Silvanus spoke quietly, earnestly. “There’s trouble brewing, my friend. Trouble I think you need to know about.”
“What kind — personal or professional?” Hradetsky grinned tightly. Were Dozsa and his toadies finally catching on to him?
“The EurCon kind. Connected to this upcoming demonstration I keep hearing about.”
Hradetsky sat back in his chair. He’d been wondering when Rehling would step in to play a more active part in the ministry’s somewhat disjointed preparations for the May 16 rally. General Dozsa and the other high-ranking officials were in a dither, moving riot control troops in from outlying cities almost as fast as they could find transport for them. But the colonel found the attitudes of those below the upper echelons extremely interesting. Heartened by the reappearance of a viable political opposition, fellow officers who had once seemed prepared to go alone with EurCon were increasingly willing to show their true feelings. And men who had once shunned him in the corridors now went out of their way to shake his hand.
He spread his hands. “So what have you got?”
Silvanus shrugged. “Bits and pieces, and none of them reassuring, I fear.” He stubbed his cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been kept busy running errands the last few days — playing travel agent for our lords and masters.”
Hradetsky waited patiently for him to come to the point. Silvanus had a pleasant voice, but sometimes he liked to listen to himself talk just a bit too much.
“Most of my work has come in making arrangements for several groups of special visitors to our fair city. Airport pickups, rental cars, and hotel reservations. That sort of thing. Curious thing about these men, though: they’re all young and they’re all flying direct from Paris. I’ve also been ordered to issue them special identity cards and weapons permits. Interesting, eh?”
“How many?”
“Around fifty.”
Hradetsky pondered that. Fifty Frenchmen, even fifty security agents, didn’t sound like much of an invasion. Still, they could cause a lot of trouble by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He frowned. “Who commands; them? The German?”
Silvanus shook his head. “Rehling isn’t in charge. This Interior Secretariat of theirs is flying in someone special. A Frenchman. A man named Duroc. You know him, I think?”
Hradetsky nodded grimly. “I know him.” Hie felt cold. First Sopron, now here in Budapest. And everywhere this Duroc went he seemed to bring death with him. Maybe EurCon was getting ready to take the gloves off. If so, he would have to warn Kusin and the others — tonight, if possible.
He rose to go. “My thanks, Bela. You’ve done me a great service. I’m only sorry I have no way to repay you.”
Silvanus waved a hand. “Never mind. I am owed enough favors.”
Hradetsky frowned. “Still, giving me this information is dangerous…”
“I’ve already decided to take an ‘early retirement,’ my friend. The Germans have been sniffing around too much, and I’m getting tired of being Rehling’s stooge.” Silvanus grinned. “So I’m going to strike my own blow for Hungarian independence by letting them try to run this place without me!”
Hradetsky had to smile at that. “When do you leave?”
“My letter will be on the generals’ desks tomorrow morning, and by dawn my wife and I will be halfway to a little place we have northeast of here — up in the Matra Mountains. No television, no telephone. Just a little fishing and a little reading. You see, that’s the other reason I wanted to see you. We just held my going-away party.” The administrator’s grin faded. “I have a feeling that Budapest could become a very unhealthy place to live in the near future.”
The colonel nodded. “You’re probably right.” He shook the other man’s outstretched hand and turned away.
“Oh, Zoltan?”
Hradetsky paused with his hand on the door.
Silvanus reached into one of his desk drawers and tossed him an armband — one dyed in Hungary’s red, white, and green national colors. “Tell your friends to be a bit more careful when handing these out. After all, some of the people in this building still work for the generals.”
Hradetsky nodded somberly and stuffed the armband in a coat pocket. “I will remind them of that.”
Evidently Kusin and the others were casting their nets further and faster than he had imagined.
They were lucky in the weather. May was usually one of the wettest months in Hungary’s capital, but this day dawned clear and sunny with the promise of moderate temperatures later on.
Hradetsky stood with Kusin and Kiraly, watching his countrymen streaming in from every direction — tens of thousands of them, maybe more. The general strike they’d called was holding. Most businesses and factories were shut down, either voluntarily by patriotic owners or because all their employees were on their way here. The only parts of the public transit system still operating were the buses and Metro subway trains ferrying people to the march. As they arrived, opposition workers assigned as parade marshals shepherded the men, women, and children into places along the wide, tree-lined avenue. Others circulated through the crowds, handing out flags and placards.
Hradetsky idly fingered the armband around his blue uniform jacket. Appearing like this, in full uniform and at the head of the march, had been Kusin’s suggestion. It was one way to show the people they were not alone — that some of the government’s own officials were turning against it. Of course, if the military regime stood firm against the combination of this march and the general strike, showing up among the demonstrators would make him a hunted man.
He shrugged. So be it. He was tired of playing a double game.
The colonel ran his eyes over the swelling crowd. At least he would have plenty of company on the run. There were several other policemen and even a few army officers scattered in the front ranks — all of them in uniform. Most of them looked very nervous. Well, that was understandable. He’d had more time to come to terms with betraying an oath for the love of his country.
They weren’t the only uniformed men present. Small groups of patrolmen were stationed at nearby intersections, hanging well back. From time to time, demonstrators walked right up to them, trying to talk them into joining the march. Sometimes it worked. Hradetsky could see several police squads already wearing the tricolored armbands that showed they were siding with the opposition.
There were still no signs of the government’s riot control troops or Duroc’s French security men, though. They had to be further ahead — hidden somewhere among the buildings lining the avenue. Waiting for a signal. But waiting for a signal to do what?
He turned to Kusin. “I’ll say it again, sir. If you must march, at least march further back in the column. Let Oskar and me and more of his men go first.”
Kiraly nodded. “The colonel is right, Vladimir. This insistence on staying so close to the front is not sound. It’s too…”
“Dangerous?” Kusin finished for him. “Perhaps it is.” He nodded toward the milling crowds behind them. “But it is dangerous for all of us. And the people have a right to see those who would lead them taking the biggest risks.”
He saw their frustrated looks and laughed gently. “Come, my friends. You cannot protect me from myself or others forever. Besides, I’ve already agreed to carry more than my fair weight today, eh?” He patted his shirtfront.
At Kiraly’s insistence, Kusin was wearing a bulletproof vest under his suit. With luck it might stop a shot fired by a sniper or other assassin. But that was the only compromise Hradetsky and the security chief had been able to persuade him to make. When they’d pressed him on the need to play it safer, he’d only smiled and clapped them both on the shoulder. “When you match your strength against a foe, gentlemen, you can’t afford a show of weakness. We go forward, not back.”