The Budapest Protocol, page 17
Almost halfway around and Alex had his second wind now. He breathed easily and steadily, sprinted ahead of David and swerved around two old ladies in fur coats, walking small, yapping dogs. Sea gulls soared and squawked above him. There were moments, rare enough, but they did occur, when he felt he could do anything. Alex looked closer as he approached the water tower. A small figure sat on a bench with her arms wrapped around her legs, watching the river. She looked familiar. Very familiar.
Alex sat down, breathing hard.
“Back from your business trip?” asked Zsofi, staring out at the water. She looked waif-like and vulnerable, wrapped in a man’s army parka. It was his, he realised, ‘borrowed’ several weeks earlier when she had left in the early morning hours.
“And you didn’t call me, or send me an email, or even a text message.”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “No. I didn’t. Congratulations, Juliet. When do you start?”
“Next week.” She paused. “Alex, I, we... I just keep wishing that I had two lives,” she said, her voice small and uncertain as she turned to him.
He reached for her hand. She wrapped her fingers through his.
“I know, Zsofi. We won’t be able to see much of each other. You’ll be spending most of your time in Vienna.” He watched an empty box bouncing on the waters, moving fast as the current pulled it towards Margaret Bridge. A running figure, wearing blue trousers and a hooded turquoise sweatshirt appeared in the distance, moving with graceful strides.
“You let me go that easily,” Zsofi said, loudly sniffing and wiping her eyes.
Alex drew her close to him. They sat together silently for several minutes, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. He watched the box rush towards the bridge, bounce off one of the stanchions, and disappear into the distance.
“Alex,” she asked. “We will always be friends, won’t we?”
“Of course.”
“Will you come and watch me dance in Vienna?”
He smiled. She really was incorrigible. “Maybe. But that’s all,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her cheek.
The runner drew closer and slowed down. Alex looked up to see Natasha staring at him as she passed the bench. She waved hallo, quickly looked away and sprinted off into the distance.
* * *
Cassandra Orczy settled down to work late into the night again. As soon as one pile of papers on her desk went off to her bosses, suitably marked and annotated, another appeared. Budgets had been blown, agents dispatched before their training was finished, and still the questions came from on high: what were the implications of Frank Sanzlermann becoming the first President of Europe for Hungarian national security? Despite all her endeavours, the gold-rimmed Zsolnay coffee cups were no nearer, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter any more. Even the quote from Sun Tzu framed on her wall failed to work its usual magic.
The truth was, she was lonely. She and Mubarak had broken up twenty years ago. He had proposed, but she had said no. She wanted a career, and an officer in the security service could hardly be married to a money-changer. So she had thought, until she found out how many of her colleagues were using their contacts abroad to run black market businesses, and their Communist Party connections to lavishly enrich themselves. As she had done, by buying the former Farkas family summer villa for $5,000. That was profiteering, pure and simple.
Of course she hadn’t known then that the villa had once belonged to her father’s best friend’s family. But that was hardly the point. Her father had advised against marrying Mubarak, although of course he would never admit that he did not want his daughter to marry an Arab. Instead she had married Laszlo Orczy, rising star in the Hungarian theatre. Who, she soon discovered, rose to every opportunity to bed the fans who flocked to his dressing room. The marriage had not lasted. Perhaps if she had said yes to Mubarak, he would not have stayed a money-changer. What a hypocrite she was. What was the use of being chief of the Threat Assessment and Analysis Department when you woke up alone every morning?
She picked up the latest report on Frank Sanzlermann. It was raw intelligence, from an agent dubbed ‘Voter’. Voter was their only source inside Sanzlermann’s inner circle. Signals intelligence, microphones and radio transmitters had brought in a meagre harvest. They had bugged the candidate’s room of course, placing tiny transmitters in the power sockets, light circuits, even the curtain rails. But his security people had swept the room and found every one; even the latest models that the British MI6 had said were undetectable. Sanzlermann’s people did not use the hotel telephone other than to speak to room service. Their mobile phones were encrypted and the security service could not crack the code. Their emails were bland, confirmations of meetings, times and places. There was so much car and bus traffic around the hotel that laser bugging – bouncing the beam off the window to pick up speech vibrations – was not very effective, and the few smatterings they had gleaned up had too much background noise.
The Israelis had passed over some material on Istvan Matonhely, the leader of the Pannonia Brigade, and his international links. There was an interesting money trail, leading from Zurich to South America. The Americans had sent satellite pictures of Sanzlermann meeting senior executives of KZX and the Volkstern Corporation at a remote hunting lodge in the Austrian Alps. MI6’s economic analysts had promised a report on Sanzlermann’s campaign financing. What she needed, Cassandra knew, was to get people inside the hotel. Her watchers in the nearby buildings had reported a steady procession of Austrian and German businessmen passing through Sanzlermann’s campaign headquarters, together with some very powerful figures in the Swiss banking world.
One of the Swiss had substantial interests in the Budapest property market. He had recently invested heavily in a riverside block of flats, bought cheaply from the state. But the development had run into difficulties. The son of the original pre-war owner had suddenly turned up alive and well, living in Hampstead, London. From where he was demanding the return of his family property, or substantial compensation. Reminded of this, and promised the security service’s help in ‘smoothing out legal problems’ the Swiss banker had suddenly proved remarkably cooperative. Some kind of top-security gala dinner or party was planned for the evening of November 9, he had told her. Dignitaries would be flying in from Germany, Austria, Switzerland and South America. She reminded herself to tell the London station that ‘Operation Hampstead’ had proved most successful. Voter’s report was flagged ‘Top Secret’. So secret that it existed only in one paper copy. It would not be circulated to the former business partner of Attila Hunkalffy who had just been appointed director of the State Security Service. The secret service was now spying on its own Prime Minister and his associates. An inner cabal was keeping the chief out of the loop. Well, she smiled to herself, that’s nothing new.
From: Voter
To: Head of Threat Assessment and Analysis Department
Cc: Head of Counter-Intelligence Directorate
1. Attention is respectfully drawn to the fact this agent’s despatches have just been upgraded from ‘Secret’ to ‘Top Secret’. This task and the information gained are highly delicate with possible ramifications at the highest level of national security, and the contents of this report should be handled with the utmost discretion, especially considering the increasing links between the government of ATTILA HUNKALFFY and FRANK SANZLERMANN’s campaign staff.
2. This agent’s report is based on material he has gathered first hand, from his own conversations and gleanings. The facts contained are not just based on talking with named individuals, but also on his personal examination of documents, emails, letters and passports. A list of names and relevant business organisations is attached as ‘Appendix A’. Where material has been indirectly learnt it has been marked with a *.
3. Before proceeding, it is necessary to briefly restate the current political and diplomatic context of developments in post-communist Europe. Despite the rhetoric about returning the former Soviet bloc to the ‘common family home’ the reality is very different. There is growing resentment and disillusionment across western Europe at the costs of subsidising the fifteen new members. There is widespread anger that organised crime syndicates have retained their power and are linked to, and cooperate, with several governments. Ministers and senior police officers in accession countries are implicated in continent-wide networks smuggling women, drugs and even weapons from the Balkans to western Europe. Corruption is widespread and apparently unstoppable. Early enthusiasm to reform and modernise the accession countries has evaporated. Instead western governments are increasingly focused on the terrorist attacks by the Immigration Liberation Army, and their domestic political fall-out. The ever-louder calls for a ‘crackdown’ on illegal immigration and asylum seekers, means that little attention is given in Brussels and Strasbourg to political developments in the new member countries. Within this context, this agent believes he does not exaggerate when he says that a victory for FRANK SANZLERMANN in the coming election for European President, combined with the continuing administration of ATTILA HUNKALFFY, poses a substantial threat to national security and Hungary’s continuing economic independence.
She rubbed her eyes, and read through the paragraph again, this time more slowly.
4. ATTILA HUNKALFFY appears to be seen by the SANZLERMANN campaign as some kind of agent-in-place. It is unclear how much, if any, genuine autonomy he exercises. Concurrent with FRANK SANZLERMANN’S election campaign a parallel strategy seems to be operating on four, possibly more, fronts at once in Hungary. This closely follows the pattern of events in Croatia, Slovakia and Romania, the wartime allies of Nazi Germany, where far-right governments have taken power. These fronts are: manipulating public opinion through control of the media, especially television, and, increasingly, websites; the sustained weakening of already shaky independent institutions such as Parliament, the police and judiciary; the use of violence against minorities to engender feelings of insecurity; widespread corruption, and a collapse in the value of the national currency (caused in part by the previous four steps) which opens the door for foreign investors to buy up national assets at prices far below their market value.
The strategy can be summarised as: Psychological/Media; Anti-Minority Actions; Police/Judiciary and Economy. All areas are interlinked. (It will of course be appreciated that many agents fall victim to self-projection and present their observations in a form intended to direct the reader to a certain conclusion. But I hope it is understood that this agent is concerned merely to present what he has discovered, rather than trying to draw premature and erroneous conclusions from this, or any other report.)
“Voter, you are one of the most pompous people I have ever encountered,” said Cassandra out loud. What you want to say, she thought, is that you don’t know what it all means yet, but then neither do I. She read on.
5. A breakdown follows of the four areas. The recently-launched Pannonia Brigade is of particular interest. As the general economic and political situation deteriorates, Hungarian society seeks a scapegoat. Traditionally, this has been the Jews. However since Hungary’s accession to the European Union and subsequent growth of a young, more modern-minded middle-class, open anti-Semitism is no longer politically acceptable. There are few such constraints though with regard to the Roma. The Pannonia Brigade, which appears to be financed by émigré groups in South America, Germany and Austria, is focusing on what it describes as ‘Gypsy crime’. Its choice of uniform, the traditional Hussars’ costume, is psychologically masterful. The black outfits have a sufficiently militaristic feel, but are also part of Hungary’s traditional dress, and so place the Pannonia Brigade firmly within the mainstream ‘national community’. The subtext is that all ‘true Hungarians’ should be protesting against ‘Gypsy crime’ and that violence is a legitimate form of national self-defence. The violence against the Roma serves a dual purpose: it engenders feelings of insecurity in the wider population, that state institutions can no longer protect society, but paradoxically, also makes them feel more secure, as non-Roma Hungarians are not being targeted.
The precise strategic relationship between these four areas and FRANK SANZLERMANN’S election campaign is so far unclear, but there are strong linkages of personnel, interests and financial backers.
She flicked through to the appendix. Sanzlermann’s campaign was funded by numerous titans of German industry including of course, KZX Industries and the Volkstern Corporation. Hunkalffy had not heeded her warning about KZX buying a controlling stake in the Hungarian pharmaceutical industry, and was allowing the buy-out to go ahead. But was ‘Voter’ serious? Was he credible? She walked over to the window, and looked at the Danube. A barge moved slowly downstream, laded with coal, black as the night-time waters. She caught site of her reflection in the glass. Her blond hair was lank, dark shadows ringed her eyes. She poured herself some more coffee before returning to her desk. This would have be to flagged ‘urgent’. She turned back the pages, to the detailed breakdown dealing with the media.
The use of the media is of prime importance. Ultra-nationalist websites such as pannoniabrigade.hu publish the names, telephone numbers and home addresses of political opponents. They organise ‘flash-mobs’, instant demonstrations, which frequently result in violence. The state media adopts more subtle tactics, such as the increasing number of stories about Israelis and property acquisition. Coded anti-Semitism, disguised as anti-Israel propaganda, is steadily increasing, through the use of terms such as the ‘New York-Tel Aviv Axis’, ‘rootless cosmopolitans’, media outrage over the ‘blood-price’ exacted by the Israeli army on its military operations, and increasing comparisons between the Hungarians and the Palestinians – meaning that Israelis/Jews are forcing the Magyars from their ancient homeland.
Such language and terms speak to an “underground community of the mind”, that is, people who share values which are no longer acceptable in public discourse, but are still strongly held. The coded terminology is part of the campaign’s ‘psy-ops’ or psychological operations. The language increases nervousness among those opposed to ATTILA HUNKALFFY. Another tactic is not to deny the Holocaust, but to minimise it, and blame the Nazi genocide on a regime long vanished, of little relevance to the present day. At the same time, extremist leaders such as ISTVAN MATONHELY are frequent guests on chat-shows and news programmes. Their views are never challenged by the journalists, but are accepted as part of the political mainstream, thus ‘de-stigmatising’ and legitimising the politics of hate.
This agent has discovered that LASZLO KENGODON, a Hungarian psychologist of Jewish background, has been charged with responsibility for psy-ops. KENGODON was briefly married to an Israeli medical student who left him and returned home, which seems to have triggered a violent psychological reaction, verging on self-hatred. He has been warmly welcomed as a ‘Court Jew’, who provides a useful alibi against charges of anti-Semitism. KENGODON is a close associate of BALAZS NOLUDI, who is a media advisor to ATTILA HUNKALFFY, and editor of Ébredjetek Magyarok! KENGODON uses his knowledge of Jewish history and culture to create as much havoc as possible. For example: KENGODON holds training sessions where he teaches young activists basic Hebrew. These groups are then despatched around the country to small towns and villages that were once home to Jewish communities. They pose as Israelis and march around the local streets, ringing doorbells and making loud and aggressive enquiries about property ownership. Local journalists are tipped off about their arrival, ensuring substantial media coverage. The pseudo-Israelis cause profound unease, especially as tens of thousands of homes, factories and other buildings were simply appropriated once the former owners were sent to the camps.
Cassandra flicked through to the end of the report before she put it down. There were another forty points, spread over seventeen pages. She lit another cigarette. It was going to be a long night.
FOURTEEN
Alex strode into the Budapest News editorial office full of optimism and good cheer. It was Friday morning, a few minutes before 11.00am and the newspaper’s weekly meeting. The editorial floor was usually crowded with reporters, designers and advertising staff, cracking jokes and taking friendly enjoyment in finding the tiny errors that inevitably crept into every issue. Alex was looking forward to taking the staff out for a celebratory drink after work to toast Natasha’s scoop and to start the weekend. Which was why the tense, nervous atmosphere was even more puzzling. His ‘Good morning’ dried in his throat as he walked through the room.
Heads were bowed over computers, and the office was almost silent apart from the occasional click of a keyboard. Euan Braithwaite, a strapping former Rugby player from Hebden Bridge, who had recently joined the staff as sports editor, caught Alex’s eye and shook his head. There was no music playing in the design department, and Ronald Worthington’s office was dark and closed. Alex stepped inside the conference room. George Smith was the only person there, sitting in Ronald’s chair. A copy of that week’s paper lay on the table in front of him, with several paragraphs of Natasha’s interview with Sanzlermann heavily marked in red ink.
“You’re late,” Smith snapped, his blue pin-striped shirt covered with a liberal sprinkling of crumbs from a bag of croissants.
“Where is everybody?” asked Alex, sitting down opposite him.
“Busy working, where they should be,” he said, starting on a slab of sticky chocolate cake, and noisily slurping coffee from a familiar-looking mug. It was blue, with a picture of a dog jumping for a ball.
