Chapter 15
The evening air was cool as Blake climbed the broad steps of the townhouse, a paper box tied with twine balanced in one hand and a small bag of candies in the other.
The street was lined with chestnut trees, their leaves already tinged with autumn gold, and the house itself bore the quiet weight of wealth.
He’d glimpsed high ceilings through lace curtains, ornate ironwork on the balcony, and polished brass fixtures.
He rang the bell, and the melodic sound of Westminster chimes reached him muted but beautiful. When the heavy wooden door opened, an elderly woman with a neatly pinned bun and a cashmere shawl peered out. Her sharp eyes softened the moment she saw what he carried.
“Can I help you? Are you from my son?” she asked in Hungarian, her voice touched with hope.
Blake offered a small, warm smile. “Of course, I am. Who else but your son would send you treats like these? He knows you love them.” He lifted the box of pastries and the glossy red bag of sweets. Guardian had dug deep and found her most ordered candy and pastries from her online grocery account.
“You know him well, then?”
“Of course. We’ve worked together for years. My name is Max. Has he spoken of me?”
Her expression faded and then bloomed into delight. “I’m sorry, my mind isn’t as sharp as it once was. I don’t remember him mentioning you, but please, come in! I’ll make coffee or tea, if you prefer.”
“Coffee is perfect. Are you sure it isn’t too much trouble?”
“No trouble. No trouble at all. I don’t get visitors often.
Please come in.” Inside, the townhouse smelled faintly of beeswax and rosewater.
The carpets were thick, the furniture carved and upholstered in fine brocade.
Gilded frames held oil paintings of Hungarian countryside landscapes, and a chandelier glittered faintly overhead.
Clearly, her son spared no expense in keeping her comfortable.
She led him into a sitting room, where porcelain cups already rested on a lace runner. While she busied herself with a silver tray, Blake set the pastries on the table and opened the bag of candies so she could see them.
“Oh, Túró Rudi! And Szamos marzipán! He knows these are my favorites. You must tell him how happy I am.”
Blake inclined his head, keeping his tone casual. “I’ll be sure to. It’s been a while since I’ve been back, and when I saw the request for these, I wanted to make sure they got to you quickly. I haven’t checked in yet.”
She placed the steaming cups on the table and settled into a chair, sighing contentedly as she reached for a chimney cake slice. “So sweet of him. Always so thoughtful, my boy.”
Blake leaned back slightly, watching her reaction as he asked, “Will he be coming home soon?”
Her brows lifted, and she gave him a pointed look. “Shouldn’t you know that?”
“As I said earlier, I’ve been away,” Blake said smoothly, taking a sip of coffee. “Just got back.”
She chuckled, her eyes twinkling as though amused by his supposed ignorance. “Well, then, yes. They’re coming home early. The day after tomorrow. My son will be very busy for the first two days, but after that, he’ll be here. And I will be sure to thank him for the wonderful treats.”
Her words hung in the air, casual, unguarded, and exactly the confirmation Blake needed.
Ilona Brzek brushed crumbs from her lap and leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying both the company and the excuse to talk about her son.
“You know,” she began, stirring sugar into her coffee with slow, deliberate circles.
“My Januse has always been so serious. Even as a boy. Other children ran wild in the streets. He brought me home his report cards and asked if I was proud.” She smiled faintly, her gaze sliding to a framed photograph on the sideboard—a broad-shouldered man in a dark suit, stern-faced beside her in a garden of roses.
Blake followed her eyes and asked gently, “He takes after his father?”
“No.” Her voice softened with an old ache.
“His father was careless. Weak. Januse promised me he would be different, and he is. He has worked hard, and he never, ever forgets me.” She gestured to the townhouse with its gleaming wood floors and rich carpets.
“All of this, he insists upon. He says I should never want for anything.”
Blake nodded, letting her keep talking, listening as much for what she did not say as for what she did.
“He is devoted to Zajac. Yes, of course, like all of you are.” She sighed.
“But Januse … he has rules. He does not drink, he does not gamble, he does not steal. He told me once, very firmly, that his loyalty is service, not greed. He protects. He organizes. But he does not dirty his hands in that … that ugliness.” She wrinkled her nose as if the very thought offended her.
Blake let a small smile curve his mouth, reassuring without revealing his satisfaction. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes brightening. “He is strict, but he is honest. I know my boy. If Zajac tells him to do something … wrong … he will find a way to stand aside. He will not shame me or belittle himself.” She patted the edge of the pastry box with her thin fingers.
“You see? The treats are nice, but his true gift is that I can hold my head high. That has always been the most important thing for Januse.”
For Blake, that was the confirmation he needed. Januse Brzek was an employee, yes, he was loyal, steady, and dangerous, but not complicit in the rot Zajac spread. A tool, perhaps, yet not a conspirator.
Ilona leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Tell him I will light a candle at the basilica tomorrow for his safe return. The day after tomorrow, he will be back, and then he will come and see me. Busy, yes, but he will find time for me. He always does.”
Blake lifted his cup in a small toast. “I’ll make sure he knows of your love.”
They lingered over the last sips of coffee, the evening shadows lengthening across the lace curtains. Ilona fussed with the pastry box, closing it carefully and setting it on the sideboard as though saving the sweetness for tomorrow.
“You’ll tell him I was pleased?” she asked again, her eyes hopeful.
Blake rose smoothly, setting his empty cup back onto the tray. “Of course. He’ll be glad you enjoyed them.”
She walked him to the door, her slippers silent on the polished wood.
At the threshold, she touched his sleeve with the familiarity of a mother who trusted she was speaking to one in her son’s circle.
“Tell Januse that I pray for him every night. And for Zajac as well. His soul needs more than just prayers. Still, I pray for both to come home safe.”
Blake inclined his head, masking the sharp calculation running beneath the surface. “I’ll see to it.”
She smiled, satisfied, and opened the heavy door for him.
The air outside was cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and wood smoke from a neighboring chimney.
From the street, the townhouse’s windows glowed.
The illumination was a beacon of wealth and security her son had built for her.
But her son was remiss. He needed to provide a companion or employee who would vet strangers bearing gifts.
His smile faded as he walked down the tree-lined street. He had the timing. He had the confirmation. Zajac would return the day after tomorrow, and Blake would complete his mission, leaving Ilona’s dutiful son untouched by the shadow that would eliminate his targeted employer.
He tapped his ear. “Did you get that?”
“I did.” Con’s voice came over the connection. “Zane will be back shortly. Until then, you have me.”
“I’m thrilled,” Blake drawled and kept walking.
“See, I told them you would be. I should be your permanent comms specialist.”
Dear God, no. That would be torture. Inhumane treatment, even for an assassin. “Ah, no. I’d rather not.”
Con made a small crying sound. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”
“Anyway … do we have a release date and time for Elise’s computer and the information she wanted?”
“Sure. Everything is ready. We can have it delivered to you tomorrow. Just waiting on you to get the date of the mission set. I’m assuming, given the information you just received, it will be the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes. Deliver it in the morning, the day after tomorrow.” Blake got into the van he’d borrowed from a delivery shop on the outskirts of town. He’d return it and leave some money for the owner’s inconvenience. Not that the owner would ever know it was gone, unless they logged mileage.
“If she posts it to her editor, she’ll alert him.” Con was typing as he spoke.
“She won’t post it until I tell her it’s safe.”
“Can you be sure of it?”
Blake considered the question. “If she gives me her word, I’ll believe it.”
“Enough to stake your life on it?” Con prodded him.
“Yes.” And that was the truth. “Do you have anything else for me?”
“The Hungarian police are still searching for her and an unknown male accomplice. Guess you made them mad when you kicked the shit out of two of them.”
“Whatever.” Blake started the van and checked the road before pulling out onto the street.
“They’ve made it a nationwide announcement to all law enforcement agencies.”
Blake turned on his signal indicator and stopped at the corner of the street. “Then I guess we’ll avoid law enforcement.”
“And border patrols.”
“Which means airfield extraction.”
“It does indeed.”
“Who’s setting it up?”
“Well, me, of course.” Con sounded offended.
“Con, she’s important to me, and Rook will be with us. Nothing asinine.”
“Look, I love to mess with your old man. He gets spun up in a thousand different directions, but I respect him, and I respect the fuck out of the things you guys do. I would never mess with an extraction or a mission. That you can take to the bank. And then loosen up a bit, you know what I mean?”
“That isn’t going to happen. We aren’t wired that way.”