The Hunted

Konevitch had obviously confided to the waitress that Vladimir and/or Katya were old pals celebrating a birthday, and obviously he persuaded, or more likely bribed, her to have the lights shut off and put on a little show to distract them. Just as obviously, he had faked the severity of his wounds. That harsh limp, that shambling gait, that lame shoulder: nobody that horribly mangled could've tossed that heavy chair, much less disappeared with such speed through the window frame. But he and his wife had successfully bypassed the layers of security. They had escaped, and were out there, on the streets of Budapest.

They were out there now, running for their lives.

Katya came to her senses and screamed at Vladimir, "Go out the window and find them. I'll get the others."

A response was a waste of time. He raced for the hole in the window and dove through, crashing hard on his knees on the concrete sidewalk outside. A loud curse exploded from his lips. The pain was sharp and intense. But his fury at being made into a fool hurt worse. He pushed himself to his feet, extended his pistol arm, spun on his heels, and scanned the surroundings.

Not a soul. Not out on the street. Not in the side parking lot. And not along the front of the hotel.

Alex and his party had vanished into the evening.

The hotel entrance was to his right and guarded by a pair of his men, making it unlikely, if not impossible, that Konevitch fled that way. He gripped his pistol hard and limped off in the other direction. There would be no warning this time. No second chance. He endured the pain from his bleeding knees and kicked it up to an all-out run.

Katya raced to the pair of thugs who were still seated by the restaurant exit, quietly congratulating themselves that they weren't in charge of this mess. When Golitsin learned about this screwup, heads were going to roll, literally.

She shrieked at them to follow her and went and collected the pair by the hotel entrance, then the two bored watchers outside. She ordered two of them to trail Vladimir before she set off, accompanied by the other four, in the opposite direction.

She signaled for the men to spread out, and issued one stern instruction. "Blow them to hell," she hissed.

8

A minute after Vladimir and Katya departed, the long white tablecloth was gently tugged back. Alex slowly raised his head and looked around. A waitress and two waiters loitered by the kitchen entrance, bantering about the bad people who had fired guns and chased all the customers away. The waitress was in tears, traumatized. One waiter looked ready to faint or flee. Otherwise, the palatial dining room was empty.

Alex stood and glanced over at the table where Vladimir and Katya had been seated. No corpses littered the floor. There were no dead waiters, and from what he could detect, no wounded patrons bleeding on the expensive carpet. He nearly fainted with relief. The three shots he heard were warnings or misses. Probably frantic or angered bullets fired out the broken window, he decided.

"Are they gone?" Elena asked from under the table, almost a whisper.

"Maybe. It looks that way," Alex replied in a tone that conveyed half hope and half doubt. "Stay where you are another moment." He walked over to a waiter by the kitchen, a tall young man, considerably less fazed than the other two. He asked where the shooters had gone. Out of the building, he was informed-one dove out the window and disappeared and the other raced out of the restaurant, collected her evil pals, and dashed outside. Nothing more to worry about, Alex was assured. The bad people were gone. The concierge called the police. Any minute, the place would flood with cops.

Alex rushed back to the table, hefted the overnight bags over his good shoulder, and informed Elena and Eugene it was safe. Elena came out first and threw her arms around Alex, a hug she immediately lessened when he winced and groaned.

Then Eugene emerged, loud, upset, and furiously disoriented. He kept asking Alex why he had grabbed him, wrestled him under the table, pinned him down, and slapped a hand over his mouth. Alex tried leading him out of the room, but Eugene refused to budge until he had a reply, and it better be damned good.

"Long story. I don't have time to explain everything," Alex replied in a hasty effort to put him off, looking around and wondering what to do next. Open and shut, his plan had started and stopped at getting the killers out of the restaurant. Divert them, send them off on a wild-goose chase. Then he and Elena would make a speedy getaway in Eugene's Trabant.