The Hunted

Alex wasn't really in a listening mode and added, "We're not going together, anyway. It's time to split up."

"What's that mean?" Eugene asked, afraid he knew exactly what it meant.

"They're hunting three people, Eugene. They believe we're amateurs and they believe we're afraid and insecure."

Believe? Well, they were certainly amateurs. And if insecure meant scared out of their wits, the bad people had it right on both counts.

Alex continued, "The point is, frightened amateurs stay in packs. They'll be looking for three of us, together, so it's time for us to divorce Eugene."

"You couldn't have picked a different word?" Eugene complained. Elena laughed, and Eugene joined her. Both were becoming giddy with exhaustion and the unrelenting tension.

Alex turned around and faced him, his face rigid with concern. "Eugene, you're a target because you're with us. They blew the chance to get your money. Nothing can bring it back, and they know that. Whoever they are, they're professionals. They don't care about you anymore."

"Hey, I'm having a ball being shot at, chased, and hunted by Mafiya goons," Eugene felt like saying. "This is the best idea I've heard all night, so fine, dump me off right here." But his conscience bothered him. Instead he said, "Look, what the hell, I'm in this up to my neck already. You're my friends and I'd like to make sure you're safe. Are you sure this is a good idea, Alex?"

"I'm not sure about anything at the moment."

"Except this, right?"

"Yes, and I won't change my mind. The very least I owe you is to get you out of this alive."

An unspoken thought lingered in that statement. Alex obviously wasn't optimistic about his own chances. Eugene looked at Alex and thought about arguing. It would be useless, though; Alex's mind was clearly made up. "What do I do?"

"Drop Elena and me off at the nearest big hotel in Bratislava. Find another hotel, check in for the day, catch up on sleep, find a nice restaurant with pretty waitresses, have a long leisurely meal, then drive back to Budapest and catch the first flight home. By that time, I assure you, the people hunting us will believe you're long gone." It was obvious he had thought this through.

"What about you?"

"We'll catch taxis from the hotel. Don't worry, I think I know what I'm doing."

Twenty minutes later, Alex and Elena stood beneath the overhang of a run-down hotel in downtown Bratislava. The streets were empty, the doorman was inside, napping. They watched Eugene putter off in the junkheap, spitting and spewing smoke out the noisy tailpipe.

Alex turned to Elena and said, "Now we can discuss our plan."

"We couldn't discuss it in Eugene's presence?"

"He's better off not knowing. If the people chasing us get their hands on him, it's his best defense. Ours, too."

For the next few minutes, they stood under the awning and Alex told Elena what he hoped would happen.

11

The two taxis arrived at the terminal thirty minutes apart.

Alex was dropped off first, at 6:45.

Elena stepped out onto the curb at 7:14, a minute earlier than she'd been instructed, though it turned out not to be relevant.

Her instructions were clear and precise: Drive by the front of the terminal. If Alex wasn't standing and waving, alone, then howl at her driver to keep going and don't look back. Once they had Alex, they wouldn't care about her anymore. They wanted her only to get to him; if they had him, she was old baggage they could care less about. What was left of Eugene's 2,000 American dollars was wadded up and folded inside her bra. Use it, he told her, to find her own way to America, then contact her parents for help. Start a new life and don't look back.

But Alex was there, about twenty feet from the doors, waving, not directly at her, it seemed, but at some invisible person off in the distance. She tried hard not to stare at Alex as she walked right past him, then through the glass door and straight to the Continental Air counter. Yes, she had a reservation, she assured the smiling lady behind the counter. She held her breath and handed her passport across the counter. She was reaching into her bra for the money when the woman politely announced that the ticket was already reserved and prepaid, first class-and did she care for an aisle seat or window? Boarding started in fifteen minutes; she was welcome to use the VIP lounge until then. She had no idea how Alex arranged this, it wasn't part of the plan, but she smiled with relief and pleasure as the lady behind the counter ruffled papers and prepared her boarding pass.

First class? After all they'd been through, the idea of making a grand escape sipping champagne and munching on caviar seemed too good to be true. She felt like crying.