Dan Fesperman - The Double Game

“My father has a similar copy,” I said. “I never thought it was all that rare.”

“Rarity is not the reason for its value. Why don’t I inspect the papers you brought? Then, if I am convinced they are of sufficient quality as forgeries, I will consider exchanging this book.”

“You still haven’t told me its significance.”

“This copy was meant to be exchanged by one of Ed Lemaster’s couriers as part of a Dewey transaction. Long ago it came to me wrapped in butcher paper, and I was prepared to follow the usual routine: The phone call, the drop-off, and so on. I am sure you know. But it was never delivered.”

If he was telling the truth, the book was indeed valuable.

“Why do you still have it?”

“I was never comfortable with the arrangement. I came to feel I was being taken advantage of.”

“Weren’t you being paid?”

“Not sufficiently. I made that known.”

“To Ed Lemaster?”

“To the usual contacts. I did not know their names, or even their nationalities. I only knew from an earlier visit, when the arrangement was first conceived, that Mr. Lemaster was part of it. My participation began as a favor to him, as a valued customer of mine. Later, I learned enough about the network to make me uneasy.”

“So you tried to jack up the price?”

“You mischaracterize it, of course. I asked for fair compensation.”

“And?”

“My request was refused. But by then a new parcel-this one-had just arrived through the usual channels.”

“So you opened it, hoping to find out what all the fuss was about.”

“Yes.”

“And found the Oppenheimer book inside.”

“This very copy.”

The ends of my fingers tingled. I’d reached the end of a vitally important thread. If I swapped the papers for the book, I might get out of here in time for the evening train to Vienna.

“So I take it Lemaster didn’t agree to your asking price.”

“Regrettably, no. So I decided to keep the book. As insurance.”

“Against what?”

“Against this very sort of day. Of course, in those times I always expected that any trouble would come from someone threatening to expose my dealings with the West.”

“You were convinced this network was for the West?”

“Of course. Why would I have thought otherwise? Say what you will about those forged documents, I was a good patriot for the resistance, and this proves it.”

“Or maybe you were just willing to take money from anyone, no matter whose side they were on.”

“You embassy people.” His words dripped with disgust. “You lived in such a bubble. Your secrets made you feel safe, but they also made you fall in love with the idea that you were virtuous. All secrets are dirty, Mr. Cage. No one who handles them remains clean.”

“How come Lemaster never demanded the book back?”

“He did. I told him I had destroyed it, that I had thrown it into the Danube.”

“He believed you?”

“What choice did he have?”

“What did you find inside the book?”

“If I answered that question, then the book would lose much of its value.”

“Then let’s trade. Yours for mine, right here.”

He smiled, which told me I’d proffered too quickly. Bela Szondi was an old hand at manipulating overly eager customers.

“It is not that simple. And I certainly would not make the exchange here. For all I know you’ve alerted the police, or the newspapers. That Italian shooting snaps of his family might be some hack for Magyar Hirlap, ready to put me on the front page: Respected Antiquities Dealer Caught Covering Up His Past. ”

“I doubt it would say ‘Respected.’ But I could probably arrange for a story like that if you don’t want to go through with this.”

“I am not opposed to doing business with you. But I must first be able to examine the documents, and I will only do that where there is more privacy.”

I was wary, figuring he meant to maneuver me into a car or a house.

“Where?”

“Not to worry. Only a few feet from here. Just below, on the very stairs you probably climbed to come here.”

The stairway was out in the open. I tried to remember if there had been anything iffy about the switchbacks and terraces along the way, and came up empty.

“Shall we complete this transaction or not?” he said. “If not, I can always throw the book into the Danube for real this time.”

“Let’s trade.”

“You are a shrewd bargainer, Mr. Cage. One of the better ones I have dealt with.”

Meaning I’d probably been a chump, but right then I didn’t care.

“Let us retire to the stairway, then.” he said.

He stood. I reached for my wallet to pay for the tea, but Szondi stayed my hand.

“Please. You are my guest.” He laid a pair of bills on the table. “After you.”

“No. After you.”

He smiled a bit too broadly, then nodded.

“I take no issue with a man who wishes to be careful. I admire it, even.”

We left the cafe and walked to the stairs. Szondi flinched as a tourist camera flashed in passing. I lagged back a few feet, which he didn’t seem to mind. Two flights down, Szondi came to a stop just as the beefy fellow whose photo Laszlo had shown me loomed into view one flight below. He poked a gun barrel from inside his black jacket and smiled crookedly. I stopped, ready to beat a retreat, but when I turned I saw that a second armed thug was trotting down the steps toward us in Szondi’s wake.

“Keep going, Mr. Cage,” Szondi said. “Just a while longer now and it will all be over.”

I wasn’t thrilled with his wording. I looked around for help but the stairs were deserted. Soon they would kill me, perhaps within seconds. I felt certain of that. On the next flight down the first thug stepped off the stairs toward the stone wall that buttressed the hillside.

“Keep following him, Mr. Cage.”

He disappeared beneath the stairway into an alcove built into the wall. My heart was beating way too fast, and I was trying not to show fear in my face or gestures. It was time to make a move, or just run, but there seemed to be no opportunity for either. The thug behind me grabbed my right arm and led me up into the alcove, which stank of urine and damp trash, and as soon as we were inside I Belatedly realized that any hope of escape was now gone. The two thugs moved to block the exit, with Szondi between them. This was where they would do it.

“Hand me the papers, please. Put them on the ground in front of you and back away.”

Szondi kept his distance, which was a bad sign. I held on to the papers.

“Put the book down first.” I said. “You can slide it over to me.”

“And then find out later that the papers are fake? Even if they’re real, how do I know you haven’t made copies? We’ll have to search your room, of course.”

“Then why don’t I take you there now?”

“We know where you’re staying. I’m sure we’ll be able to find the key after we’re finished here.”

Szondi smiled as the import of his words sank in. The thug on the left leveled his gun at me. I rose on the balls of my feet to make a dive for it, and was about to answer when a woman’s voice barked an order from somewhere out in the open-an order that made both thugs freeze. I lost my balance, dropping to my knees on a slurry of wet newspapers and broken bottles, then scrambled to my feet just as Litzi stepped into the opening behind Bela Szondi.

She said something more. This time the thugs dropped their guns, which she kicked out of the way. They backed up a few steps and put their hands on their heads. Her next words were in English.

“Come out of there, Bill.”

“Gladly.” By now my heart was going a hundred beats per second, but I still had enough of my wits about me to remember what I’d come for.