The Budapest Protocol Read Online Free PDF Page B

decision they had encouraged, despite its personal cost. During the 1980s Miklos joined the dissidents’ movement, editing their samizdat publications, and liaising with western human rights activists. He was arrested and imprisoned for several months, and only released after repeated international protests. Once Hungary became a democracy the Liberal party asked Miklos to stand for Parliament, but he refused. Ruth had died a decade ago.
    Alex knocked on the door again. Still no movement inside. His heart thumped from the exertion, his anxiety turning to fear. A door across the hallway opened a fraction. Alex glimpsed a mess of grey hair, two bright blue eyes and the arm of a pink nylon housecoat belonging to Erzsebet, Miklos’ neighbour and keeper of his spare keys.
    “No answer?” she asked, emerging from behind her door, stuffed with enough locks and iron bars to keep out a division of the Red Army, should the Russians ever return to Budapest. “I saw him yesterday morning. He seemed fine. He said you were coming today.” She waddled out onto the landing, a barrel on legs, perturbed that something was disrupting the peace of her realm.
    Alex pounded on the door, repeatedly. Silence. Where was Miklos’ dog, Berta, a lumbering crossbreed who doted on her master, and galloped to the door as soon as the bell rang? Perhaps Miklos had forgotten that Alex was coming, and had taken Berta for a walk. There was one way to find out. The twisting sensation in his stomach became more intense.
    “You can get into the flat can’t you, Erzsebet?” he asked.
    “Yes, of course. It’s my responsibility to look after the building. There might be a flood, or a fire. I have a set of keys for every flat in case something happens,” she replied, puffing up with the weight of her duties.
    “That’s fine. Why don’t you get them? Maybe Miklos is ill, or has fallen over. Have you heard anything funny? Did you see anyone strange?”
    “Some music last night. But that’s nothing unusual. I thought it was probably just those people downstairs who have just moved in. Foreigners, I think. They’re always having parties, you should see the mess they leave, bottles and cigarettes everywhere, all over the staircase, on the landing. I don’t know where they think they are living, like Gypsies they are, always making chaos. Who knows the kind of people they are bringing into the building...”
    Alex took a deep breath before he spoke, interrupting her flow, which once started was always difficult to staunch. “Erzsebet, please get the keys.”
    She rushed inside and shouted at her husband to fetch the keys. She returned and handed them to Alex, expecting to come in with him. Alex motioned for her to wait outside.
    The flat was dark and still and his heart began to pound. He called out for his grandfather several times, but there was no reply. His stomach churned. Alex inched along the dark hall. He felt along the wall for the switch. The flat filled with light as he entered the lounge.
    Miklos was slumped on the ancient green sofa. His blue eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling and his hands gripped the arms of the sofa. He looked surprised and his white hair was dishevelled. Above his head, the word “AVO” had been painted on the wall in red paint.
Allami Vedelmi Osztaly
, the State Security Department, the brutal communist era secret service. Berta lay dead in the entrance to the room. Drips of paint had trickled down the wall. In front of Miklos’ bare feet sat a pig’s head on a plate, eyes staring blankly across the floor. The room was wrecked, bookshelves toppled over, books strewn across the floor, furniture overturned, vases smashed, pictures askew, drawers opened and tipped on the floor. A record revolved on a turntable, the needle clicking with each revolution.
    Alex rushed to his grandfather. He touched the side of his neck. The skin was still warm. There was no pulse. Iron bands snapped around his chest. He could not