The Katyn Order (45 page)

There was an awkward silence until Andreyev leaned forward intently and addressed her. “I apologize for being so blunt, but General Kovalenko's accident has been a shock for all of us. Perhaps I should explain—”

“Yes, perhaps you should,” Natalia cut in abruptly.

“I assume that Adam Nowak told you about General Kovalenko's relationship with Colonel Whitehall of the SOE, and the general's sympathetic position toward Poland.”

“We don't need his Goddamn sympathy.”

“Nevertheless, I was General Kovalenko's chief aide. I've been involved in all of his dealings with Colonel Whitehall on the issue of Poland. It was Colonel Whitehall who asked me to come here.” Andreyev's eyes moved to Rabbit, then back to Natalia. He seemed to ignore the pistol pointed at his chest. “In the first message you sent to Whitehall, you indicated that you'd found something of importance.”

Natalia didn't respond.

“May I ask what it was?”

Natalia hesitated, suddenly feeling very exposed. Was this really Andreyev? What if Tarnov had sent someone to impersonate him? But they'd received a coded wireless message from Whitehall, and Andreyev showed up at the right time and place.
But even if he is Andreyev . . . can I trust him?

“Natalia?”

“Don't rush me, Goddamn it! This is all happening pretty fast.”

“Yes, of course, I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I understand how hard—”

Natalia leaped to her feet, pointing the pistol at Andreyev's forehead. “My family lived in a village near Lwow,
Captain Andreyev!
Until September of 1939. Now I don't know
where
they are—except somewhere in
Russia,
if they're still alive!”

Andreyev didn't flinch, but beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face. He looked directly into her eyes. “General Kovalenko's mother was Polish, Natalia. He is . . . was . . . a supporter of Poland's independence and its quest for freedom. He was—”

“Were you in Warsaw, Captain?” Natalia demanded.

“Yes, I was.”

Rabbit spoke up. “And you watched from the other side of the river while the Nazis destroyed our city?”

Andreyev's eyes moved toward the boy, but he did not respond.

Natalia gritted her teeth in frustration. Adam was in trouble, probably captured by Tarnov. What the hell was she doing here in an abandoned garage talking to a
Russian?
“Why are you here, Captain?”

“I'm here to help you. That's what you asked for.”

“Who killed General Kovalenko?”

“Major Tarnov was responsible for that.
He's
the enemy, Natalia.”

Natalia kept the Browning trained on Andreyev's forehead. Was it really that simple? Tarnov was the enemy and everyone else—Whitehall, Kovalenko, Andreyev—were allies, trying to help the down-trodden Poles? Was it possible that Kovalenko, a Russian general, cared enough about Poland that even after his death his chief aide was willing to defy the NKVD and risk his own life to help in the quest for freedom?

“What was it you found, Natalia?” Andreyev asked.

She glanced at Rabbit.

The boy stood perfectly still and met her eyes. He nodded. Natalia hesitated. “A journal,” she said quietly. “I found Ludwik Banach's journal.”

Andreyev waited.

She realized there was no other choice. Adam had told her to contact Whitehall and that's what she had done. Andreyev showed up exactly as the coded reply to her message said he would. She had to trust him. “Banach's journal made reference to a document, an official order signed by Stalin. It was given to Hans Frank by a visitor from Russia in November of 1942.” She described the contents of the order while Andreyev listened without expression.

“Do you have it?” he asked when she was finished.

“The journal?”

“The
order,
Natalia.” The Russian captain's voice took on a hard edge. “Do you have the order?”

“No.”

When Andreyev spoke again his patient tone of voice had returned. “Do you know where it is?”

Natalia lowered the pistol but kept her eyes locked on him. She had to trust him . . . but he was still a
Russian.
“No, I don't,” she said. “And neither does Adam. That's why he was searching for Banach.”

Rabbit spoke up again. “Are you here to help us find Adam, or to get your hands on the copy of Stalin's order?”

A flash of irritation crossed Andreyev's face. “I'm here to do both. But, I'll be honest: Finding the order, and making it public, was vitally important to General Kovalenko. It's vitally important to Colonel Whitehall, and it should be to
you.
It could make a difference in what gets decided about Poland at the Potsdam conference. The fate of your own country—”

“And that matters to
you,
Captain Andreyev?” The pistol was at her side, and she tightened her grip on it. “The fate of Poland matters to
you?”

Andreyev got to his feet, but Natalia stood her ground. “It mattered to Kovalenko,” Andreyev snapped. “And
he
mattered to me. I'm sorry about your family. I'm sorry about what happened in Warsaw and in the Katyn Forest. I'm sorry about the whole damn war, but that doesn't change what's important now. What's important now is to find that copy of the order and—”

“What's important to me,” Natalia retorted, “is to find Adam Nowak.”

Andreyev nodded. “Very well, then. I suggest we get started. Do you know where he went?”

Natalia turned to Rabbit again, thankful that her friend was there. She had decided to trust Andreyev because she had no other choice. But she felt a great comfort having someone beside her that she knew she could rely on, someone she trusted without question.

Rabbit was silent but his eyes communicated agreement. Natalia continued. “Adam made contact with someone who told him that Banach is with the Górale in the Tatra Mountains, somewhere beyond Nowy Targ. Adam went up there to find him, but he should have come back by now. His contact has also disappeared.”

Andreyev's expression hardened. “His contact is probably dead by now. But Tarnov would have beaten the information out of him before he killed him.”

Natalia glanced at her watch. It was quarter to four. “We should go to Nowy Targ this afternoon and try to make contact with the Górale.”

“Tarnov will have men watching the bus station,” Andreyev said.

“Can you get an auto?”

Andreyev thought for a moment then nodded. “I'm here unofficially, but I have a few resources I can access. I'll meet you back here in one hour.”

21 J
UNE

T
HE DRIVE UP TO
N
OWY
T
ARG
took longer than they expected, and Natalia grew more apprehensive with each agonizingly slow kilometer. Andreyev did the best he could, maneuvering the Russian GAZ-11 through the narrow, winding roads, at one point darting past a battered, rusted truck laden with sacks of grain and coming so close to the edge of the road that Natalia thought it would all end right there. Rabbit, of course, thought it was great sport.

The city appeared quiet as they crossed a bridge over the Bialy River, and proceeded along twisting cobblestone streets lined with three-story, stucco buildings. Natalia guessed most of the locals were home having their supper. They parked the auto behind the bus station—a drab, brown building, with peeling paint and boarded up windows—and set out on foot. As they passed the front of the station, the dozen or so people standing in line at a bus stop eyed them curiously. In a small, remote city like this outsiders easily attracted attention, and Natalia felt more than a little conspicuous, especially walking down the street with a Russian officer. At least Andreyev wasn't in uniform, though the GAZ-11 they drove into town was a dead giveaway.

Farther down the street they spotted a pub. It was a chalet-style structure of stone and white stucco, with a steep, wood-shingled roof. The door was open, and Natalia heard voices from inside. “As good a place to start as any,” she said.

Inside, the room was long and narrow, with a copper-topped bar on the left and a half-dozen round, wooden tables along the right. A scattering of pictures, mostly faded prints of mountain landscapes, hung haphazardly above the tables. A ceiling fan creaked overhead, and a stuffed boar's head glared at them from the wall behind the bar, yellow teeth clenched around a limp rabbit.

“I hope I don't end up like that,” Rabbit whispered to Natalia, jerking his thumb toward the boar's head.

The only other patrons were two young men wearing dark trousers and matching green shirts, like uniforms of some sort, who sat at the far end of the bar with mugs of beer, conversing with the bartender. They both shot quick glances at the trio entering the bar, then turned back to their beers. Andreyev motioned toward one of the tables, and the three of them sat down. The table was low, with barely enough room to slide their legs under it. Andreyev sat facing the door.

After a bit more conversation with the two men, the bartender wiped his hands on a cloth, then walked around the bar to their table. He was in his sixties, Natalia guessed, slightly built and practically bald with wisps of gray hair around his ears and the back of his head. He smiled politely when Natalia ordered three cups of coffee and returned to the bar. They'd had some discussion ahead of time about who should do most of the talking. It could appear odd for a woman to be the one asking questions when a man was present, but with Andreyev's Russian accent, it seemed the better risk.

The bartender returned and set the coffee cups on the table. “Anything else?” he asked. “We have vegetable soup tonight.”

Natalia spoke up, reciting the question they had also discussed ahead of time. “We were expecting to meet someone here, but we were delayed along the way. His name is Tytus; do you know him?”

The bartender's eyes were blank, his expression unreadable. “No, sorry, no one by that name.” He walked back to the bar with a slightly quicker step and rejoined his friends.

Natalia sipped the coffee slowly, trying hard not to choke. It was even worse than the bitter, ersatz concoctions served in Krakow and smelled earthy, as though brewed from tree roots. “I'm sorry, did you want some soup?” she asked Rabbit. The boy was always hungry.

“Nah, not from here,” he replied. “I don't trust that guy.”

“An intelligent observation,” Andreyev said quietly.

“Especially considering the auto we drove into town,” Natalia said.

The three of them continued in trivial bits of conversation to pass the time, having decided to wait for twenty minutes before moving on to another place.

They didn't have to wait that long. One of the men wearing the green uniform shirt polished off his beer, got up and left through a rear door.

“He'll be back,” Andreyev said.

“Should I follow him?” Rabbit asked eagerly. “He'd never spot me. I'm good at that.”

Andreyev shook his head. “We all stay together. Let's see how this plays out.”

Andreyev had changed clothes back in Krakow when he'd gone to get the auto. Instead of the pin-striped suit, he now wore gray slacks, a black turtleneck sweater and a short, lightweight leather jacket. He carried a pistol in an ankle holster under his right trouser pant.

Natalia sat facing the rear of the bar, and the hair on the back of her neck bristled when the same man returned ten minutes later. Instead of taking his seat at the bar, however, he stood in front of the rear door with his arms folded over his chest. He now wore a black denim jacket over the green shirt. She assumed he was armed.

A moment later, Andreyev tensed and slowly slid his hands off the table. His right foot scraped softly along the wooden floor.

Two other men stepped through the front door. They both wore the same green shirts under black denim jackets.

One of the men pulled the door closed and stood in front of it. The second man approached their table. He was young, in his mid-twenties Natalia thought, tall and broad-shouldered with short blond hair. He had hard, blue eyes, and he fixed them directly on Andreyev. “Why are you looking for Tytus?” he asked.

“Are you Tytus?” Natalia asked.

He ignored her and pointed at Andreyev. “I want
you
to answer the question.”

Andreyev sat with his back ramrod straight, his hands still under the table. “We need his help.”

The men standing in front of the two doors both took a step forward, and the man sitting at the bar slowly turned around facing the table. “We don't help Russians up here,” the blond man said. “Now, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Andreyev appeared unfazed. “There are two things you should know,” he said calmly. “The first is that I may be a Russian, but I am here unofficially and I mean no harm to you or anyone else.”

The blond man spat on Andreyev's shoe. “And what's the second thing?”

“The second thing is that I'm holding a Tokarev T30 in my lap, pointed directly at your crotch. If one of those three goons so much as twitches, I'll blow your balls off.”

Natalia noticed the man sitting at the bar move slightly, as if to slide off the stool. He stopped abruptly when Andreyev, who hadn't taken his eyes off the blond man, barked, “Don't even think about it! Keep your ass on that stool or your friend is dead before your feet hit the ground!”

The blond man glared at Andreyev for a long tense moment. Finally he turned to Natalia. “Are you Russian too?”

“Polish.”

“All right, then. Before we all kill each other maybe you should tell me what you want.”

“We're looking for Tytus.”

The man didn't respond.

“Do you know Tytus?” Natalia pressed.