Page 69 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
“Do you know the carousel in Central Park?” Every New Yorker did.
“Yes.”
“Meet me there at three. I will be carrying an umbrella.” There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so he’d be the only one. He was sure he would have recognized her by her body language alone, but it was important that she approach him as part of him winning over her trust. It was like trying to befriend a stray animal. You had to make them want to come to you. “If you help me, Hanna, we can put this all behind us that much quicker. Three o’clock.”
He hung up without giving her time to answer.
“What’s that all about?” asked James Dashwood, one of the permanent agents in the New York office. He’d once been Isaac Bell’s protégé, but was now a top investigator in his own right.
“A girl who can help me track down an anarchist tied to the group that Isaac fell in with over in Europe.”
“I heard Isaac’s on his way back.”
“Not exactly. He’s going to the Azore Islands to make sure these nihilists haven’t absconded with an old German battleship.”
“And if they have?”
“Heaven help us all.”
Archie arrived at the park several minutes early. The air was still a little cool so there weren’t that many children waiting to ride the park’s famous carousel. Still, it was a city favorite, and so there were always kids, usually with their mothers or nannies, willing to fork over the nickel for a ride. It wasn’t that long ago that the power to turn the merry-go-round was provided by a horse or donkey tied to the central pole down in the basement under the ride. They were trained to stop and start when the operator tapped the floor with his foot. Now it was powered by electricity, and old-timers said it smelled so much better than before.
Central Park was the city’s great equalizer. Anyone, from grandee to guttersnipe, used the park, so no one really stuck out as not belonging. Not knowing Hanna’s circumstance and not wanting her to feel uncomfortable or, worse, have her barred from entering, Archie couldn’t have invited her to the Knickerbocker Hotel or a nice restaurant. Here in the park, Archie looked as in place in his bespoke suit as the young nanny in a threadbare dress and secondhand coat pushing a pram, while another of her charges talked excitedly about the make-believe race he’d won on the carousel.
Archie spotted Hanna Muntean before she saw him. She was dark-haired with a dusky sort of complexion. She was about twenty, pretty, but Archie could see that life was already taking its toll. The way she slouched made her look like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. She wore a black dress and coat clutched tightly at the throat for warmth, but also for psychologicalprotection. She didn’t fidget much, but she was actively watching her surroundings, making certain that no one was approaching her from behind.
He was reminded of a little mouse coming out of its hole at the first whiff of food, at once tentative and determined.
He strolled past her, his incongruous umbrella in hand for her to see. She didn’t show any sign of recognition, which he didn’t think she would. She was young, but had been around long enough to know how to protect herself. He walked to a nearby bench and sat, the umbrella upright between his knees.
Hanna didn’t approach directly, but circled around a little bit so her joining him didn’t seem so obvious.
“Hello, Hanna. I’m Archie Abbott. Thank you for meeting me.”
She didn’t say anything. He understood why. Talking to him and potentially helping him was an act of betrayal to her and all those like her—not exactly criminals, but not citizens, either. She and her friends lived by their wits and had to trust each other with their lives. Talking to outsiders was simply not done unless they were a mark for some scam.
“Were you there when Balka killed Vano?”
“I…No. I had left the apartment, but I waited downstairs. I heard something hit the sidewalk. I looked out and saw him on the ground. He was…broken. I ran out the back of the building.”
“How do you know him, Balka Rath?”
“We are the same cla—” She was about to say clan, but stopped herself. “From the same part of Hungary.”
Archie had already guessed she was Roma, what others derisively called Gypsies for the misguided belief the people had originated in Egypt. They were hated across much of Europe because they were so clannish and resisted integrating into whatever country theyimmigrated to. That hate had come over on the migrant ships to America’s shores and so she was naturally reluctant to discuss her family’s past.
“He came here last fall. Sent by his brother. Karl is famous, even here. He is a strong leader who has dedicated his life to protecting our people. Karl knows my father and so he sent Balka to us. My papa is dead, so my older brother became his contact here. He was so handsome and mysterious. I…” She caught herself and went quiet.
She had clearly fallen under Balka’s spell, and just as clearly that love had soured, perhaps over the murder of Vano Hetzko, perhaps something else. It didn’t matter.
Archie asked, “What was Balka’s mission?”
“I don’t know.”
“No one has discussed it around you?”
“I am a woman. Nothing is discussed around me.”
“I need to find him, Hanna. A short while ago, Karl Rath forced my friend Isaac into a dangerous mission that could have made the Dutch enter the war. And just so you understand the stakes, the Germans would roll through Holland with ease, killing thousands in the process. We think Karl may be trying to do the same thing here. Engage in some monstrous act that will compel America into joining the war.”
