The Londum Omnibus Volume Two (The Londum Series Book 12) Page 22

  ***

  Jim approached the park across from the Kempinski Hotel. It was approaching two o’clock which was one of the pre-arranged meeting times. The briefing notes that Thornton had given him stated that the park would be watched at ten o’clock, two o’clock, six o’clock and again at ten o’clock, every day. If he was seen in the park, sitting at the cafe at any of those times, the Ungarian network would know he had carried out the job and Rubicon would approach him for the handover.

  Jim made his way to the cafe in the park, ordered some coffee and began to read his paper which he had picked up from the train station earlier. It was an Albion paper only five days old but then that was how long it took the papers to reach the major cities in Europe, down the train routes. Although the park was just across the road from his hotel, after the robbery at the embassy, Jim had preferred not to return to his hotel and had kept on the move around the city, to lessen the chances of someone following him or intercepting him and retrieving the treaty. He had only stopped to grab a bite to eat while he was at the train station, apart from that he kept moving. By the time he had reached the park he was certain he didn’t have a tail and that no one was following him.

  As he sipped his coffee he saw the prostitutes hanging around, gathering together under the trees, waiting for custom. He noticed the pretty one with the yellow flowers in her hat from the other day. She saw him and began to saunter in his direction. Oh Damn! he thought, she must think I’ve come back to try my luck, after the other day. I don’t need this sort of complication right now. Best get rid of her.

  As she reached his table the waiter came over to shoo her away. He shouted something at her in Ungarian, to which she responded with something that sounded like ‘Push off!’ (or similar) in the same language. Jim could see where this was going and stood up, just in time to catch the wrist of the waiter as he swung a back-handed slap at her. ‘Now, now,’ he cautioned him as he released his arm. ‘It’s wrong to hit a lady.’

  ‘He doesn’t like us annoying the customers so he shouts at us like we are dogs,’ the young lady said to Jim in accented but perfectly good Albion. ‘I see by your paper that you are from Albion, I bet you wouldn’t treat us like that, after all ... Albion men always have such good manners.’

  Jim froze. ‘Albion men always have such good manners’ was the first line of the recognition code Thornton had given him to learn. It had seemed strange to Jim when he first heard it but then he hadn’t been expecting to hear it from a woman, he’d assumed his contact would be a man. He turned to the waiter and said, ‘Why don’t you let me worry about who I talk to? Please be good enough to bring another cup.’ The waiter shrugged as if to say ‘Well I tried to warn you’ and left to bring the cup.

  Jim motioned the woman to take a seat. Now it was his turn to give his half of the code. ‘We have good manners because of the way we’re brought up.’

  The waiter brought the cup and left them. Now it was time for the counter challenge. She had challenged him and he had replied; now he had to challenge her and she would have to reply. Jim poured her a cup of coffee from the pot in front of him and asked her. ‘Tell me, which is better, Buda or Pescht? I hear that Buda has all the finest Museums.’

  ‘Yes, but Pescht has all the best restaurants,’ she replied, correctly.

  Bingo! It was his contact. ‘So you’re Rubicon?’ She nodded. ‘I must say I was expecting a man,’ he told her. ‘It’s a good cover though.’

  She smiled at him, ‘Well, it’s easy to get around without being noticed. No one pays any attention to prostitutes.’

  ‘As long as you don’t take your cover too seriously, I suppose,’ he joked.

  ‘Ah, sorry to disappoint you but I only pose like this for meetings, not to make a living. You have the item?’

  ‘Yes, it’s concealed in the paper. Take it with you when you go.’

  ‘Excellent. Good job by the way, I understand you’re not a professional but you appear to have handled this business well.’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ he told her. ‘I’m not a professional at this but I am accustomed to doing clandestine work, shall we say?’

  ‘And what are your plans now?’

  ‘I’m gonna get the first train out of here heading west. I’m already packed, I just have to pay my bill and then I’m off. The sooner I’m out of here the better it will be for your lot.’

  ‘Shame, I was hoping we could have a drink together. Maybe some other time, perhaps.’

  ‘I’ll look you up next time I’m in town,’ he told her, both of them knowing he’d probably never be heading this way again.

  She finished her coffee and stood up, picking up the paper as she did so. ‘Take care of yourself Albion man, it was nice meeting you. Thanks for the coffee.’ And she sauntered away across the park.

  Jim finished his coffee, put down some cash to pay his bill and headed for the Kempinski to check out.

  ***

  Jim’s cab pulled up outside the Hotel Konigshof in the centre of Munchen. He had come there directly from the train station. The doorman of the hotel took his bags from the cab and after paying the cabbie, followed Jim inside with the bags and placed them beside him at the front desk. Jim tipped him and turned to the receptionist.

  Speaking in fluent Deutschen Jim asked him, ‘I believe you have a room booked for me? The name is Michael Lewis.’

  ‘One moment sir,’ he checked the register. ‘Ah yes, a Mr. Michael Lewis ... room 327, on the third floor.’

  ‘Splendid,’ replied Jim. ‘I’m expecting to meet a colleague here, a Mr. Thornton Wells. Has he arrived yet?’

  Once again the register was checked. ‘Yes, in fact it was he that booked your room. He is in room 318, just down the corridor.’ The receptionist waved for the bell-boy to whom he handed the key to 327 and he picked up the bags and waited patiently for Jim to sign in.

  ‘Would you have a bottle of your best champagne and a bottle of brandy sent to my room please, with some glasses?’ asked Jim. ‘Mr. Wells and I will be celebrating a successful business deal.’

  ‘Certainly sir,’ replied the receptionist. ‘It will be with you shortly.’

  ‘Thank you. Lead on,’ he said to the bell-boy, who led him over to the elevator and up to his room. Once he had tipped the bell-boy and got rid of him, Jim opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. He was admiring the view, when there was a knock at the door.

  He opened it to a waiter who had a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on a silver tray, and a bottle of brandy with some glasses. Jim relieved him of the tray and sent him away after tipping him. Jim picked up the ice bucket and the champagne glasses and went off to find Thornton.

  He found room 318 and knocked on the door. After a short pause, Thornton opened the door wide. He seemed somewhat surprised to see Jim but waved him into the room. Jim walked into the room and put the champagne and the glasses down on the table.

  ‘Lovely room you’ve got me, Thornton, thanks. Hell of a view from the balcony.’ He busied himself opening the champagne while Thornton closed the door and just stood there watching him, not saying anything. He filled the two glasses and held one out to Thornton. Thornton looked at Jim and then down at the glass and then took it, somewhat reluctantly.

  ‘Here’s to a successful operation,’ said Jim cheerfully, pleased with himself. He held his glass up to clink it against Thornton’s but Thornton ignored the gesture and walked past him, seating himself at the table. Jim looked round at him, curiously. It wasn’t like Thornton to be rude, he was always the perfect gentleman.

  ‘I know that you stole the treaty and then passed it on to Rubicon. The reports have come through about that,’ said Thornton, calmly. ‘But I’d like to know what happened after that.’ He took a sip of his champagne.

  ‘How should I know what happened next?’ said Jim, puzzled. ‘I just went back to my hotel and then left Budapescht the same day, as planned. Why don’t you ask Rubicon what happened?’


  ‘That’s the problem you see,’ replied Thornton. ‘No one has seen either Rubicon or the treaty since you passed it to her.’

  Jim now understood the icy reception that Thornton had given him and what is more could see where this conversation was leading. ‘Well I’m sorry to hear that but I gave her the treaty as instructed, watched her walk away and never saw her again. Then I finished my coffee, went back to the hotel, checked out and left for the station. I left without speaking to anyone but the hotel staff. If Rubicon was snatched it happened after she left my sight, I don’t know what’s happened to her.’

  ‘Well she’s gone missing and so has the treaty,’ replied Thornton, frostily.

  ‘Now wait a minute, you said that it was reported that I had made the handover, so whatever occurred, it was after I was out of the chain. You should be looking at her, not me. How do you know she didn’t hand it over to the enemy and then went into hiding?’

  ‘Impossible. I’ve known her for years, she wouldn’t do that. You however, I have only known casually for a year or so.’

  ‘But why would I do it? You’re paying me well for this.’

  ‘Yes, but maybe the other side is as well. You could pay for an awful lot of orphanage places with money from both sides.’

  ‘You honestly think that I sold her out?’ asked Jim, shocked.

  ‘To be honest, Darby, I don’t know what to think. All the Ungarian agents, especially Rubicon, have been in place for many years and have proved their worth time and again. You however are new to this team and have a reputation for being a crook that is prepared to do a lot for money, it’s why I hired you after all, and it’s only since your involvement that things have gone badly wrong. Tell me, in my position what would you think?’

  Jim was fuming but managed to keep his temper under control. ‘All right, if that’s the way you want to play it. You hired me to do a job and I did it, your agents have testified to that. Anything that happened after that is not my fault and not my concern. The contract has been fulfilled and we are even, all the rest is your problem. And speaking of being a crook for hire, I know you’ve paid the money but do I get the other item I asked for? I did my bit after all, I stole the treaty and handed it over to your people.’

  ‘The second part of the payment was conditional on the treaty being delivered to me here in Munchen. That hasn’t happened so ... no further payment.’

  ‘Well, that’s only to be expected I guess. Okay, fair enough, I accept that.’ He swigged down his champagne and stood up. ‘Well, it seems our business is concluded then. Not how I wished it to end but there you go.’ He headed for the door but as he reached it, Thornton spoke. ‘Darby.’

  Jim stopped and turned round to face him.

  ‘If I find out you’re responsible for this, Darby, watch out, because I will make you pay for it.’

  Jim stared him in the eye but didn’t respond; he just opened the door and left the room.

  Back in his own room he opened the bottle of brandy and poured himself a generous measure. He paced up and down the floor, seething with rage. After all he had done and the risks he had taken, it had gone wrong after his involvement and now they were blaming him for it! Added to which he was worried about Rubicon. What if she hadn’t sold out? What if she’d been abducted ... or worse?

  He paced up and down some more and then went out onto the balcony and looked at the view, to give himself time to calm down and think it through. Some time and several drinks later, he had cooled down and was back to normal. He’d made his mind up. Although, as he had told Thornton, he had done his bit in this adventure and the rest was Thornton’s problem, he didn’t like being left holding the bag and taking the blame for the failure of the operation. He would prove to Thornton that he was wrong about him. He was going to go back to Budapescht, find out what happened to Rubicon and get that treaty back, even if it meant that he had to steal the damned thing all over again!

  ***

  Next morning Thornton approached reception and spoke to the clerk behind the desk. ‘Good morning. I’m looking for Mr. Lewis in room 327. I’ve been to his room several times but he doesn’t seem to be answering his door. Do you know if he’s gone out?’

  ‘Mr. Lewis has checked out of the hotel, I’m afraid, sir.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I checked him out myself … are you Mr. Wells by any chance?’

  ‘Yes that’s me, room 318.’

  ‘I have a letter for you from Mr. Lewis.’ The clerk retrieved the letter from room 318’s pigeon-hole and handed it to Thornton.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Thornton and wandered away from the reception desk to read the letter in private. It was one sheet of paper and the writing on it was short and to the point.

  I left something behind in Budapescht, so I’ve gone back to collect it.

  Jim Darby.

  Thornton tapped the letter against his thumb as he thought about its contents. Maybe Darby was telling the truth after all?

  Men of Honour

  Jim walked out of the Budapescht railway station and looked around for the Railway Hotel. There was usually one near every major railway station, respectable and medium priced and usually quite comfortable if you weren’t too fussy. Its other good point was that it catered for the fluid, shifting population of rail passengers who came and went every day, so nobody really paid too much attention to you as long as you paid your bill.

  He figured it was best not to go back to the Kempinski as if, like Thornton, the spy network considered him culpable in the disappearance of their colleague, their agent in the hotel would raise the alarm and Jim might find himself having to face some uncomfortable questions to which he didn’t have any answers.

  Jim booked into the hotel in his own name, abandoning the Michael Lewis cover. He had thought it through on the train from Munchen and come to the following conclusion – Thornton had specifically asked him not to involve outsiders in this mission, as it was a British Secret Service operation. Jim had done as requested but now that it was over and he had fulfilled his obligation to them, he was a free agent, working under his own plan and this entitled him to use his own name and involve anyone else he damn well liked.

  To that end, he took the introductory letter that had been written by the Londum gangster, Laszlo Kovach, to his Budapescht based cousin, another gangster named Gyorgy Sandor, and slipped it into his inside pocket. He was going to pay Mr. Sandor a little visit and request some assistance.

  He left the hotel and found a cab, he showed the cabbie the address on the envelope and climbed inside, while the cabbie whipped up the horses and pulled away.

  After about fifteen minutes ride through the streets of Budapescht, the cab pulled to a halt and Jim got out. The cabbie pointed with his whip to a restaurant that had the sign of a blue parrot hanging outside. Jim paid the cabbie and walked over to the restaurant.

  Looking at the blue parrot sign, he thought, I wonder if it’s Norwegian? He pushed open the door and entered. Inside was a small but well appointed restaurant. There were just half a dozen or so tables and a bar. It was mid afternoon and the place was almost empty, a barman stood behind the bar polishing glasses and at the table nearest the bar sat two goons. Jim could spot what they were straight away. The low-level, not too intelligent, muscle that is the first line of defence. The doormen in other words. To get in to see someone higher up the food chain, you had to get past them first.

  Jim walked over to their table and asked them, ‘Does anyone speak Albion?’ They just stared back at him. This is going to be fun, thought Jim. He pulled out the letter and showed them the name on the front, ‘Gyorgy Sandor ... I’m looking for Gyorgy Sandor. Heard of him?’

  The two brutes stood up and said something in Ungarian, indicating he should go away.

  Jim waved the envelope again, ‘I need to speak to Gyorgy Sandor!’

  One of the goons pushed Jim, causing him to take a few steps back. Here we go, he thought. When the man reac
hed out to push him again, Jim grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm, putting him off balance, at which point Jim clipped him neatly under the jaw and he went down. The second man reached into his jacket, Jim presumed to pull a gun, so he pulled the man’s arm out, took the gun out of his hand, pushed him forward over the table and whacked him on the back of the head with the pistol. The man crumpled to the floor.

  The barman panicked, ran to the end of the bar and through a bead curtain that led to the rear of the restaurant, presumably to get help. Jim stepped over the two unconscious goons and picked up a bottle the barman had left behind. Seeing it was the local aperitif, Unicum, Jim poured himself a shot, lit a cigarette and sat on a stool at the bar to await developments. He placed the gun and the letter beside him on the bar.

  A few moments later a tall, handsome man with Mediterranean colouring came through the bead curtain, flanked by two fierce-looking men. Attack dogs, thought Jim. He could see that this man was much higher up the food chain and the two men were a better class of thug. (Meaning they could probably be trusted to tie their own shoelaces.)

  One of the thugs saw his compatriots laid out on the floor and with a curse made to attack Jim but the man in charge stilled him with a word. Well trained attack dogs, thought Jim.

  Silently the man and Jim appraised each other. Finally the man spoke in perfect, accent-less Albion, ‘My barman tells me that there is a lunatic Albion man out here, beating up my staff. That would be you I assume?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Care to tell me why?’

  ‘I need to see Gyorgy Sandor, I have some business with him and these two oafs wouldn’t let me past. When they started to get violent towards me, I had to give them both a short, sharp lesson in self-defence.’

  ‘And let’s hope they learned it,’ replied the man, looking down disappointedly at his men. ‘But enough of that, exactly what business do you have with Mr. Sandor?’