The Fox of '56

Deception Lurks in the War-Torn Streets of Budapest

In 1956 as Hungarians mount their revolution against the Soviets, CIA agent Henry Caldwell is sent to Budapest to monitor activities. But when he sees Katalin, the love of his love who disappeared four years ago, he’s confused. Through the war-torn streets, Henry finds himself in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse where trust is scarce and survival uncertain.

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Chapter 11

The two older women who had been praying in the pews finally crossed themselves and ambled out of the church. A man, in a tattered suit, emerged from the confessional booth and sighed heavily. He took a long look at the statue of Jesus hanging on the cross beyond the Sanctuary, crossed himself, and hurried out.

Fr. Kormany asked me, “Are you a believer, Mr. Caldwell?”

“You might call me a passenger looking for an exit. I can’t say I believe, nor can I say I do not believe.”

“Did your parents take you to church when you were young?”

“Ha, no. My father was too busy making money on Wall Street and mother too busy planning parties.”

Fr. Kormany’s pale blue eyes grew a brilliant blue as the sun warmed the palates of colors in the stained-glass windows. “You don’t have to attend church to believe. You can find God whenever you encounter another human being.”

“Even in evil men?”

“Even in evil men. Every encounter is a lesson God wants us to learn and these encounters open the world to any number of infinite realities.”

“And you find God in the evil Soviets, the Soviets who kill your own, who keep a heavy thumb on the lives of Hungarians. You find God there, too?”

“That’s a heavy question. But the answer lies in the fact all human beings have free will. Free to make our own decisions, for good or bad. But I like to think of it this way – if God stopped all evil, we wouldn’t have free will at all. We’d be robots like the Soviet tanks in our streets lumbering through life controlled by God pushing us in whichever direction he deemed best. Without free will, love does not exist. For true love can only exist, when there is a choice.”

Fr. Kormany’s philosophy was starting to weigh heavily on my mind and pushing me in a direction I had no intention of going. All I wanted to do was survive the revolution, find Kat, and kill Orlov. I thought these were good and honorable objectives. “Father, I appreciate the lesson and you’ve given me something to ponder. Perhaps we can continue this later. Right now, I need to find Katalin and her father. Tell me what you know about him.”

“All I know is what Katalin told me, which is he’s a renowned physicist. The Soviets, the Americans, the French, all want access to his brilliant mind.”

“What’s he done that’s so brilliant?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know or understand his work in any depth at all. Except Katalin said his work would revolutionize the efficiency of nuclear bombs.”

“No wonder he’s such a hot commodity. Where did they go?”

Before he could answer, more believers entered the church at the rear. Fr. Kormany looked past my shoulder. “Don’t turn around. Stand up slowly and follow me.”

His friendly persona shifted and I did as directed. He led me past the Sanctuary on the left and we exited through a side door that took us into an office area. The priests I’d seen before were there sharing a desk. One handled papers in a stack, the other counted money from the collection plate.

Fr. Kormany whispered for the second priest to secure the cash, which he did in a small safe hidden inside a credenza. Father turned to me. “The men who entered are Soviet spies. They come here several times a week. They always asks the same question. Have I seen or know the whereabouts of Dr. Vadas. They’ll surely follow me in here.” He jotted something on a notepad. “You must leave now. Go to this address. That’s where you’ll find your answers.”

He ushered me to a door which put me out into a pocket rose garden bordered by a gravel path. The tough pink roses appeared dusty perhaps from the residue of bombing. Nevertheless, they struggled to bloom in the November chill. Along the brick wall resided a cast iron fountain that didn’t work.

The address the priest gave me was in the Buda section of Budapest in the hills above the Danube River. As I headed across the Chain Bridge, I ducked in and out of buildings to avoid gunfire. Three rebel fighters ran hunched over in the middle of a grass-filled square, the only cover offered from thin trees. Behind them, a first-aid rescuer in a white coat and white hat fell to the ground. He’d been hit by bullets. I ran to him and helped him to his feet. The front of his white coat was stained in blood. One of the rebel fighters returned fire in the direction of Soviet soldiers shooting from behind barricades. The other two rebels ran to me and we were able to carry the man to safety, a man who merely wanted to rescue others.

I continued across the bridge without incident and found the address. Along the street’s steep incline, handouts and slips of paper were taped on trees with notices of missing family members.

I loitered at a tram stop to make sure I had not been followed, I climbed the dark stairs to the third floor of a faded yellow apartment building and knocked on the door in the corner. After three knocks and no answer, I was prepared to walk away when I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder and the seemingly cold barrel of a pistol stabbing me in the back. The hand belonged to a woman. “Don’t turn around,” she said. But I did, because I recognized Kat’s voice. We stared in shock at each other. She wore the same long overcoat she wore when she left the church. A crimson scarf covered her head.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.