Fragmented (33 page)

65

Three Days Later

Szentendre was
a peaceful little town situated at the bend of the
Danube
River
just north of
Budapest
,
Hungary
. Half a world away—literally—it was made up of small homes right out of a Hansel and Gretel storybook, complete with winding cobblestone streets. If you were to guess its age, you’d start with a thousand years and a day. From
Budapest
, the largest city in
Hungary
, it’s a twenty minutes ride by car, or forty minutes by public transportation, which is actually clean and reliable.

Jack arrived at the
Ferihegy
Airport
in
Budapest
. The Assistant Legal Attaché, or ALAT, in
Budapest
, Paul Cameron, met Jack when his plane landed. It was twenty-one hours from wheels up to touchdown, including a two-hour layover in
Frankfurt
. It was late morning and Jack was a bit tired and stiff but he told ALAT Cameron, who spoke Hungarian, that he wanted to get out to Szentendre immediately. They decided on skipping lunch, opting for a Hungarian version of a Power Bar that Cameron had in his briefcase. It tasted like chalk, only drier.

Cameron sat in the front passenger’s seat staring at a map. He’d brought a driver, Peter Goshi, a native Hungarian and an employee of the US Embassy, to guide them. Jack sat in the back of the Land Rover, staring out at the dark green hillsides and farmland, imagining what the place looked like under communist rule. There
were remnants of the old Soviet government, but like all relics, they looked tired and dilapidated, left to disintegrate into the earth while the original Hungarian culture stirred back to life, vibrantly, through the faces and homes of its inhabitants.

They crossed into Szentendre around one in the afternoon, immediately running into a wall of tourists milling around in the streets, gawking at rows of perfectly lined trinkets displayed at kiosk stands.

Cameron peered over the top of the map. “Turn here,” he directed, pointing at a narrow road that led up a hillside.

The driver, Goshi, turned, barely clearing a gray Trabant, an old East German car that resembled an even worse version of an AMC Gremlin, maneuvering through a series of skinny streets that left Jack completely lost.

“That’s the place,” Goshi called out, motioning beyond a long, crooked picket fence, at a two-story brick and mortar structure that looked like it was built just after the turn of the century. The driver pulled over to the side and parked. All three exited, passing through the gate.

“Let me talk first,” Cameron said.

As anxious as Jack was for answers, he knew Cameron had the only shot to get them.

Cameron rapped on the wooden door, and a short, old man who looked well into his seventies answered. Barrel chested under a button down shirt that, at one time, used to be white, he sported cotton trousers, worn and dark gray. His hair was thin on top but wiry and thick on his arms, his skin red and leathery all over.

Cameron greeted the man in Hungarian, then introduced Jack. The man said his name was Jozeph Mink, and that he and his wife, Heine, had been living here for the past fifty years. Cameron explained the reason for their visit and asked if he’d look at photograph. Mink called his wife in from the kitchen.

Jack retrieved a photograph that Harrington had printed from Cooper’s computer. The picture showed Cooper and his friend Janos Mink, taken when they both lived here.

Jack placed the photo in Jozeph’s hand. “Do you know a Lazlo Mink? I understood him to be the landlord of this residence.”

Cameron translated. Jozeph listened intently, nodding the entire time. Then he spoke. Cameron waited until he was done before turning to Jack
.

“He said Lazlo Mink was his brother. Lazlo and his family lived here with Jozeph and his wife.”

“Are they still here?”

Cameron shook his head. “No. Just before the Wall fell, the Hungarian Secret Police was cracking down hard on dissidents and black marketeers, especially those that didn’t give the police a share of the profits. The Minks were taken away late one night. Jozeph never saw them again. They were most likely killed.”

“What about Cooper? Does Jozeph remember him?”

Cameron again translated in Hungarian.

“Yes, he said. He remembers the American boy that came to live with them. He befriended his brother and wife, became close to their son, Janos.”

“Where is Janos now?”

Cameron paused for a moment, bowed his head and then cleared his throat. “Dead. He died in a fire.”

“Tell me what happened,” Jack said.

“After Jozeph’s brother and sister-in-law were taken away, Janos and the American took off, hoping they could bribe the police into letting them go. Later that evening, the police returned to the house and told him that his nephew was involved in a car accident. The car caught fire and burned Janos to death.”

“And what happened to Cooper, the American?”

“He doesn’t know. He never came back.”

That was all Jack needed to know. He pointed at the photograph that was still in Jozeph’s hand.

“Is that Janos in the picture?”

Cameron asked and Jozeph nodded. Egan, egan.

Jack understood that much. Yes, yes. Jack drew closer to Jozeph and again, pointed at the picture. “Which one? Which one is Janos?”

Jozeph slid a finger over the photo, stopping on one of the faces. Cooper.

“Janos? This is Janos?”

He nodded and repeated the familiar words, “Egan, egan.”

Jack stared at the photo. What Jozeph told him corroborated his suspicions. The person he knew as Alvin Franklin Cooper was, in fact, Janos Mink, the young teenager who supposedly died in that auto accident. That badly burnt body? Jack could only guess that it was the real Cooper. During that time,
Hungary
was in turmoil and Janos Mink wanted out. With his family arrested for black market trafficking, it would only be a matter of time before Janos would find himself in an interrogation cell. Whether his act was intentional or simply seizing an opportunity, Janos traded identities with his American friend. Jack knew this from the notebooks. He remembered noticing the handwriting from the books taken from the Russell residence, how it was different than the writing found with Jessica Baker. His penmanship had changed between the time Cooper was in
Hungary
and when he came to
America
. That’s because it wasn’t Cooper who came back.

66

It had
been a week since Jack had returned from
Hungary
. He and ALAT Cameron met with the Hungarian National Police and explained what they had uncovered, so to speak, and that the American government requested the body of Alvin Franklin Cooper be exhumed for positive identification. Jack figured if they were going to track a fugitive, they might as well get his name right.

With the days now starting to cool, Jack decided to take a couple of days off to decompress. He thought about driving to the coast and staying at a little place close to the beach, one that didn’t have cell phone coverage. He pulled down a suitcase and packed. He even tossed in his golf shoes, just in case. Jack picked up the phone and called Marquez, told her he would be gone for a couple of days. She told Jack to round it up to a week. He explained his plan to keep his phone off. She laughed and said it would be like a person with OCD trying to walk past a glass table with fingerprints. He told Marquez that when he found out where he was going, he would call her with the number. She told Jack not to worry. The world still turned without him.

He was packed and ready to leave when his cell phone vibrated. He looked down and saw it was his wife, Emily, calling. He pressed the talk button and drew the phone to his ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey back. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. Thought I’d check in with you to see how you’re holding up.”

Jack pulled his feet up onto the couch so that he was in full recline. “That’s very nice of you. I’m sorry I haven’t called; we had our hands full with the kidnapping.”

“I was following on the news.” Emily paused. “How’s the girl?”

“Considering everything that has happened, she’s doing pretty well.”

“You did good, Jack.”

Jack fell silent. When they weren’t arguing, to Jack, there was nothing sweeter than Emily’s voice. Like a warm blanket on a winter’s night.

“Thanks.” It was all he could think to say.

Jack could hear Emily fumbling for the right words. She cleared her throat to speak, then stopped. “When I heard Baker’s father pleading on TV for his daughter’s safe return, I knew you would be the one who would bring her home.”

Emily always knew the right thing to say. It made him feel uncomfortable and proud at the same time. He melted. “So what are your plans for the weekend?”

Emily let out a deep breath. “Actually, nothing exciting. The usual stuff. House cleaning, grocery shopping….”

“I’m going to see the sun set,” Jack said.

Emily hesitated, “I figured you’d have a stack of paperwork to do.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. Would you care to join me?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“What you plan to do with your cell phone.”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “Funny you should ask. Think I lost it.”

Emily laughed. “Okay.”

They talked for a few more minutes but Jack needed to get off the phone. A slight change of plans in his itinerary. He thought he’d better repack. He tried to keep things in perspective. Didn’t want to lose sight of reality. It was important that he didn’t forget about the fights, the screams, the crying and the compromises. Having Emily join him at beach didn’t suddenly make everything right again. But it was a start. One step at a time, he thought.

He pulled his cell phone one last time and glanced at his new messages. He played one left by Border Collins, who said he understood why Jack hadn’t called him back—the kidnapping—but reiterated the board was still interested in hiring him. Jack just couldn’t make that call. Not today. Of all the criticism, self doubt and second-guessing that came with the job, there was nothing more rewarding than prevailing, beating those who took advantage of others. He hit 9, saving the message for another thirty days.

Minutes later, soft bag over his shoulder and keys in his hands, he stood at the open front door, hot air from outside invading the cool apartment. He reached to his waist and unclipped his cell phone. He stared at it for a second. It was only for the weekend. What could possibly go wrong? Carefully, he set it on the entryway table next to the front door, giving it one last look, the kind you give your child when he leaves for his first day of college. Then he walked out the door and locked it.

Janos Mink held the throwaway cell phone to his ear, waiting for Jack to pick up. It rang several times before going to voicemail. He patiently waited to leave his message.

“Agent
Paris
, this is….” he paused. “It’s me. I got your message in the Rabbit Hole.” He wagged a finger at the phone. “Just so that you know, I do remember you. From our first encounter many years ago. Since that interview at the Chico Police Department, I always thought of you as a smart man, Mr. Paris. Truly, a smart man. I just want you to know that with the passing of my dear friend Eric Youngblood, you should not have to worry about children being kidnapped for pleasure. At least by Mr. Youngblood. As for me, I can’t say what I plan on doing, or, as you know, as whom. I enjoyed being Alvin Cooper but I know that is no longer possible.

“A name is nothing more than something to be called, you know. What identifies a person is his character. Goodbye, Mr. Paris. I can only hope our paths never cross again.” Another pause. “But I guess that would be asking too much.”

It was early evening in
Buenos Aires
. Janos Mink sat alone at a local bar. He closed the phone and placed it on the countertop. A bartender wiped the slick, dark wood in a slow circular motion, not paying attention to the phone left behind.

The bar was crowded and the noise was beginning to rise like the temperature on a
California
summer day. Janos Mink reflected on his last life, the life in
America
. Learning a new language was easy when you’re young. It was ridding yourself of the accent that showed your talent. He was good at that. He did it well when he took on the identity of Alvin Cooper. Now it was time to learn another language a world away.

He turned around and watched the patrons, studying their faces, their body language. It was a new place for a new look. He scanned the area for a new target.