SOVIET-CONTROLLED EASTERN EUROPE, HUNGARY ,BUDAPEST BUDA HILL
Leo had become frustrated at their guide’s apparent lack of urgency. They had been making slow progress. It had taken two days to travel a thousand kilometers to the Hungarian border and yet three days to travel the remaining three hundred kilometers to Budapest. Not until Karoly had heard radio broadcasts announcing that disturbances were breaking out in Budapest had he seemed to pick up the pace. Quizzed, Karoly could offer no more than a translation of the radio reports- minor civil unrest perpetrated by bands of fascists. From those words it was impossible to judge the scale of the unrest. The radio broadcasts were censored and almost certainly underplaying the disruption. The request for the troublemakers to go home suggested the authorities were no longer in control. With insufficient information, Karoly decided it was too dangerous to enter the city directly, driving in a circular route, avoiding several Soviet army blockades. They’d looped around to the residential Buda district, bypassing the center, the civic buildings, and Communist headquarters-flashpoints for an insurgency.
It was sunrise by the time Karoly parked the car on the vantage point of Buda Hill, several hundred meters above the city. The adjacent streets were deserted. At the bottom of the hills the Danube passed through the city, dividing it into two halves-Buda and Pest. While the Buda half remained largely quiet, on the other side of the river there was the crackle of gunfire. Thin wisps of smoke rose from several buildings. Leo asked:
– Have Soviet troops stormed the city yet? Is the insurgency beaten?
Karoly shrugged:
– I know as much as you.
Raisa turned to Karoly:
– This is your home. These are your people. Panin is using both to settle a political dispute. How can you work for him?
Karoly became annoyed:
– My people would be wise to put aside dreams of freedom. They will only get us killed. If this flushes those troublemakers out, so much the better for the rest of us… Whatever you may think of me, I wish only to live in peace.
Abandoning the car, Karoly set off down the hill:
– First, we go to my apartment.
Karoly’s apartment was nearby, just below the castle on the slopes overlooking the Danube. Climbing the stairs to the top floor, Leo asked:
– Do you live alone?
– I live with my son.
Karoly had made no previous mention of his family and offered nothing more, entering the apartment, pacing from room to room. Finally, he called out:
– Victor?
Raisa asked:
– How old is your son?
– He’s twenty-three.
Raisa offered:
– I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for where he might be.
Leo added:
– What does he do?
Karoly hesitated before replying:
– He recently joined the AVH.
Leo and Raisa remained silent, belatedly understanding their guide’s apprehension. Karoly stared out the window, speaking more to himself than Leo or Raisa:
– There’s nothing to worry about. The AVH would have called all officers into their headquarters at the onset of the uprising. He is there, for sure.
The apartment was stocked with food, paraffin, candles, and a selection of weapons. Karoly had been carrying a gun since they’d crossed the border. He suggested that Leo and Raisa follow his example since being unarmed offered no guarantee that they’d be treated as non-combatants. Leo selected the TT-33, a slim, robust Soviet-made pistol. Raisa reluctantly held it in her hands. Concentrating on the danger poised by Fraera, she forced herself to become familiar with it.
They left the apartment, heading downhill, intending to cross the Danube and enter the other side of town where it was likely that Zoya would be working alongside Fraera, at the center of the uprising. Passing through Szena ter they picked their way through the square’s improvised fortifications. Young men sat, smoking in doorways, ready-made Molotov cocktails stockpiled. Tramcars had been toppled, creating a perimeter, blocking access to the streets. From the rooftops, snipers followed their movements. Trying not to arouse suspicions, the three of them moved slowly, edging toward the river.
Karoly led them across Margit-hid, a wide bridge that connected to a small island in the middle of the Danube before reaching Pest. Nearing the middle, Karoly gestured for them to stop. He crouched, pointing at the opposite bridge. There were tanks stationed on it. Heavy armor could be glimpsed around Parliament Square. Soviet troops were evidently engaged, but not in control, judging from the insurgents’ fortifications. Exposed on all sides, Karoly hunched low, hurrying. Leo and Raisa followed, blasted by the cold winds, greatly relieved when they finally reached the other side.
The city was in a schizophrenic state, neither a war zone nor anything like normality, but both at the same time, switching between the two over small distances. Zoya could be anywhere. Leo had brought two photographs, one of Zoya, a portrait they’d had taken as a family recently. She looked wretched and miserable, pale with hate. The other was the arrest photograph taken of Fraera. She’d changed almost to the point where the photograph was useless. Karoly offered them to passersby, all of whom wanted to help. There were, no doubt, many families doing exactly the same, searching for missing relatives. The photos were returned with an apologetic shake of the head.
Pressing onward, they entered a narrow street entirely untouched by fighting. It was midmorning and there was a small cafe open for business. Customers were sipping coffee as though nothing were out of the ordinary. The only sign that something was amiss were the mass-produced leaflets piled in the gutter. Leo bent down, taking a clutch of the thin papers, cleaning off the dirt. On the top there was a stamp, an emblem-an Orthodox crucifix. Underneath, the text was Hungarian, but he recognized the name: Nikita SergeyevichKhrushchev. This was Fraera’s work. Excited at the confirmation of her presence in the city, he took the leaflet to Karoly.
Karoly was standing, transfixed upon a distant point. Leo’s eyes followed his gaze to the end of the street. It opened out into a small square. In it there was a single leafless tree. Sunlight filled the space, contrasting with the shadows where they were standing. As his eyes adjusted, Leo focused on the trunk of the tree. The trunk appeared to be swaying.
Karoly broke into a run. Leo and Raisa caught up with him, hurrying past the cafe, attracting the attention of those seated at the window. Reaching the end of the street on the brink of sunlight, they stopped. From the thickest branch of the tree, the body of a man hung upside down. His feet were lashed with rope. His arms swayed back and forth like a ghoulish wind charm. A fire had been lit under his body. His head was burnt clean of hair: his skin, flesh, features unrecognizable. He’d been stripped naked, but only to his waist, his trousers left in an act of modesty incongruous with the savagery of his murder. The fire had burnt his shoulders, blackening his torso. The untouched skin revealed the man’s age. He’d been young. His uniform, jacket, his shirt and cap, were in the ashes below. He’d been burnt to death with his own uniform. As if she were whispering in his ear, Leo could hear Fraera’s voice:
This is what they’ll do to you.
The man had been a member of the AVH, the Hungarian secret police.
Leo turned to see Karoly clawing at his scalp, as though his hair were infested with lice, muttering:
– I don’t…
Karoly edged closer, stretching his hand out to touch the charred face before pulling back, circling the body:
