Parker stood there, furious. He was tempted to interfere, but he could not afford to get involved in anything that might turn into a scandal. He stayed where he was, watching the boy disappear into the night.
The second man smiled at Kevin Parker sympathetically.
“You should choose your company more carefully. He’s bad news.”
Parker took a closer look at the speaker. He was blond and attractive, with almost perfect features. Parker had a feeling that the evening might not be a total loss, after all. “You could be right,” he said.
“We never know what fate has in store for us, do we?” He was looking into Parker’s eyes.
“No, we don’t. My name’s Tom. What’s your name?”
“Paul.”
“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, Paul?”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have any special plans for tonight?”
“That’s up to you.”
“How would you like to spend the night with me?”
“That sounds like fun.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
“I like you. For you, two hundred.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“It is. You won’t be sorry.”
Thirty minutes later Paul was leading Kevin Parker into an old apartment building on Jefferson Street. They walked upstairs to the third floor, and entered a small room. Parker looked around. “It’s not much, is it? A hotel would have been nicer.”
Paul grinned. “It’s more private here. Besides, all we need is the bed.”
“You’re right. Why don’t you get undressed? I want to see what I’m buying.”
“Sure.” Paul started stripping. He had a great body.
Parker watched him and he felt the old familiar urge beginning to build.
“Now, you get undressed,” Paul whispered. “Hurry, I want you.”
“I want you, too, Mary.” Parker began to take off his clothes.
“What do you like?” Paul asked. “Lips or hips?”
“Let’s make it a cocktail. Excuse the pun. We’ve got all night.”
“Sure. I’m going into the bathroom,” Paul said. “I’ll be right back.”
Parker lay on the bed naked, anticipating the exquisite pleasures that were about to happen. He heard his companion come out of the bathroom and approach the bed.
He held out his arms. “Come to me, Paul,” he said.
“I’m coming.”
And Parker felt a burst of agony as a knife slashed into his chest. His eyes flew open. He looked up, gasping. “My God, what …?”
Paul was getting dressed. “Don’t worry about the money,” he said. “It’s on the house.”
FLASH MESSAGE
TOP SECRET ULTRA
CIA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA
EYES ONLY
COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES
SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY
9. KEVIN PARKER – WASHINGTON, DC –
TERMINATED
END OF MESSAGE
Robert Bellamy missed the late news bulletin because he was on a plane to Hungary to find a man who owned a carnival.
Day Fourteen
Budapest
The flight from Paris to Budapest on Malev Airlines took two hours and five minutes. Robert knew very little about Hungary except that during World War II it had been a partner in the Axis, and had later become a Russian satellite. Robert took the airport bus to the centre of Budapest, impressed by what he saw. The buildings were old and the architecture classic. The Parliament House on the Rudolph Quay was a huge, Neo-gothic structure that dominated the city, and high on Castle Hill above the city was the Royal Palace. The streets were crowded with automobiles and shoppers.
The bus stopped in front of the Hotel Duna Intercontinental. Robert walked into the lobby and approached the concierge.
“Excuse me,” Robert said. “Do you speak English?”
“Igan. Yes. What may I do for you?”
“A friend of mine was in Budapest a few days ago, and he told me he saw a wonderful carnival. I thought as long as I was in town, I might take a look at it. Can you tell me where I might find it?”
The concierge frowned. “Carnival?” He pulled out a sheet of paper and scanned it. “Let’s see. In Budapest at the present time, we have an opera, several theatre productions, ballet, night and day tours of the city, excursions in the country …” He looked up. “I’m sorry. There are no carnivals.”
“Are you sure?”
The concierge handed the list to Robert. “See for yourself.” It was written in Hungarian.
Robert handed it back. “Right. Is there anyone else I might talk to about this?”
The concierge said, “The Ministry of Culture might be able to help you.”
Thirty minutes later, Robert was speaking to a clerk in the office of the Ministry of Culture.
“There is no carnival in Budapest. Are you sure your friend saw it in Hungary?”
“Yes.”
“But he did not say where?”
“No.”
“I am sorry. I cannot help you.” The clerk was impatient. “If there is nothing else …”
“No.” Robert rose to his feet. “Thank you.” He hesitated. “I do have one more question. If I wanted to bring a circus or a carnival into Hungary, would I have to get a permit?”
“Certainly.”
“Where would I go for that?”
“To the Budapest Administration of Licences.”
The licences building was located in Buda near the medieval city wall. Robert waited for thirty minutes before he was ushered into the office of a formal, pompous official.
“Can I help you?”
