expect for total strangers."
Illya sighed. "And I suppose the bodies were both drained of blood?"
Djelas looked at the floor, and then out the window. At last he said, "I do not know of any medical report on the bodies. As I said, the peasants make up such stories and then expand them out of all proportion—"
"In other words, they were," said Napoleon.
"We don't know that," said Djelas quickly. "Under the circumstances we have begun proceedings to have the bodies exhumed and examined. All we know is that two bodies were found in the woods. The government is very sensitive about appearances..."
"And the whereabouts of all its citizens," muttered Illya.
"... and the fact of the bodies and the burials is quite well documented. But the rumors around them grew so prevalent that Mr. Endros went to Pokol to interview some of the witnesses. His one preliminary report was vague, but indicated he had traced the individuals who found the bodies. They swore to him that they had been bled dry."
Napoleon laughed. "Sounds like a psychotic killer in the village. A bit of detective work, Illya, and we can go home again."
"I hope so, Napoleon," said the Russian agent slowly. "I sincerely hope so."
* * *
They spent the next few hours reading over the reports that had been filed as referring to the finding of two unidentified bodies in the Transylvanian forests, and learned nothing. The rumors had placed the bodies at a dozen different spots in the mountains, from the Rosul Pass to the Prahova Valley; there were as few as two and as many as fifteen; they were all men, or men, women and children. But all the rumors agreed on the essential point—the manner of death.
Napoleon put the last sheet down and sighed. "Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble collecting all these," he said, indicating the sheaf of pages. "I'm sorry I don't appreciate them more."
Illya nodded. "We know nothing now that we didn't know four hours ago, and we have in addition received a great deal of confusing and contradictory data which is not only unnecessary, but a possible liability."
Napoleon chuckled. "You're starting to sound like Djelas. I think he learned English by memorizing a dictionary." He leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Well," he said, "now what? It looks to me like a plain case of murder. Some poor backwoods Rumanian has spun out, and killed two tramps in the woods. Carl was onto something, possibly went to his suspect, and got the same treatment. Now we go in, solve the puzzle, hand it over to the local police, who will proceed to take all the credit while thanking us privately, and then go home. I wonder if we could wrangle few days free in the area. There's a good ski resort at Poiana Brasov...."