One Day In Budapest. A Thriller.

Chapter 14

“I’m on holiday,” Morgan said. “And I wanted to meet the band.” She smiled at Berényi, forcing flirtation into her gaze, fully aware of what this man was capable of. “Are you part of the band?”
Morgan’s senses were in overdrive. As Berényi’s eyes assessed her, she could feel his men drawing in closer behind, their interest sparked by her lewd behavior with the technician. She needed to get out of there, but so far, there was no change on the screen. Had the USB stick not been pushed in far enough?
“I’ve seen you before,” Berényi said, suspicion growing in his eyes and an edge of menace creeping into his voice. “What are you really doing here?”

The crowd started chanting as the band led them in another popular song, the chorus some kind of repetitive rant. But then the sound faltered, tailing off into silence as the giant screens flickered from the nationalist symbols to the view of a cavern lit by candlelight.
Berényi noticed the change of mood and turned from Morgan towards the screen, his eyes widening as he saw the táltos cutting a piece of the Holy Right, and the face of László Vay rapt with wonder as he knelt to receive the dark Mass.

Morgan took her chance to slip towards the barrier, but as she moved away, Berényi spun and caught her arm.
“You,” he hissed. “Jew bitch.”
He barked something in Hungarian and two of his men rushed forward to hold her as Morgan struggled to escape. She slipped from one grip, defending herself, but the other man caught her from behind. One meaty hand covered her mouth to quiet her, and her heart raced as she knew it was only a matter of time until Berényi would deal with her himself. She was pulled tight against the hard body of one of the guards, waiting for the order. She gathered her strength, focusing on the weak points of the man behind, her mind recalling her training in the Israeli Defense Force.

The technician was frantically tapping at the computer, clearly unable to gain control of the screens again. He spotted the USB stick and pulled it from the side but the video kept on playing, a loop clearly focused on the Holy Right and Vay drinking the tainted wine. From her pinioned position, Morgan could see disgust dawning on the face of the crowd as Hungary’s golden boy showed his true colors. The press were filming and Morgan had no doubt that this was going out on national television, that the radio waves would be alive with gossip, and social media would be spreading the word. Some in the crowd held up their phones, recording the images and in this age of connectivity, there would be nowhere to hide from this scandal. Vay’s disappearance would be taken as a response to public shame, and he would be forgotten.

Berényi spun from the technician’s desk, and Morgan could see indecision in his eyes. Should he go on stage now and take control for his party? Or should he disappear before he was tainted with the same disgrace? He walked toward her, and she could see in his eyes that he would make her pay for this outrage. He nodded at the men and they started pulling her backwards towards the curtained area behind the stage. It had to be now. 

Morgan bit the man’s hand, tearing at his flesh as she bent forward hard, shifting her centre of gravity so that the man was pulled over her. At the same time, she stomped back with her boot, raking the side of his calf. That opened up enough space for her arm to swing back and hit him once, twice, in the groin, all in a matter of a second. He grunted and let her go, clearly not expecting such resistance. Morgan spun away, arms raised in the open palm Krav Maga stance. She saw the other men pull batons from their waist pouches, flicking them to full length. Morgan knew that she couldn’t hold off this many, but she was determined not to go easily.

The men advanced and then, suddenly, Berényi barked an order and they stopped. Morgan looked around to see two news crews filming them from the crowd, now focused on the drama unfolding around her. It was as if the real world had suddenly flooded into Hollo Berényi’s consciousness. He knew that there were too many witnesses to what he wanted to do and he wasn’t going down like his boss.

The reporters called out to him, wanting a statement, but he spun away, walking quickly behind the stage followed by his men. The technician ran out after them, followed by the tenacious media, and soon Morgan was left alone at the side of the stage. The band members left sheepishly and the crowd began to disperse, the energy of the day sucked dry by the revelations of the video feed. There was an air of anti-climax, as the tension dissipated into gossip and the planned riot was forgotten. Morgan knew that the danger was over, at least for today.

***

Thanks for reading!

There are 3 more books in the ARKANE series, so you can join Morgan Sierra on more adventures in Pentecost, Prophecy and Exodus.

The books are available in ebook format at Amazon stores and Kobo, as well as in print and audio through Amazon.

I also have a darker crime novel, Desecration, that opens with a murder in a medical specimen museum. Plus a short story series inspired by Dante’s Inferno, A Thousand Fiendish Angels.

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