Free The Tombs (A Fargo Adventure) by Clive Cussler, Thomas Perry

the river. A person with sharp eyes could detect that there were heads visible above the seats. She took out her phone and took a few pictures of the field, the river, and then up the road where the dark car stood.
    Sam said, “Albrecht mentioned a big black car with four men in it. Do you think your phone will catch a license plate at that distance?”
    “Maybe, but I have a feeling we’ll get a closer look,” said Remi.
    They walked back toward the car, and Tibor said, “Do you know those men in the black car?”
    “No,” Sam said. “Do you?”
    “I don’t think so. I saw a reflection a minute ago. One of them seems to be watching us with binoculars. That’s the right word, isn’t it?” and he held both hands up to his eyes with the fingers circled.
    “That’s the word,” said Remi. “They’re probably just wondering what we’re doing walking around an old cow pasture.”
    “All right,” he said. He started the car and made a three-point turn and drove back to the bridge they had crossed, returning to the west side of the river. He kept looking in the mirror. “Are you sure you don’t know them?”
    “Positive,” said Remi. “We’ve never been to Hungary before.”
    They drove to Arad Martyrs Square and saw the monument to the men killed in the 1848 revolt, the Musical Clock with sculpted figures from a medieval university, Klauzál Square, Schéchenyi Square, all in the city’s center. The district was full of flowers and trees and pastel-colored baroque buildings that didn’t look real.
    As Tibor took them from place to place, Sam and Remi kept track of the black car. When they stopped abruptly near the center of the city, the car nearly caught up with them. Remi took another photograph through the rear window.
    Tibor noticed. “Those men remind me of the way things were under the Communists. There were people who seemed to have no jobs except to follow people around and report them.”
    “I’d like to know who they’re reporting us to,” Remi said.
    “I wonder if we can find out,” said Sam. “Will the police tell us who owns a car if we have the license number?”
    “I think they might.”
    Remi magnified the picture she had taken of the black car. She took a piece of paper from her purse and copied the license number on it, then handed it to Sam.
    Sam said, “I’ll double your fare if you’ll find out. Here’s the number.” He handed the paper over the seat to Tibor.
    He pulled the car into a parking space near the police station and disappeared inside.
    Sam dialed the number at the Fargo house. “Hi, Selma,” he said.
    “Hi, Sam. I was just getting ready to call you with some of the information you asked for.”
    “Let’s save most of it for later. I think we’ve reached the moment when we’ve got to know whether Tibor Lazar is a good guy or a bad guy.”
    “I have a tentative answer for you. He hasn’t done anything to give him a criminal record or bring him to the attention of Interpol. He owns a small house and a small taxi company, and there are no suspicions that it’s a front for anything. He has three cabs and owes money on all of them. He’s too poor to be anything but honest.”
    “Perfect,” said Sam. “Thanks, Selma.”
    After about twenty minutes, Tibor came out again. He got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. As he backed out of the space and drove forward, he said, “Bako.”
    “Bako?”
    “Arpad Bako.”
    “Do you know who he is?” asked Remi.
    “I’ll tell you all about my visit to the police while we’re on the road.” He moved down to the river and drove to the south. As he picked up speed, he looked in his rearview mirror as though he expected to be followed. “We must start with you. You are Samuel and Remi Fargo of La Jolla, California.”
    “We knew that,” said Remi.
    “Did you know that the local police knew that? They’re operating on a directive from the national government. They have been asked to keep you