Chapter Eleven.

Swearing to himself; Nagler stomped across the cellar, opened the door, and, switching off the neon light; slammed it shut behind him, leaving Stacey in darkness. She took stock of the situation. Nagler hadn't bothered to check her bindings this time; distracted by the failure of his toy. Had he bothered to re-lock the door? She was soaking wet and the rope securing her hands was slightly stretched from her convulsions under the electric shocks. She frantically twisted her hands and slowly... painfully slowly, the emulsifying effect of the water dousing reacting with the body lotion that she always used; allowed her to slip her hands free. After that; it was no problem to release her remaining bonds. She took several deep breaths. Would she be steady enough to get to the door? Would the effects of whatever drug they had pumped into her still be debilitating? There was only one way to find out.

Kicking off the wire attached to her toe, she stood up unsteadily. The door was somewhere over on her right. Carefully she began moving across the wet concrete floor. The darkness didn't help at all. Eventually, her fingers touched the doorframe. The wood felt warm and dry to the touch, in comparison to the stone wall. She felt down and tried the iron handle. Locked! There were no windows in the room. The oak door was the only way out. She leant against the wall and tried to visualise the cellar.

The only furniture was the chair and the folding table. The chair was a simple dining room chair, probably wet from the buckets of water. It was the only usable weapon in the cellar. There was nothing else. The choice was simple. Wait for Nagler to come back and start over; or try to change the status quo. There really was no choice. In the darkness; getting back to the chair and dragging it to the door was not easy. Now what? She felt around the door until her fingers touched the light switch. It felt plasticky.... maybe bakelite; and her fingers traced a crack across it.

The cellar floor was wet; and her torn shirt was sodden from the frequent soakings. Hopefully, the wiring was old and the cracked switch hadn't been properly earthed. Pulling off her shirt, she used it to mop up the floor until the material was wringing-wet. Dropping it onto the floor in front of the doorway, she managed to lift the chair with her aching arms and swung it against the cracked switch plate. She heard the broken plastic shatter and fall to the floor, and hoped that it would be enough. She leaned back against the wall and listened. In a little while, she heard someone coming down the stairs, followed by the rattle of a key in the lock. She moved to the dry side of the floor and held onto the chair, ready to swing it into the face of whoever it was, if her trap didn't work. The door opened and a dim figure came halfway into the room before reaching to flick on the light-switch.

As he stepped on the sodden shirt at the same time as his fingers came into contact with the exposed electrical wiring, there was a sharp bang, and a sudden flash of sparks; and the thud of a body falling... then there was utter silence. Taking great care not to kneel in the water even though the current had obviously earthed itself; Stacey used the chair to push the body away from the sodden shirt. Reaching down, she felt Nagler's neck for a pulse. He still had one; beating slowly and slightly erratically. The shock hadn't been enough to kill him. He might regain consciousness at any moment... she had to move quickly.

Picking up her shirt, she wrung it out and slipped it back on. There was no way she might find her other shoe; so she kicked off the remaining one. Slipping out of the door she saw a short, arched passage leading to a set of spiral stairs. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and listened. Again there was utter silence. Wherever Drescher was; it wasn't in the immediate vicinity. She began to climb the stairs, having to stop several times, leaning her forehead against the cold stone as the after-effects of whatever drug he had given her washed over her.

At the top of the spiral stairs was another oak door. Stacey paused, and listened for a few seconds. There was no sound coming from the other side, and she cautiously pushed at it. The old hinges creaked softly as she stepped through into what appeared to be a disused warehouse. Daylight glowed dimly in through a row of dusty skylights stretching the length of the steeper surfaces of the saw-tooth roof. The light, although feeble, was painful after the darkness in the cellar. As her eyes slowly adjusted she saw that the building looked as though it hadn't been used for years. The whole place was rundown and stale-smelling. The floor was littered with grimy, broken glass; although all the skylights seemed to be intact. Obviously, this part of the building had once been offices with thin, partitioned walls. When the walls had been ripped out, the builders hadn't been particularly careful about clearing up the broken window and door panes. The floor was also strewn with all the usual rubbish that would usually be found in derelict buildings... old newspaper blown in by the wind; a couple of dead birds, pools of slimy water from roof leaks; an old mattress, and evidence of fires having been lit.

The smell of damp and mildewed brickwork hung in the stale air competing unsuccessfully with the flat, rank smell of human excrement. Leaning against the decaying brickwork of the far wall that had sometime been distempered white, but was now flaking and peeling away, exposing the old red brickwork, she sighed heavily. Getting across the floor to the other side of the wide expanse of floor would not be easily accomplished barefoot. Drescher, or that sadistic bastard, Nagler might re-appear at any moment. She would just have to chance to luck that she didn't gash her feet, or if she did; then try to make certain she didn't step in anything that would infect the wound. In the far wall, some hundred feet or-so to her right; she saw what looked like a roller door.

She moved towards it trying unsuccessfully to avoid the shards of glass, and wincing as they sliced into the soles of her bare feet. Ignoring the pain, she reached the door, leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the filthy concrete, and tried to move it. It creaked loudly, echoing through the warehouse. Gritting her teeth, she managed to get her fingers under the bottom edge, and with all her remaining strength, strained to try and lift it. Slowly, she managed to raise the door with a nerve-shredding, grating squeak of rusted metal; moving it about a foot-and-a-half; just enough for her to roll out underneath. Getting painfully to her feet she warily surveyed her surroundings. She was in some sort of abandoned industrial site surrounded by derelict, and boarded-up buildings. There was grass growing through the pavements and the asphalt of the road was cracked and crumbling. Her feet hurt. She looked down and saw the bloody footprints. She would have to do something about that; otherwise they could follow her as easily as if she was leaving footprints in fresh snow.

Ducking into a narrow, dirty alley, she stripped off her blouse and tore several strips off the bottom of the garment with which to bandage her feet. Having done this; she put the remains of her blouse back on; peered carefully out of the alley, and seeing no one; ran as fast as she could away from the vicinity of the warehouse. She had no idea of the direction in which she was running; but she had to put as much distance between herself and that place before they discovered that she had escaped.

Rendörség Tizedes… Police Corporal, Andris Szabó turned his Lada patrol car into one more identically desolate side street in Újpest… the industrial area of Budapest's Eighth District; stopped on the corner, and studied the once-bustling industrial heart of the district. He sighed. Just a damn waste of time. There was nothing much here, save for a few drunks and deadbeats dossing in the dilapidated buildings. Anything that could be stolen had been previously stolen… the remaining lead and various metals scattered through the tumbledown factories and warehouses had long since disappeared. However, it was part of his patrol sector and it had to be done. The sooner they ripped all this down and redeveloped it, the better; as far as he was concerned.

The only trouble was; what they replaced it with would probably be those brutal, prefabricated, Commie block monstrosities… the Panelház; which had sprung up all over the city. These concrete cliffs, averaging ten, to twelve storeys, and containing thousands of residents were turning out to be a real pain in the ass… no matter how much the City wringing-hands brigade waxed lyrical about them. They were rapidly turning into crime hot spots… and they were not easy to police. He shrugged. The City fathers didn't seem to care. They figured it kept all the criminals in one area; but then, they didn't have to chase suspects up ten flights of stairs with the possibility of collecting a bullet on any one of the turns. He shrugged again. Well, fuck it. That's what he was paid for!

Slipping the gear shift into first, he slowly moved along the street checking for any signs of new break-ins to the crumbling properties. He reached the end of the road and turned into the next long asphalt corridor that ran between the abandoned warehouses. Suddenly, a figure appeared from between two of the buildings. A girl running towards him. As she came closer, he saw that she young and pretty... well, she would have been; were it not for her long blonde hair hanging in rat-tails, and the livid bruising of her face that he could see, even from this distance. She was dishevelled, and her feet were bound with dirty, bloodied cloth.

Slamming on the brakes, he hurriedly jumped out of the car and ran toward her; unbuttoning the flap of his pistol holster as he did so. Christ Almighty! She was a mess... what the hell had happened? She reached him and swayed. He could see that she was having difficulty staying upright. It seemed that she was fading fast. He grabbed her; supporting her as her legs wobbled. Sharply, he said;

"Mi a franc történt veled"?... What the hell happened to you?'

She shook her head

"Csak egy kicsit magyarul beszélek"... I only speak a little Hungarian. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?'

He nodded.

'Ja, was ist mit dir passiert?... Yes, what has happened to you?'

She breathed a sigh of relief. Her German was fluent.

'I have been drugged, kidnapped, and slapped around a little, but managed to escape from an old warehouse where I was being held. I must get to Seventh District Police headquarters and report to Major Tamás Berényi. Can you give me a ride? It is vitally important that I get to him as soon as possible.'

She glanced down at her bloodied feet.

'And, as you can see; I am not in the best shape to run.'

She swayed again; there was a halo around her vision and a coppery taste in her mouth. It was probably the after-effect of the drug. Andris Szabó stared at her, and flipped up the flap of his belt holster. His hand went for the butt of his 9mm PA63 pistol; and his narrowed eyes swept the desolate, silent side-street and the derelict buildings with a cold, watchful stare.

'Kidnapped? Drugged? Beaten? Where are the bastards?...'

He hesitated.

'But, you need to get to a hospital…'

She shook her head.

'No; we can sort that out later. First; I need to get to Police Headquarters.'

He nodded.

'Right! I'll get you there.'

As the Police Lada powered north through the city; with blue flashing lights and shrieking siren; Andris Szabó glanced at Stacey.

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'So who are you? And, more to the point; why were you kidnapped?'

She gave him a strained smile. The pain in her lacerated feet was sharp and throbbing.

'It's better that you do not know. I am with a Security Service, and my captors were part of a Neo-Nazi organisation. Major Berényi will inform you of whatever he considers you need to know when we get to headquarters.'

Andris Szabó nodded, and concentrated on his driving in silence for the remainder of the journey across the city.

Tamás Berényi took one look at Stacey as she limped into his office and grabbed at the telephone. He ordered that the Police surgeon be immediately summoned to his office, then gently sat her in his own comfortable chair behind his imposing desk. She looked at him steadily.

'I'm OK. What about Officer Menke?'

Berényi shook his head.

'One of our patrol officers found him in an alleyway off Szászház Street. He'd been shot in the back of the head. He wouldn't have felt a thing. The phone call for Stendal was a ruse to separate him from you, and Officer Menke. This was carefully planned. But what did they do to you?'

Before she could reply, the Police surgeon arrived. Berényi moved towards the door.

'I'll give you and the doctor a little privacy. We'll talk when he has finished.'

As he passed the Police surgeon, he paused.

'Take good care of her Doctor.'

The Doctor introduced himself.

'I am Peter Fábián. I am consultant orthopaedic surgeon at Szent István Hospital across on Üllői Avenue, as well as being Police surgeon. You have been in the wars, my dear. Whatever befell you to get into this condition?'

Stacey smiled wanly.

'Drugged, slapped around, and given electric shocks; but it's my feet that are the main problem. I had to run across broken glass to make an escape.'

Doctor Fábián nodded.

'I would like to examine your feet, if I may; then we'll check out the rest of you.'

She nodded.

He lifted her left foot and gently began to unwrap the soiled and bloody cloth. He studied the sole of her foot and nodded.

'Hmm. Slight lacerations; but nothing that needs stitching. The wounds are, however contaminated. I will need to cleanse them. I will use an isotonic saline solution for this purpose. You may experience a slight discomfort as I apply the solution.'

She smiled weakly.

'Compared to what I've experienced lately, Doc; it should be a walk in the park!'

He smiled and began to clean her lacerations. There was a slight tingle but nothing more. When he had finished cleansing the sole of her foot, he gently positioned it on a sterile napkin he had placed on the floor. He then turned to her right foot. Unwrapping the dirty binding, he saw that her big toe was red and swollen. He glanced up at her.

'I imagine that's where they attached an electrode?'

She nodded.

'Yes, but not an electrode. He simply wrapped a heavy-gauge copper wire around my toe.'

Doctor Fábián nodded.

'And that is why it is a superficial first-degree burn. It will be uncomfortable for a while but will not leave any scarring… so painting your toenails is still an option. But, enough of this; let's see what you have done to your other foot. He studied the sole of her right foot minutely; then reached across to his bag. Withdrawing a slender pair of tweezers, he paused.

'You have a sliver of glass embedded in the ball of your foot, my dear. It may hurt a little as I withdraw it.'

She nodded.

'Go ahead, Doc. I promise I won't squeak.'

Carefully, he positioned the tweezers and gripped the sliver of glass. She felt a sharp, burning sensation as he withdrew it with infinite delicacy, and felt the blood begin to trickle down the sole of her foot as he held up the glass splinter to inspect it. It was razor-sharp and a little over two centimetres in length. Dropping it into a small stainless dish he had taken from his bag, he gently wiped away the thin trill of blood from her foot and peered through his spectacles at the wound. Satisfied that there was no glass remaining, he proceeded to examine the rest of her foot. He looked up.

'You were either very fortunate or exceptionally light-footed, my dear. There is nothing here that requires stitching either. I'll just wash out the lacerations… such as they are; and then we can proceed with the remainder of the examination.'

Having washed her right foot, Doctor Fábián asked her to put it on the sterile napkin and requested that she removed her tattered blouse. Having done so, she sat back while he checked her ribcage and shoulders. He smiled nothing broken; just a few welts and bruises. He was, however disturbed at the sight of the red splotches that had appeared at the places where Nagler had jabbed her with the electrical probe. He reached into his bag again and withdrew a small jar which he handed to her. She stared at it; then asked it what it was. He smiled.

'It's Aloe Vera cream. Those are again only first-degree burns that usually heal within three to six days without permanent scarring. But, as an attractive young lady, you want to remove any trace of those marks as soon as possible. Gently rub this in and they will disappear without trace. We have done extensive trials with this cream, and when matched against the usual treatment for partial thickness burn wounds… which is Vaseline gauze; the average time of healing with Aloe Vera cream is almost a full week less than with Vaseline gauze-treated burns.'

He smiled again.

'Any other injuries?'

She shook her head,

'Just a tooth driven into my lip when I was smacked across the face.'

He leaned forward.

'Let me see.'

She gently pulled down her lower lip. He nodded.

'Nothing serious there. It will feel as though you have bitten your lip for a few days.'

He face became solemn.

'Forgive me, but I have to ask. Was there any sexual assault?'

Stacey shook her head.

'None. He didn't even grope my breasts. He seemed to get his enjoyment from his electrical toy.'

Peter Fábián nodded sagely.

'Then you were extremely fortunate. From your description of your mistreatment, the man is a psychopathic sadist; and had you not escaped, he might well have eventually killed you. I shall now dress your foot lacerations and, give you an anti-tetanus shot. I don't consider administering antibiotics as there is no defined method of establishing with what you were drugged.'

As he carefully bandaged her feet, there was a knock on the door and Tamás Berényi entered. He smiled at Stacey and turned to Fábián.

'Well, Doctor? Will she be all right?'

Fábián nodded.

'Yes, Major. She needs to take it steadily for the next few days, but there will be no lasting effects.'

Berényi nodded.

'Good! Thank you, Doctor.'

Peter Fábián replaced his instruments in his bag and closed it with a firm snap. Turning back to Stacey he smiled.

'Now, young lady; just take it easy for a few days and try to stay off your feet as much as possible.'

She smiled back.

'Thank you Doctor. I don't think that dancing will be on the menu any time soon!'

Peter Fábián smiled and left the office. Tamás Berényi pulled up a chair and gave Stacey an anxious look.

'Officer Szabó has reported to me where he found you; but can you tell me exactly where you were held?... And more importantly; can you describe the men who did this to you?'

Stacey shrugged.

'All I know is that it was a derelict warehouse not far from where the policeman found me. As to the men; their names were Bernhard Drescher and Franzl Nagler. Drescher seemed to be in charge, and Nagler was the one who used the electric probe on me.'

Tamás Berényi's face hardened.

'Drescher! I might have guessed. He's been on our radar for years.'

He reached across and picked up the telephone from his desk. Dialling a number; he spoke briefly into the receiver.

'Send Lieutenant Reisz and Officer Stendal to my office immediately.'

Replacing the handset he looked up at Stacey. Studying her dishevelled appearance, he reached around the desk, opened the top left-hand drawer; and pressed a concealed bell-push. In a few moments there was a knock on the door, and an attractive, young female police officer entered. Berényi looked up.

'Officer Kovács…'

He motioned towards Stacey.

'Our guest needs fresh clothes. Go down to stores and draw a basic uniform for her.'

The girl nodded.

'Yes Major.'

She turned to Stacey.

'What size do you require, Ma'am?'

Stacey gave a small shrug.

'I have no idea of the sizes in this country; but I am an American size Six.'

The girl nodded.

'That will be a size thirty-six, I guess.'

Berényi glanced at Stacey,

'Anything else? Shoes, underwear?'

She gave a rueful smile.

'I could use some fresh underwear; but I don't think I'll be wearing shoes for a while.'

Berényi pulled a pad of white printed forms across the desk ripped one off and wrote something on the reverse side; signed it, and handed it to the girl.

'Call in at Finance and draw five thousand Florints; then go into town and see what you can find that will be suitable.'

The girl nodded again.

'Yes, Major. What size underwear do you take, Ma'am?'

Stacey smiled.

'Again; I only know my American size… 34B.'

The girl returned her smile.

'I think I can probably manage that. I'll go get the uniform first; with your permission, Major?'

Berényi turned in his chair.

'That's absolutely fine; Officer Kovács. On your way down, tell Lieutenant Reisz and Officer Stendal to get a move on… and to bring the "Janus" file with them.'

The girl saluted and left the office. Stacey leaned back in Berényi's chair.

'That's very generous of you, Major. I'll see to it that my Embassy reimburses you.'

Berényi shrugged.

'It doesn't matter. It's the least we can do. Anyway; it's only about the equivalent of eighty of your American Dollars. She should be able to get you something nice for that amount.'

He was interrupted by another knock on the door. Reisz and Stendal entered. Reisz was carrying a thick file. Berényi indicated that they should pull up two chairs. Both men looked visibly taken aback by Stacey's appearance. Stendal was the first to speak. The tone in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

'What pig dared to do this to you? When I get my hands on him, I'll rip his lungs out.'

Berényi cut in quickly.

'Whoa! Hold it right there Officer Stendal. I know the loss of Officer Menke has hit us all hard; but the rule of law must prevail in this matter as far as I am concerned.'

He turned to Reisz.

'We have two names, Lieutenant. I would like to see if they are in your "Janus" file.'

Reisz glanced at Stacey.

'Just so that you know; this file is called "Janus" from the Roman God of the same name… the one with two faces. So it is, with the names in this file. They belong to Wartime Nazis; and also members of our own home-grown, Fascist Arrow Cross Party; all of whom have escaped justice and have been living amongst us. We wait until we have incontrovertible proof of some crime they have committed, and then, we pick them up. Now; what names do you have?'

Stacey studied him.

'The man who seemed to be the leader is named Bernhard Drescher. He called himself a businessman and a patriot.'

Reisz flipped through the file. He stopped at a page and stabbed his finger at the page.

'Got Him! Bernhard Drescher; dual nationality… German and Hungarian; Director of Vegyichem… a chemical works in Kiszugló, to the north-east of the city. This company was originally Jewish-owned, but confiscated by the Nazis in 1943. Its former owners are believed to have been amongst the half-million Hungarian Jews deported to Auschwitz in July 1944. Consequently there were no claimants after the war, and Drescher and a partner bought it for a song. Drescher is believed to have been an SS-Obersturmbannführer on Eichmann's staff; based in the Hotel Astoria; and later at Andrássy Avenue… the headquarters of the Arrow Cross movement during the Nazi occupation. There is no documentary proof… it was all destroyed in 1956 when the building, which had by then, become the headquarters of the AVO… the "Államvédelmi Osztály"… the State Security Agency... was stormed; and all known members of the AVO were arrested and publicly hanged from lampposts in the street outside the building. The headquarters building was thoroughly wrecked and most of the documentation it contained was burned.'

He thumbed through the file again, and looked up.

Ah, here he is… Nagler; Franzl Nagler.'

He glanced at Stacey.

'You really were lucky to escape from this man. Nagler was one of the main torturers with the Arrow Cross Party when they were at Andrássy Avenue. The indictments against him run into the hundreds. It was reported that he had been executed in one of his own Headquarters torture chambers by the Red Army when they finally overran the city. More accurately; nothing has been heard of him since 1945.'

He closed the file and looked across at Berényi.

'There is a problem with this. Drescher has friends in high places. I doubt that we will ever get him to court even with the sworn affidavit of Officer Mckenna, and the Police surgeon's report of her injuries; and we have no information on Nagler whatsoever…'

Jacob Stendal interrupted him. His expression was unreadable and stone cold; and the tone of his voice was icy.

'That is no more than I would have expected from you people. We will deal with them; and I would advise you not to interfere.'

Tamás Berényi stared at him.

'If you mean what I think you mean; I cannot permit this. It contravenes any concept of justice we abide by in this city.'

Stendal smiled; a smile that resembled an open grave.

'This is not your justice, Major. It is ours.'

Berényi stood and banged his fist in the desk.

'We cannot tolerate a quasi-military execution team running loose in our city.'

Stendal smiled again.

'That is your prerogative, Major; but rest assured, we do not forget those who have killed our brothers, and these animals will feel the hand of Gideon upon them. I cannot say when, or where; but rest assured, one day you will be dragging their carcasses out of the Danube.'

He stood, and turned to Stacey.

'Miss Mckenna; an Embassy car will be here for you shortly. I shall see you again there. I now have to see the Israeli Ambassador and notify him of Richard Menke's demise.'

He turned back to Tamás Berényi.

'I need not remind you Major that the most pressing issue in this set of circumstances is the apprehension of this Neo-Fascist pig, Bernát Kóbor.'

He nodded to Reisz; turned, and left the office.