The Tombs - Cussler Clive - Страница 15

Tibor looked skeptical, but he pulled over and let Sam get behind the wheel. He sat in the passenger seat. Sam made a quick U-turn and then a left to pass behind the big black car. Tibor gripped the dashboard and stomped the nonexistent brake.

“You’ll enjoy riding with Sam,” said Remi. “He’s barred from driving in four countries.”

Sam accelerated up the road. When the black car followed and began to pull closer behind him, he let the left tires stray off the pavement onto the dusty shoulder and throw a big cloud of dust and bits of gravel into the air. The driver of the black car tried unsuccessfully to swerve to avoid it, almost lost control, and veered from side to side, overcompensating. Sam said, “He’s not too good. Is there a place near here with very narrow streets?”

“There’s a very old village about two miles ahead. It’s too far from the river to have been destroyed by floods.”

Sam accelerated more on the long, straight stretch across the plain, but roads like this were made for the big black car. It began to gain on Sam steadily. He delayed by weaving from side to side, then moving into the center of the road so they couldn’t pull up beside him. When he saw the village coming up, he swerved to the left lane abruptly. The black car moved to the right, Sam stomped on his brake, and the black car shot past them.

Sam made a slow, safe turn onto the main street of the village, then went past a few stone buildings before he turned to the right into an alley so narrow that he could barely fit the taxi between the buildings. “Careful, careful,” Tibor muttered. At the far end of the alley, Sam stopped.

Sam, Remi, and Tibor watched the back window and saw the black car, moving fast, flash past the opening of the alley. “Now we see if he’s angry enough or we need to work on him some more,” Sam said.

The black car made a tire-squealing stop, backed up rapidly into sight, turned, and sped into the alley after the taxi. Sam pulled forward out of the alley into a small open square. He got out. “Take the wheel,” he said to Tibor. Then he stepped back to the open end of the alley. He picked up the handles of a wheelbarrow loaded with stones and prepared to push it into the opening.

Before he could, there was a bang, and then a loud scraping sound that rose to a screech, then stopped. Sam put down the wheelbarrow, ran to the taxi, and got into the rear seat with Remi. Tibor backed up to glance down the alley. He and the Fargos could see that the big black car had gotten wedged between the first pair of buildings. Its mirrors were gone, and it was jammed against the bricks on both sides. The engine roared, and there was a painful shriek of metal but little progress. Tibor pulled forward around the end of the row of buildings to the main street and drove back the way they had come.

They drove to a building that looked like a small warehouse. There were five men in overalls and work clothes. “Those two,” he said, “the good-looking ones, are my brothers. The others are cousins.”

Tibor got out and went to talk to a couple of them, then brought them back with him. A third man pulled a van out of the garage and left it running. Everyone smiled, shook hands, and pantomimed their delight to make one another’s acquaintance. Tibor got into the van’s driver’s seat, and Sam and Remi got into the back. They were surprised to see that a man got in with them. He said, “I’m Janos. I’ll be taking the pictures.”

“Thank you,” said Remi. She whispered to Sam, “What pictures?”

Janos snapped her picture. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Tibor drove them out to the east side of the city, then farther out onto the grassy plains. Five miles later they came to a large complex with five rows of white buildings. Most of them were long and low rectangles with no windows. Janos aimed his camera and began to shoot, clicking and winding automatically. He kept shooting as they drove along the tall chain-link fences with coiled razor wire along the top. They passed a guard gate that looked like the entrance to a military base, complete with armed guards in gray battle dress uniforms.

Remi said, “Why all the guards?”

“The reason they give is that they make and store narcotic drugs here, and they do research on new medicines, so competitors might steal their secrets. The real reason is so Bako can do as he likes and nobody asks questions.”

All through the trip, Sam was silent. He looked closely at everything, but he said nothing.

When the van returned to the garage, Sam asked for a piece of paper and said to Tibor, “I’m going to make a list of things we’ll need and give you money to buy them. If you can’t get something, tell me and I’ll have them flown here.” He began to write as he spoke. “Four gray uniforms like the ones Bako’s men wear. Four pistols with two spare magazines each in holsters on belts of black webbing. The ones they carry looked to me like Czech CZ-75s. If there’s a Hungarian model that looks like that, it’ll be fine. Black boots, four pairs, mid-calf height. We’ll need to have the boots polished and the uniforms pressed. And remember, one set is for Remi, so get one size small. And get one short black leather dog leash and collar.”

“Anything else?” said Tibor. “Anything to go with the collar?”

“A dog.”

“A dog?”

“I’d like a German shepherd. If necessary, it can be a Rottweiler or Doberman. He needs to have a good nose and be well trained and obedient.”

“There is a man in Szeged who trains dogs.”

“And he’s your cousin, right?” asked Sam.

“Not everybody is my cousin. This one is my wife’s cousin. I’ll see if he has a good dog right now.”

“Can you take Remi to see his dogs and pick one out?”

“I could, but these are Hungarian dogs. Remi doesn’t speak Hungarian.”

Remi said, “I can learn as many words as a German shepherd.”

“And all dogs speak to Remi,” said Sam. He looked at Tibor. “Are you and Janos willing to do this? Have you made up your minds?”

“I’d rather go kidnap Bako and trade him for your friend. But, yes.”

“If this doesn’t work, we’ll try that next.”

SZEGED, HUNGARY

REMI FARGO STOOD AT THE GATE IN THE FENCE AROUND the exercise yard, where there were several German shepherds. She said to Tibor’s wife’s cousin, “What’s that one’s name?”

“Gyilkas,” he said. “It means ‘killer.’”

“And this one?”

“Hasfel. It’s short for hasfelmetszo. It means ‘ripper.’”

She went to the gate and reached for the latch. “Miss, you don’t want to be in there.”

“Of course I do. Why should they trust me if I don’t trust them?” She stepped inside and closed the gate. She walked confidently up to each dog and let it sniff her hand, petted the thick fur at its neck, then moved on. She spotted the biggest dog in the compound, a tan male with a black head and tail. He had been sitting a distance away, watching. Now he approached her, and, as he did, the others all seemed to melt away.

“And who are you?” she asked the dog. He came up to her, looking directly into her eyes as he did. He sat in front of her, then licked her offered hand. She knelt and petted him, and he lay down so she could rub his belly.

The cousin said, “His name is Zoltan. It means ‘Sultan.’”

“He’s the big guy, eh?” she said. “The boss.”

“Yes, miss. He doesn’t usually do that with strangers.” He corrected himself. “With anybody.”

“He can read me. He knows I always fall for his type.” She leaned down and spoke to the dog quietly. “What do you think, Mr. Zoltan? Do you want to do some work with me tonight?”

She seemed to get the answer she wanted. She stood, and the dog stood with her. He walked with her to the gate, and she brought him out with her. To Tibor’s wife’s cousin she said, “He’s the one. Now, would you please teach me some proper commands in Hungarian so I don’t embarrass him?”