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Excerpt from Checkmate, an RCMP Mystery
E-Book Set in Hungary
Checkmate
Checkmate
A chess game spanning half a century threatens the reputation of the British monarchy. Then a Winnipeg RCMP officer goes on holiday, and soon it is checkmate for more than the original players.When Stan and Sonja travel to Hungary on their honeymoon they are looking for more than a cultural experience. Sonja is determined to find the brother who sold her into the sex trade in Canada. Stan, an RCMP officer, wants answers to more than one question but a Gypsy, a mobster and a meddling journalist get in his way.
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Copyright, August, 2009
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CHAPTER ONE
Radvany, Hungary, 1941
He finally found mention of the war on page three of the Hungarian daily. In England, news of Germany's march on Yugoslavia would have been the lead story of every Fleet Street newspaper. Carl McCartney folded the slim publication and tossed it on the cluttered breakfast table.
Since declaring herself neutral in 1939, Hungary continued to stick its head in the sand. Utter folly. Ignoring the war wouldn't make it go away. At some point the country would be forced to deal with it. Carl didn't want to be around when that day arrived.
Bloody hell! The latest German advance made his continued stay in the chateau even more dangerous. Damn Don Maclean. And Philby as well. He had come to Hungary on sabbatical to study Magyar history and languages, not to muck about in the shadow world of covert negotiations. He should never have agreed to act as a conduit for messages coming out of eastern Europe.
With or without instructions he had to leave. But first, he'd have to deal with the correspondence and other papers. The contents of the documents were explosive. In the wrong hands, the English monarchy would be destroyed.
A burst of laughter intruded on his thoughts. Breakfast in the chateau's elegant dining-room was coming to an end. Few of Count Karolyi's guests, the majority of whom were German, seemed concerned with events beyond the borders of the estate. Perhaps the unhindered advance of the German blitzkrieg made them cocksure, or, Carl mused, since they had paid to be treated like royalty they felt they were allowed royalty's disdain for anything that interfered with their personal pleasure.
A clutch of brightly dressed women mounted the carved staircase to guest rooms on the upper floor while a group of men gathered near the serving station. Rows of anonymous Karolyi ancestors gazed down from portraits on the walls in stern approval as plans were made for hunting boar and tennis matches.
Bela Makkos, the chateau's manager, caught Carl's eye. Makkos raised his hand in a greeting as he approached Carl's table and addressed him in flawless English. "Professor McCartney, you have mail this morning." He laid a small packet of letters next to Carl's empty coffee cup.
Like his employer, Count Karolyi, Makkos was a member of the aristocracy--albeit a minor one. In the past few decades much of Europe's nobility had fallen on hard times and now had to work for a living. If he resented his circumstances Makkos hid it well.
Carl fingered the bundle of letters, willing one to be from Don. It was Donald Maclean who had gotten Carl into this mess. Last year's reunion at Cambridge to celebrate both Donald's upcoming nuptials, and Carl's sabbatical, had turned into a booze-soaked discussion of politics. A few too many gin and tonics, plus talk of down-trodden nations had resulted in Carl's commitment to 'assist in the cause of diplomacy'.
Discrete throat clearing drew Carl from his thoughts.
"Would you be interested in a game of chess this afternoon, sir?" Makkos asked. Both Carl and the estate manager shared a passion for chess and had fallen into the routine of playing most afternoons. Carl had lost respect for the man after inadvertently witnessing an incident between Makkos and a chamber maid, but he did enjoy the estate manager's skill as an opponent in chess. They were evenly matched, so the games had an intensity that allowed Carl to forget his circumstances for a short time.
He nodded in agreement. "I'd enjoy a game. Shall we say 3:00 o'clock, by the pool?"
Back in his room he lit his second cigarette of the day as he sorted through the letters. Mail delivery had become unreliable. Often a glut of letters arrived followed by several weeks with no correspondence. He recognized his mother's handwriting, a letter from the research department. Yes ... Don! He tore the envelope open and removed the thin sheet of blue onion-skin paper. Amid general comments of life in France his friend cautioned, "If you have to leave Hungary quickly don't bother with your luggage, old chap. If it's time to get out, just leave it behind in storage. When things settle down you can always retrieve it."
Carl let the paper fall from his hands. Good God. What a cock-up. Had he wasted his time on all those day-trips? The so-called interviews that had nothing to do with his research? He retrieved the letter, tore it into small pieces and pulled the chain to flush it down the ancient loo. If it hadn't been for the documents and notes he would have been out of Hungary weeks ago. Now the German army was advancing on one side and the Russians on the other. In chess terms, Hungary was the pawn in an opening gambit.
Carl pulled his straw hat lower over his brow to ward off the sun's rays. If it was this hot in June, what would it be like in August? The heat, and his dilemma over the documents, made concentrating on the chess game doubly difficult.
His wandering gaze settled on a distraction in the pool. An insect that had fallen into the water. The tiny creature's struggles sent small water ripples fanning outward in ever-growing concentric circles. Below the surface the black and white tiles on the bottom of the pool resembled the chess board in front of him. The war, life--it was all like a chess game. A deadly serious one, but a game all the same. Every move and countermove had consequences across the board.
Makkos offered up a King's Bishop's Pawn.
As Carl reached for a knight, the afternoon's outward appearance of tranquillity shattered when a young serving girl rushed from the chateau in tears. "Kassa was bombed! By the Russians! Kassa was bombed!"
Kassa, a not insignificant city about fifty kilometres from where they sat.
Carl's stomach knotted. Hungary would now be forced into her opening move. .
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