The Crypt (10 page)

“Well?” She asked.

“Should I let them know what apartment?”

“By the time they get here they’ll know.”

“How?” he asked.

“There’ll be gunfire by then.” She turned and ran for the stairs. “The whole building will know soon enough.”

Sarah reached the third floor and scouted out apartment 303. She wanted to know where the neighbor’s apartment was before knocking on the immigration guy’s door. She continued down to 306 and stopped in front.

Gently she placed an ear against the door to listen. She heard nothing but that didn’t matter. According to Vivian, he would be home.

Her stomach didn’t protest. Her nerves were firing in time. She marveled at how acclimated her body had grown over the years after having dealt with so much. Maybe she had finally become desensitized to conflict? If that was the case, then she could approach fights and battles like the one she was about to have with wit and thought, not actions based on fear.

She tried the door knob. Locked.

Of course.

After a look both ways Sarah knocked on the door and waited off to the side.

After about ten seconds she knocked again, this time harder.

A soft, subtle sound came to her from behind the door. Then a voice asked, “Ki az?”

Who is it?

Your judge and jury, motherfucker.

She knocked again, hoping this time he would crack the door a little to see who was bothering him at this late hour.

As soon as she heard the bolt click open and saw the knob turn, Sarah jumped in front of the door and charged as hard as she could. Her shoulder hit it the second it moved inward an inch.

The door shot open hard, breaking the cheap chain it was connected to and smacking into the immigration officer’s shoulder. He stumbled back, hit the wall and slumped to the floor as the door finished its arc.

Sarah maintained her balance and pulled her weapon out. She aimed it at the corrupt officer and motioned for him to get up.

He looked up at her from the floor while reaching to rub his shoulder. The look on his face told her everything. He’d moved beyond anger and into rage but he was also seriously surprised to see her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Get on your feet. If you don’t listen to me you will have to answer to my little friend here.” She turned the gun sideways to show him her friend. “What is your name?” she asked.

“István.”

He rolled to his side and got up using the wall for support.

“Take a seat at the kitchen table.”

He followed her instructions and moved deeper into his apartment. The whole while Sarah kept her weapon trained on his midsection.

“What is this all about?” he asked.

Sarah didn’t respond. She was trying to assess how much time she would have. Would the drunk call the police? If he did, how much longer before they arrived?

István sat down and looked up at her.

“I asked you a question.”

His voice was more adamant. If he’d been sleeping he was awake now and assuming his role as interrogator. He expected an answer. He was used to this kind of exchange as this was a part of his job.

It was time to unsettle him and in doing so she would effectively get the police called for sure.

Sarah lifted her gun a little higher and flicked off the safety.

István leaned back and raised his hands in protest. She knew what would be racing through his mind. She was here to kill him. Break in, use a cop’s gun, wipe it clean and run off into the dark Budapest night without a trace. He was scared and how he showed it was by being authoritative.

I’ve got authority too, assfuck.

She fired her weapon. The recoil was minimal but the sound was quite loud in the small apartment. The bullet flew by István’s head missing him by a foot and imbedded itself into his microwave oven on the counter behind him.

He jumped in his chair, held his ears with both hands and instantly began breathing rapidly.

“Are you fucking crazy? Someone will hear that. The police will be called. Is that what you want?” he shouted, his hands still over his ears.

For the second time in an hour she had made two grown men soil themselves. István urinated where he sat, a small puddle forming near his feet.

“Now that you can see how serious I am, we need to talk and we don’t have a lot of time. I will be the one asking questions. You will not ask anything. If you do, there will be pain.” She lowered her gaze. “I don’t bluff. Are we clear?”

He dropped his hands from the side of his head and set them on the table. “Clear.”

“Where is Parkman? Is it your people who have him?”

“No. What happened to Park—”

Sarah shot forward, flipped the gun in her hand so the butt end aimed outward and swatted at his face like she was trying to smack an errant fly. The handle of the gun connected perfectly with his left cheek. He dropped his head to the table and held his face.

“What did you do that for?”

This time she lifted her right leg and kicked into the side of his knee. She hit him so hard that he came off the chair sideways and hit the floor.

“I told you no questions. Not even one,” she said through clenched teeth. She leaned down closer to him. “I said,
are we clear
, and you said
clear
. But obviously we weren’t.”

He lay moaning on the floor, holding his face and his leg simultaneously.

“I also recall telling you that I don’t bluff. Ask me another question you piece of shit and I will make sure you don’t walk right for a year.” Calming a little, she unclenched her teeth, took a deep breath and said, “Are we clear?”

He nodded his head.

“Good. So it wasn’t your people who took Parkman?”

He shook his head back and forth.

“That was the last answer I get from your head. Every answer after this will be spoken. Understood?”

He went to nod again and then thought better of it. He looked up at her from the floor and said, “Yes.”

“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Do you know a man named Armond Stuart?”

He lifted one finger in a gesture to ask her to wait for a second. Then he leaned on his good leg and got up back onto the chair. He angled over close to her and whispered, “Not here. These walls have ears.”

Sarah nodded. “I was waiting for you to say that.”

She grabbed his lapel and helped him to his feet. Time was running out. No doubt the police were coming now. She guessed that she only had five minutes or maybe ten left.

With the gun firmly planted in his side, she half shoved, half guided István to his apartment door.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Don’t speak,” she said. “The walls have ears. And that was another question. Oh how you forget so easily. That’s one in the bank. I owe you for that question.”

They hit István’s apartment door and entered the hallway. The corridor was deserted. She looked left and then right and made it look like she was being indecisive. Then she turned for apartment 303.

When got to the door, Sarah knocked. After a moment someone asked who it was.

“Tell him it’s you from apartment 306,” she whispered.

“It’s me, István from 306. I need to borrow some sugar.”

That was so fucking lame
, Sarah thought.

“Couldn’t you have thought of something better?” she asked. “Sugar? At this hour? Bit late to be knocking on doors isn’t it István?”

István looked at Sarah with a
what do you want me to do
expression.

Smart of him. He didn’t ask.

“Think of something,” she said and pushed the gun into his side a little deeper.

“I ahh...I’m in a little trouble. Got this little lady coming over in twenty minutes and I don’t have any sugar. You see, her favorite drink is a Margarita and I have to dip the glass. There’s no way around it.” István leaned in closer to apartment 303’s door. “Many times when I come home late I often hear that you’re up so I thought I could call on you.”

He stepped back and waited. Sarah thought what he said was pretty good. She hoped it worked. They were running out of time.

A distant police siren wailed in the night. If they were coming to this building then she was down to five minutes or less. The waiting was taking too long. She stepped away from István and raised her gun to blast the door knob. As she did a lock clicked.

The gun still raised, Sarah stayed in position.

The door opened slowly. “Come on in,” a heavy-set man said.

Then he laid eyes upon Sarah and they widened.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Step away from the door or die. Your choice.”

This guy was smart. He stepped back.

Sarah pushed István inside and followed close behind. Living room lights illuminated the area. The television was on but no sound emitted from it. The guy appeared to have some kind of pajama bottoms on and a T-shirt.

“Step away from us,” Sarah said to the tenant of apartment 303.

He moved back.

“Pick up the phone,” Sarah instructed.

István stood beside her at an angle, favoring his injured knee. He remained still while Sarah set the scene.

“Now, I want you to call the police and have them come to this apartment.”

“What do I tell them?”

“Just tell them that you’ve been shot.”

“What? I haven’t been…” he paused.

Sarah lowered her outstretched arm and aimed her weapon at his lower leg.

“Wait. What is this about?”

Sarah fired two rapid shots. Perfect aim. Two holes formed in each foot.

The man screamed and stumbled away. He fell to the floor as his feet weren’t responding quite well anymore.

“What the hell are you doing?” István asked.

“You’re not supposed to be asking questions,” she reminded him.

Sarah reached up, grabbed a clump of his hair and placed the gun at the base of his neck.

“Walk.”

He started moving. She guided him down a small hallway and into the apartment’s main bathroom. After letting go of his hair, she turned him around and shoved him down on the closed toilet seat.

The bathroom had a mirror that ran the length of the wall beside her. She almost caught a glimpse of herself but kept her eyes on István. The rest of the room was decorated by a female. Flowers sat on the back of the toilet. The shower curtain had a floral pattern and the counter contained feminine sprays and soaps.

She refocused and turned to István.

“Now, talk. Answer my questions and do it fast or I will shoot you in the forehead.”

“I know of no one who has kidnapped officer Parkman. That would be bad policy of the Hungarian Government to grab an American police officer. We are part of NATO after all. The Americans are our allies. About that name you mentioned earlier, of course I’ve heard of Armond. As far as we know that’s why you’re here. To execute him.”

“Tell me more. What are you hiding?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an immigration officer with the Hungarian Government. I’m not hiding anything from you.”

“You lie to me. I could detect more anger oozing off you when I was in your interrogation room than was normal. The only conclusion I have is that you’re protecting Armond and after what my sister told me, I know you are. The crazy thing is, you can’t lie to me. And you asked a question earlier. You raised the stakes.”

Sarah raised her weapon and shot a bullet into his right thigh. Almost instantly his leg started bleeding. The surprised look on his face was priceless.

“You’re crazy,” he shouted.

His eyes watered. He grabbed at his leg and pushed in a feeble attempt to keep the blood in.

Sarah grabbed a towel from the rack beside her and tossed it at him.

“Tell me more or get another bullet. It matters little to me. Actually, I prefer that you’re dead. So save your own life and tell me everything you know. No one can hear you in here. Give it up.”

He raised his right hand. “Okay, okay, no more shooting. Please, I’ll tell you.”

His eyes bulged. His face was red and covered in sweat. Sarah watched him a moment and then nodded. “You’ve got maybe two or three minutes before the police come, so hurry up.”

He had wrapped his thigh pretty good but blood was now soaking through the towel and dripping to the floor.

He looked up at her. “You are one sick woman.”

“No. I get results. Talk now or forever hold your peace.”

Sarah felt so at home. This was what she was good at. Bringing down the criminal element in society with massive and intimidating force.

“It all started in the 1950’s. During the Russian Revolution some of the Hungarian officials in the Immigration Department set up a ghost branch that helped people to move in and out of the country without official papers. These documents looked official enough and if they were questioned, our group could back up their authenticity.” He stopped to adjust the towel on his leg. Within seconds he looked back up at her, his face pale. “When the individual got to their final destination, all papers were to be burned. At our end we’d monitor their progress and burn ours too. Many thousands of people benefitted from this as they left the country instead of being killed. Now the organization has turned into a profitable group. People like Armond Stuart pay us the right amount of money and he gets a free pass to Hungary. From here he can travel to any other Schengen Area country without a stamp on his passport.”