The plane lands at Budapest Airport. The city greets us with gray skies and drizzling rain. Not the best time of year for a tourist trip. From the moment we collect our luggage, I can’t shake the feeling that everyone is looking at us suspiciously.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this adventure,” I say, carefully studying every person we pass.
“Look, I trust my instincts… When I first met you, I immediately realized that you were an unusual girl with an unusual story. This is my chance to finally uncover something worthwhile!” Instead of doing endless stories about migrants selling counterfeit cigarettes in the suburbs…
“Fuck! I wish they had taken your camera away from you back then…”
“Do you regret meeting me?”
“Yes,” I reply sharply and look at my watch. “Did you book a hotel like I asked?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t call it a hotel… It’s more like a motel…”
“That’s great. Let’s grab a taxi and check in.”
“Why?” Jean-Pierre asks, genuinely confused. “We’re not going to live here…”
“Do you think we’ll continue traveling under Schengen? The guys who will meet us here won’t ask for our passports. The unobtrusive service of a small hotel won’t ask any unnecessary questions either, especially if we pay for everything in advance. And for the EU authorities, we have to stay here. Lock ourselves in a room and fuck for 15 days without leaving…
“Why exactly that?” the Frenchman asks, embarrassed.
“What else is there to do in Budapest?”
“Well… Go to the mineral springs…”
“Great idea, dear!” I reply loudly, pretending to be enthusiastic. “Now try to catch a taxi.”
We get into the car and, innocently discussing culture and architecture the whole way, make it to the hotel. Already at the reception, I realize that we are lucky with our place of residence. A separate entrance that locks with a key, a lazy owner, a tired maid with a dissatisfied face, suffering from excess weight… I love it when no one cares about anyone else. That’s exactly how it is here. And it’s perfect.
By the way, in some ways, my big-eared frog-lover turns out to be more savvy than I could have imagined. He corresponded with Hungarian recruiters from his deeply proxied laptop via TOR and I2P. However, this does not guarantee that Interpol agents will not show up at the meeting to arrest us. I hope there will be no more than three of them.
After dropping our things in the room and changing for a long walk around the city, we set off following the GPS coordinates sent to us via the darknet. They lead us to a point in some industrial zone far from the city center. It seems like there is no one around, but I feel like we have been watched for at least 15 minutes.
Right on time, a tinted Geländewagen pulls up. Two short-haired guys get out of it. They certainly don’t look like cops, although who can tell in Budapest. While I’m mentally deciding which one of them to beat up first if the opportunity arises, the taller one asks:
“Are you Tsikuta?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And is this a journalist?” The shaven-headed man nods toward Jean-Pierre.
“And this is the journalist.”
After a quick search, the guys realize we’re clean and put us in the car, first putting dark, thick bags over our heads. Jean-Pierre wants to protest, but I stop him. At least it’s not Interpol. That means, if anything happens, we can at least kill them quietly. The Frenchman is nervous, so I take his hand.
The car starts moving, periodically weaving between warehouses. It looks like they are taking us somewhere to the south. Are they really going to cross the border in this car? However, the car does stop. Cool air hits our faces. It appears to be late at night. We are transferred to the back of a truck and, after being covered with some boxes, left alone.
“What considerate individuals,” I comment, removing the annoying bag from my head. “They didn’t even hit us over the head once.”
“What a nightmare,” says the Frenchman. “This has never happened to me before. And I paid three pieces for this?
“What did you expect? That they’d smuggle us across the border in business class?” I laugh and look around. “This is almost business class. What do we have here? Some kind of humanitarian aid… Awesome! It’s not shit. Looks like they’ve paid for a window here.
“Do you think we’re lucky?”
“Hell yeah! They didn’t kill us right away. They’re probably taking us where we wanted to go. So I suggest we take a bit nap now.”
Without waiting for Jean-Pierre’s answer, I sit down on the wooden floor, lean my back against a more or less soft bale, and close my eyes. 10:31 p.m. I fall asleep.
I see some strange rooms. Dark rooms without windows, but for some reason I feel at home. Here’s my teddy bear. I pick it up from the floor. Someone is calling me. I see the little girl in the light-colored dress again. She is standing and looking at me silently. Someone in military uniform gently puts his hands on her shoulders.
