Finding the Fit Chapter 7
"That was pretty uneventful," Rick comments to Turner after his reading in Helsinki. "When are we due in Hungary?"
"Not for a couple of days yet," his handler says. "Why? Is there something here that fascinates you as much as the Moscow subway system?"
"Forget the subway!" Rick exclaims. "I read up on Helsinki. Beneath the denizen's feet, there's practically an underground city. Visiting that would be like touring the set of Menagerie."
"What?" Turner questions.
"The first Star Trek pilot where telepathic aliens lived underground after a war wrecked things on the surface. They needed a breeding pair of humans to repopulate the world above – but Finland's got a lot better than that. It's not about to be caught flatfooted by another Chornobyl or some deranged asshole pushing the nuclear button. If it comes to that, the people could live down there. Who knows? The whole world could be repopulated by Finns. If that's the future, I want to see where it's coming from."
The agent sighs. "All right, Rick. If that's what you want, I'm sure we can get you a tour. And if your shadow follows us down there, we might get a chance to spot him," she muses.
"You look disappointed," Turner says after she and Rick return above ground.
"Maybe a little," he admits. "I was picturing a futurescape and what I got was more like an upscale gym and a Chuck E. Cheese. Not that Chuck E Cheese is all bad. I never got to go until I was in college, but I loved the Space Raiders game. And it's still cool down there. There are empty miles of tunnels that could become all kinds of attractions. The scenario just needs some imagination."
"Which you have in spades," Turner grants. "But listen, while you were surveying the play equipment down there, I noticed we had company."
"My shadow?" Rick queries.
"Yes. He's dyed his hair and he was wearing thick-rimmed glasses, but it was him."
"What could he have wanted in the shelters?" Rick wonders. "Who is he going to attack, someone getting in their daily crunches?"
"He probably just wants to make sure we aren't trying to shake him," Turner speculates.
"And why aren't we trying to shake him?" Rick queries.
"Because whatever his actual target turns out to be, I may have to stop him. Now come on. We have to get our things from the hotel now if we're going to make our flight to Budapest."
"The shadow will have a hard time hiding on a plane," Rick figures.
"He might," Turner agrees. "But your itinerary is no secret. He could drive or take the train and continue trailing us there."
"Which is exactly what you want him to do," Rick guesses.
Turner nods. "The more he thinks he's going undetected, the better chance I have of keeping him from fulfilling whatever his mission is."
Rick's eyes sweep over his handler's face. "Agent Turner, the more time I spend with you, the more devious I realize you are."
Turner starts for the spot where their rented vehicle is parked. "I'll take that as a compliment, Rick."
The writer isn't entirely sure that he meant it as one, but he follows her to the fuel-efficient car.
"The Minister of the Interior has requested a private meeting," Turner announces after Rick finishes his public reading.
"The Minister of the Interior?" Rick questions. "You'd think he'd be more interested in one of the nature-loving authors than he would in a writer of mystery and spy stories."
"This from the Richard Castle who reads up on all our destinations?" Turner taunts. "In Hungary, the Minister of the Interior is in charge of the police. He's interested in some of the techniques for trapping bad guys that you wrote about in your last two books."
"OK, I admit that I missed that part when I perused the info about the place. I thought the love-hate relationship with the former Soviet bloc would be more important. So where are we supposed to have this meeting? I was hoping that we'd have time to visit the castle that's in the City Park. I was considering using it as background for a chase."
"Then you're in luck. The minister proposed a meeting in the private dining room of a restaurant not far from the park. So we should be able to fit in both."
Rick scowls. "A private dining room? That would be the perfect setting for a poisoning. What if the minister is our shadow's target?"
Turner rolls her eyes. "I did consider that, Rick. I'll be having operatives watching for any unusual activity regarding food preparation. If the shadow's target is the minister, he shouldn't be able to get near him – or you."
"Operatives, huh? From local field offices? With all the history of Soviet influences, The Company must have local field offices in this part of the world." Turner stares at him shaking her head. "Oh, right. Need-to-know, and I don't need to know. But I can draw my own conclusions."
'Which I can neither confirm nor deny," Turner retorts. "But if you want to take your time poking around the castle, we'd better get moving."
"Already out the door," Rick declares.
The private dining room is well-appointed but not ostentatious. The scent of paprika floats in the air, not from the expected national dish of goulash but from the English-speaking minister's preference, the sweeter chicken paprikash. Rick found the chicken edible, but the Dobos torte they're eating for dessert is fantastic. The minister was totally delighted when Rick told him that he had explored the castle for use in a book and suggested several scenarios that would positively portray his own forces. Rick promised to keep them in mind. Still, as the last of the torte disappears from their plates, Rick notes the look of satisfaction on the minister's face morph to one of distress as his fork slips from his hand. "Something wrong, Minister?" Rick asks.
Without answering, the minister falls face forward on the table. Rick shouts for help.
"What the hell happened?" Rick demands of Turner. "How did The Company's operatives let the minister get poisoned? Hell, I could have been poisoned too!"
"Relax, Rick," Turner advises. "He wasn't poisoned. He had a heart attack, the kind they call a 'widow maker.' I have an operative monitoring the hospital. The doctors figured out what happened as soon as he was brought in. But even if the medics who rushed him in had been able to restore a heartbeat, his brain would have been without oxygen for too long. He would have been a vegetable."
"Are you sure there was no poison?' Rick presses. "There are several that simulate heart attacks."
"But not a killer blockage. Our operative got a look at the films of the heart. That's what it was. The minister could have died at any time. It was just a coincidence that it happened when he was having dinner with you."
Rick rakes a lock of hair out of his face. "Well, at least he got to finish his dessert. Not a great fan of the chicken paprikash, but the Dobos torte was magnificent. When I get back to New York, I'll have to see if the Hungarian bakery that just opened near my loft makes one. But even if my shadow didn't poison the minister, did you or the operatives spot him?"
"No," Turner admits. "He may have gone on to our stop in Poland."
"Great. I hope he doesn't get near the pierogies."