The Hunted

Vladimir laughed and the sound echoed down the alley and bounced off the walls, bitter and scornful. A few lights popped on. Concerned faces appeared in the windows over the empty shops.

"You think this is funny?" Golitsin hissed.

"Yes, I do. Absolutely. I'm laughing because I lost you all that money. Now screw yourself." Vladimir aimed the pistol at his left temple, held the phone right next to it, screamed, "Good-bye, asshole!"-and blew his brains down the dark alleyway.

9

The orange Trabant came to a screeching halt under the hotel's grand entryway, less than an inch from the steep curb. Alex, Elena, and Eugene scrambled through the rotating glass doors, looked both ways, then made a mad bolt for the car. Alex stuffed another hundred in the waiter's outstretched hand, mumbled quick words of thanks, and they squeezed and fought their way inside the car. The keys were in the ignition, the engine running. Elena climbed behind the wheel and punched the gas with gusto.

With an angry sputter the car lurched and coughed away from the curb, every bit as unsightly and underpowered as advertised. Only two years off the production line, it didn't look a day over a hundred. From bumper to bumper, nothing but peeling paint, dents, and vast patches of oxidation.

Alex couldn't have cared less. The car was perfect. Every rattle, every belch and spit from the perforated muffler was just perfect. Nobody would expect a man of his means to be seen in such a creaky monstrosity.

For five minutes they drove without anybody saying a word. The rain battered the roof. Alex hunched down in his seat to disguise his height; Elena inched up in hers, straining to disguise her lack of it.

Thirty minutes of sitting under the watchful gaze of wicked people who intended to kill them left them moody and edgy. They peeked through the rear window incessantly. They thought they saw cars on their tail and breathed with relief when the cars turned off. Elena zigzagged through narrow streets, going nowhere in particular. Just away from the hotel. Just as far as they could get from Katya and Vladimir and the other killers. At a red light at a large intersection, she finally asked Alex, "Where to?"

Without hesitation, he said, "Out of Hungary."

"Not so fast," Eugene offered in a newly concerned tone from the backseat. "Alex, you need to see a doctor before we go anywhere." Now that they were out of danger, his good manners were kicking back in. "You should see how you look. A concussion, broken bones, internal bleeding, who knows how serious the damage is."

"Not a good idea, Eugene. I told you, these people are connected everywhere. They're former KGB, for godsakes. You're American, you don't understand what that means."

"So tell me what it means."

"They used to rule these countries. They can pull strings you can't imagine. The moment they recover their senses, they might even put out an alert to the Hungarian border police. Our names, our descriptions, and probably some trumped-up charges to warrant our arrests. Getting out will be impossible."

Eugene and Elena sat quietly and stewed on Alex's warning. "In fact," Alex said after thinking about his own words, "it's safe to assume the alert's already out."

Another moment of silence, longer than the last one. A nationwide manhunt suddenly seemed like a possibility. Only a few years earlier this was a police state; they didn't have a prayer.

"Then the train station and airport are out of the question," Elena observed sensibly. "They'll alert those places first."

Alex nodded. "But I think they'll check hospitals and doctor's offices before they do anything else." He squeezed Elena's leg. "The nearest land border is our best chance." He twisted around in the seat and peered at Eugene. "You still have your cell phone?"

Eugene patted himself down. "It's gone. It was still sitting on the table when you pulled me down. I'll bet it's still there."

"Of course."

"Our passports, Alex, they have them," Elena remembered with a jolt. "Maybe it would be better just to stay here. Find a safe place and hide."

"I don't think so." Alex held up a clutch of small red booklets and waved them in front of her. "These were packed in a hidden compartment of my overnight bag."

Elena shook her head. Her husband's cleverness had long since ceased to surprise her, but to insist on bringing the overnight bags for the restaurant meeting with Eugene was an amazing stroke of clear thinking. She didn't need to ask about the fistful of little booklets.

But Eugene did. "Are those legal?"