volume control after another was returned to a normal level.
The village of Kisbor settled in for the night. At the eight-room Kisbor Hotel, black Volgas recently parked out front were gone.
Neighbors of the hotel were relieved because men in overcoats driving black Volgas meant KGB, and the KGB this far from a main city could mean trouble for almost anyone.
Farther away from the village, the sound of the variety show faded. The village resembled a lighted miniature, especially from the side of a hill to the west. It was a clear, moonless night, stars visible to the horizon. Daytime heat radiated, and the temperature dropped.
It was quiet on the side of the hill until the music began. The music came from the lone farmhouse beyond the ridge of the hill. Since most citizens of Kisbor were of Hungarian descent, they would have immediately recognized the melody. But the house on the hill was too far away from the village for anyone there to hear it.
From the front of the house, it sounded as though a Gypsy orchestra was playing in the backyard. Although curious, Nikolai remained at his post at the front door. The music was instrumental, a solo violin piercing the night with the rest of the orchestra backing it up.
The violin sounded as if it were crying one minute and dancing the next. Several agents from the Volgas and the van parked out front got out and stood staring at the house.
When the front door of the house opened, the music boomed out until Captain Brovko closed the door behind him. Brovko stood shadowed in dim light from the front window. After a few seconds, he spoke, loud enough to be heard.
“What do you think of our major now?” asked Brovko.
“I don’t know what to think,” said Nikolai. “Is it the phonograph?”
“Yes. Major Komarov says if Detective Horvath is in the vicinity, the music will lure him. When I told him the noise would make it difficult for our men to hear anything, he opened the windows.
I’m puzzled how your routine examination of correspondence in the PK could have led to this. Why haven’t other investigative agencies been notified?”
After being reprimanded last night for asking what they should do about Major Komarov, Nikolai felt it would be best to remain silent.
Brovko looked back to the house. “I pity the family. Last night the questioning was relentless. Tonight he blows out their ear-drums. The women and children are in the bedroom with the door closed, but the walls are thin. I’ll tell the other men the music is not meant to drive them mad. They’ll need to be watchful in case Horvath does come, but I don’t want them shooting a villager who might wander up the hill. After I speak with the men, I’m going back to the hotel for a container of tea. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
While Brovko conferred with the other men, he shrugged his shoulders as if to say he had no idea what Komarov was doing. But Nikolai knew. It was similar to the afternoon in Visenka. There, amateurs were assigned so something other than a routine arrest would occur. Here, their sense of hearing was being obliterated. Perhaps Komarov wanted Horvath to kill another KGB officer. Or perhaps Komarov was simply insane. After Brovko conferred with the men standing at the vehicles, they fanned out, and he sped off in his Volga, heading down the hill to the village. Inside the house, the light went out, and only the flickering light of the television remained.
A new record dropped onto the turntable, the needle finding the initial groove and sending out explosive hisses before the music began.
This piece featured a chorus as well as an orchestra. Although a passage here and there resembled traditional classical music, it was soon ruined by a melodramatic violin solo followed by the screaming catcalls of women in a chorus.
The stack of recordings had been in an upper cabinet. When Komarov retrieved them, he noticed a shortwave radio hidden behind them and made a mental note to include this in his report. The phonograph was on the kitchen table, its speakers facing the open windows to the backyard. Komarov had moved the phonograph with Captain Brovko’s reluctant assistance. While moving the phonograph, the power cord snagged an icon hanging on the wall and it fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. He’d said something about religion being the ruination of the world, and Brovko had looked at him curiously. He was glad Brovko was gone. Brovko did not understand the need to outshine the tricks at the Hotel Dnieper.
The Gypsy Moth would come, lured by the glow of his music.
He would sneak up to the house under cover of darkness and noise.
An orderly and efficient capture would be impossible. There were several possibilities. One of the men would put a stream of bullets from his AKM into Horvath; Horvath would shoot another KGB agent, thus confirming his guilt; or Horvath would make it into the house. If Horvath did make it into the house, Komarov was ready.
Komarov’s pistol was on the table beside the phonograph and the lights were out. The only light came from the television, which Bela Sandor sat watching with the sound off. Komarov sat behind the glowing television on the dark side of the room.
Bela Sandor had helped Komarov determine Horvath would come tonight. He had done so by acting more nervous tonight than last night, and by hurrying the women and children to the bedroom after dinner. Horvath had contacted his cousin. Perhaps the plan was to have Horvath come in through the bedroom window. No matter, because Komarov was in the shadows against a windowless wall. He had a clear view of both the front and back doors, of the windows, and of the bedroom door. He had ordered Bela to leave the room-divider curtain open and the television on.
Bela’s face in the mad flicker of the television made him into a clown. Every few minutes, when he looked nervously at the clock on the wall, his movement was strobed by the television, creating multiple images. After smoking several cigarettes in a row, Komarov watched as Bela coughed violently and went to the bedroom door.
Bela knocked, stuck his head inside, seemed to take a deep breath, then closed the door and scowled. Bela began coughing continu-ously, bending over as if he would vomit. He went to the kitchen sink and spit. He poured a glass of wine and took a sip, but this made him cough even more. Before Komarov could stop him or even pick up his pistol, Bela was out the back door.
“Stop!” Komarov ran to the open door. “Stop him!”
This was it. Horvath was out there! Bela was creating a diversion! Komarov went back to the table where it was darkest and watched the open back door and the closed bedroom door. Outside, above the sound of the music, he heard the sound of running feet.
Then Bela was shoved into the house by two of the men.
Bela kicked and screamed, and it took both men to pin him to the floor. The men struggled with Bela, looking as if they were dancing to the music. Komarov remained seated, aimed his pistol at the doorway, and waited. But the open doorway remained dark and empty.
When Bela finally calmed down, Komarov motioned that he be put back in his chair in front of the television. Above the din of music, Komarov shouted to one of the men to go back in the yard to resume his post and to the other to check the bedroom.
When the first man was gone, the second man took his Stechkin machine pistol from inside his coat. A small flashlight was taped to the pistol barrel. The man switched on the flashlight and went to the bedroom door. He opened it and quickly scanned the bedroom.
When the man backed slowly out of the bedroom, Komarov knew this could be it. Horvath could be there. But the man turned and motioned for Komarov to come.
The bedroom was empty. The window was open. Komarov had the man shout search orders out the window and close the bedroom door. While the man stood guard, Komarov slapped Bela’s face. But Bela simply smiled.
A few minutes later, a man with an AKM came in and announced that the women and children were nowhere to be found. Komarov told the man to keep watch for them but, more importantly, to watch for Detective Horvath and to shoot him on sight. When the man with the AKM went back outside, Komarov noticed the man with the machine pistol staring at the phonograph. He shouted at the man, ordering him to tie Bela to his chair with rope from the room-divider curtain.
Soon everything was back as it had been, the music playing, Komarov sitting in the dark watching the doors and smoking, Bela staring at the television. Except now the women and children were gone, and this could mean only one thing. Horvath would soon arrive.
The rope holding Bela to the chair was wrapped tightly, and his wrists were tied behind him. His nose bled,
