traffic will be destroyed, the attacks will
stop. But after long weeks during which Alex’s hired computer wizards held their breath and nobody approached the firm, a
new, more hopeful scenario was reached. It was probably one of the expanding army of nettlesome computer nerds, his technical
people speculated—nothing to be overly concerned with. This was an everyday problem in the United States, Alex was told, where
hackers sat up all night and thought up ways to be bothersome for no greater reason than the idiotic satisfaction of imagining
it made them something more than the insignificant little twits they were.
In fact, Alex was warned, it could have been much worse; the sneaks could’ve hacked in, crashed the entire system, and demolished
mounds of irreplaceable information. A helpful and timely warning, actually—take better precautions, spend whatever it takes,
and then some. Stay alert. Be thankful we detected the problem early and eliminated it, Alex was told by his head technician,
an American imported and paid a small fortune for his erudition in these matters.
4
T he old lady was merely daft, Bernie Lutcher concluded, at first.
She had jumped in front of him, repeating something loudly in Russian. At least it sounded like Russian. He understood not
a word and shrugged his shoulders, and she switched to a different tongue, more quick bursts of incomprehensible gibberish—possibly
Hungarian now—while he continued to shrug and tried to brush past her. To his rising impatience, she clutched his arm harder
and ratcheted up the incoherent babble.
He recalled her from the plane, the old lady with apparent incontinence issues who made trip after trip to the potty. Maybe
she was seeking directions to the air terminal ladies’ room, he guessed. Or maybe she was a certified loony, a lonely human
nuisance of the type found in every city in the world.
He tried to tug his arm away again and noticed how surprisingly strong she was. Ahead, he watched Alex and Elena pass through
the electronic doors, and felt a sudden clutch of alarm. Depending on the length of the line outside, it might take only a
few seconds for them to climb into a taxi and disappear into the vast, winding labyrinth of Budapest streets.
He knew their schedule and the name of their hotel: he could always catch up with them there. Unfortunately, he was pathologically
honest and duty-bound to enter any coverage lapses in the report he assiduously completed and turned in after each job. In
his mind he had already spent his annual bonus on a nice holiday in Greece, on a luxurious slow cruise through the sunbaked
islands, sipping ouzo and ogling Scandanavian tourist girls in their Lilliputian bikinis; he now was watching it all go up
in smoke.
He tried to recall any fragment of every language he knew and quickly blurted at the old lady, “Excuse me…
entschuldigen
…
excusez-moi
…
por favor
…” Nothing, no relief.
A large crowd began catching up to him, impatient travelers who had just cleared customs and now were plowing ahead and jostling
for choice spots in the taxi line. He could hear their voices, but kept one eye on the old lady—who clutched his arm harder
and acted increasingly distressed—and the other on the glass door Alex and Elena had just exited. He never turned around,
never observed the old man who quickly approached his back.
The old lady continued prattling about something, more loudly frantic now, more mysteriously insistent, still stubbornly clasping
his arm. Firm procedures were unequivocal about such situations: public scenes and embarrassments, indeed public attention
in any form, were to be avoided at all costs. He reached down and gently tried to pry his arm loose from the old hag’s grip,
even as an old man approached from his rear aggressively swinging his arms with each step. Gripped tightly in the old man’s
right hand, and mostly obscured by an overly long
stop. But after long weeks during which Alex’s hired computer wizards held their breath and nobody approached the firm, a
new, more hopeful scenario was reached. It was probably one of the expanding army of nettlesome computer nerds, his technical
people speculated—nothing to be overly concerned with. This was an everyday problem in the United States, Alex was told, where
hackers sat up all night and thought up ways to be bothersome for no greater reason than the idiotic satisfaction of imagining
it made them something more than the insignificant little twits they were.
In fact, Alex was warned, it could have been much worse; the sneaks could’ve hacked in, crashed the entire system, and demolished
mounds of irreplaceable information. A helpful and timely warning, actually—take better precautions, spend whatever it takes,
and then some. Stay alert. Be thankful we detected the problem early and eliminated it, Alex was told by his head technician,
an American imported and paid a small fortune for his erudition in these matters.
4
T he old lady was merely daft, Bernie Lutcher concluded, at first.
She had jumped in front of him, repeating something loudly in Russian. At least it sounded like Russian. He understood not
a word and shrugged his shoulders, and she switched to a different tongue, more quick bursts of incomprehensible gibberish—possibly
Hungarian now—while he continued to shrug and tried to brush past her. To his rising impatience, she clutched his arm harder
and ratcheted up the incoherent babble.
He recalled her from the plane, the old lady with apparent incontinence issues who made trip after trip to the potty. Maybe
she was seeking directions to the air terminal ladies’ room, he guessed. Or maybe she was a certified loony, a lonely human
nuisance of the type found in every city in the world.
He tried to tug his arm away again and noticed how surprisingly strong she was. Ahead, he watched Alex and Elena pass through
the electronic doors, and felt a sudden clutch of alarm. Depending on the length of the line outside, it might take only a
few seconds for them to climb into a taxi and disappear into the vast, winding labyrinth of Budapest streets.
He knew their schedule and the name of their hotel: he could always catch up with them there. Unfortunately, he was pathologically
honest and duty-bound to enter any coverage lapses in the report he assiduously completed and turned in after each job. In
his mind he had already spent his annual bonus on a nice holiday in Greece, on a luxurious slow cruise through the sunbaked
islands, sipping ouzo and ogling Scandanavian tourist girls in their Lilliputian bikinis; he now was watching it all go up
in smoke.
He tried to recall any fragment of every language he knew and quickly blurted at the old lady, “Excuse me…
entschuldigen
…
excusez-moi
…
por favor
…” Nothing, no relief.
A large crowd began catching up to him, impatient travelers who had just cleared customs and now were plowing ahead and jostling
for choice spots in the taxi line. He could hear their voices, but kept one eye on the old lady—who clutched his arm harder
and acted increasingly distressed—and the other on the glass door Alex and Elena had just exited. He never turned around,
never observed the old man who quickly approached his back.
The old lady continued prattling about something, more loudly frantic now, more mysteriously insistent, still stubbornly clasping
his arm. Firm procedures were unequivocal about such situations: public scenes and embarrassments, indeed public attention
in any form, were to be avoided at all costs. He reached down and gently tried to pry his arm loose from the old hag’s grip,
even as an old man approached from his rear aggressively swinging his arms with each step. Gripped tightly in the old man’s
right hand, and mostly obscured by an overly long
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