The Katyn Order

by Douglas W. Jacobson

  A half hour passed. Nothing happened, no movement in the clearing except the people tied to the rope, who sagged from fatigue. Adam stretched, rocked his head back and forth, then raised the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope. The Kar 98k rifle felt good in his hands. It was about the same weight as the Springfield he’d used in Warsaw, and the muzzle velocity was similar. But the Kar’s bolt action was smoother, and its specially mounted Zeiss scope far superior. It had twice the resolution of the Springfield’s scope and didn’t fog up.

  Adam adjusted the focus. Two riflemen came into sharp view, moving cautiously along the side of a cabin. He weighed the options. If he took the shots, he’d expose his new position. On the other hand, it was an opportunity to lower the odds.

  He fired twice, striking the second rifleman in the neck before the first one hit the ground. Then he grabbed the saddlebags and darted off, sprinting from tree to tree as a volley of return fire ripped through the forest.

  After a couple of minutes he slowed and dropped to his knees, overcome with another wave of dizziness. His stomach heaved and he sat down, leaning back against a tree, praying he wouldn’t pass out.

  Adam waited, wiping sweat from his brow, breathing deeply. Gradually his vision began to clear, and his stomach settled down. Holding onto the tree, he slowly got to his feet. He waited another minute, then continued circling to the right. He stopped and knelt behind another outcrop of rocks. He still had a view of the people in the clearing, so he crouched low and waited.

  Time passed. The fire was dying out, the cabin reduced to a charred heap of rubble. He shifted and switched knees. His right foot tingled and his back hurt, but he stayed low, certain he’d be seen if he tried to stand.

  Then, a gunshot!

  A shout in Russian.

  Another gunshot, from the direction of the trail.

  “Over there!” someone shouted in Polish. It sounded like Piotr. Then a heavy blast from a shotgun, two more rifle shots and a loud, deep voice bellowing in agony.

  Adam peered into the trees, cupping his hand behind his good right ear, and listened. Then he turned back to the clearing, brought the rifle up to his shoulder and searched for movement.

  Nothing.

  Several minutes passed before two men staggered into the clearing: Piotr, his shirt soaked with blood, and Zygmunt, his arm around Piotr.

  Adam scanned the periphery of the clearing, searching for riflemen, but they were concealed from his lines of vision. Piotr and Zygmunt reached the people tied to the rope and slumped to the ground. Piotr crawled over to Krystyna and embraced her.

  Then a loud voice echoed through a bullhorn in fractured English. “Attention, Mr. Nowak! We know you here. I order you come out and show yourself.”

  Adam recognized Tarnov’s voice but didn’t respond.

  Tarnov bellowed again. “Come out now, or we shoot another these people.”

  Adam raised the rifle and peered anxiously through the scope, scanning the corners of the remaining two cabins where he thought the sound came from. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He gritted his teeth. Just a glimpse, that’s all I need. Just a—

  Adam blinked at the crack of the gunshot and looked up. The man tied at the end of the rope was splayed out, face down in the grass, the top of his head gone.

  Piotr struggled to his feet, shouting obscenities. A gunshot blew bark off the tree beside him. The big man stood his ground for a moment, then dropped to his knees.

  Tarnov’s voice echoed through the forest again. “Last chance, Nowak. Come out, or we shoot one by one.”

  Adam weighed the possibilities. Tarnov had followed him up here. He must have gotten the information from Jastremski. Jastremski didn’t know about Natalia . . . but who else had Tarnov gotten to?

  Adam realized that holding his ground here wasn’t going to accomplish anything except getting Piotr, Krystyna and their unborn child killed, along with the rest of their neighbors. Tarnov was a monster, and he was desperate. There was no limit to what he might do. And time was running out. Cursing silently, Adam stood up and threw down his rifle. He wasn’t completely out of options—but the only one that remained would be tough to pull off.

  Adam stepped out from behind the rocks with his hands up and slowly descended the hill. When he reached the edge of the clearing, three riflemen burst from the cover of the trees and were on top of him in an instant, shouting and cursing in Russian. A rifle butt thumped him in the chest, and Adam fell backward, gasping. Then a heavy boot kicked him in the back. A jolt of pain shot all the way up to his neck. One of the riflemen, a giant with hands the size of dinner plates, grabbed him under the arm and jerked him to his feet. The Giant shouted at him, spraying Adam’s face with spit.

  Adam tried to pull away, but his legs were like rubber and he stumbled. The Giant held him up, while another rifleman jammed a gun barrel into his stomach. Adam sagged, gasping for breath. A third rifleman, a short, beefy man with a pockmarked face and a broken nose, groped Adam’s waist and trouser legs, searching for weapons.

  Finally, Tarnov appeared and shouted a terse command in Russian at the Giant, who jerked Adam upright and pinned his arms behind his back. The broken-nosed rifleman stepped aside and pointed a carbine at Adam’s chest.

  Tarnov wore a black trench coat and strolled slowly across the clearing, with only a casual glance at his dead riflemen. He stepped up to Adam and abruptly spit in his face. “Filthy American dog,” he snarled. “No Airborne troopers save you this time.”

  Adam stared at him silently, remembering Tarnov’s livid glare that night at the Kommandatura. It was the same now.

  Tarnov took a step closer, unclipped a bayonet from Broken Nose’s carbine and held it under Adam’s chin. “Where is Ludwik Banach?” Adam remained silent.

  Tarnov flicked the bayonet.

  Adam jerked his head back as a sharp, burning sensation shot through his chin. Blood dripped onto the front of his shirt. He took a breath through his teeth and exhaled slowly before speaking, trying to ignore the pain. “In my shirt pocket . . . a letter from General Kovalenko. You should read it.”

  Tarnov blinked. Then he handed the bayonet back to Broken Nose with another command in Russian. The Giant held both of Adam’s wrists in a vise-like grip while Broken Nose reached into his shirt pocket, withdrew the letter and handed it to Tarnov.

  Adam watched closely as Tarnov read Kovalenko’s letter. For just an instant the NKVD major’s eyes widened, then he abruptly crumpled the letter in his fist and dropped it on the ground. “General Kovalenko long way from here.” Tarnov’s voice was firm, but Adam saw a flicker of uncertainty in the Russian’s eyes.

  “There’s a second copy of that letter,” Adam said, “with a friend in Krakow. If I don’t return by tomorrow, my friend will contact the general.”

  Tarnov’s face reddened. The veins in his neck bulged. He slapped Adam hard across the face, knocking his glasses off. “Tell me where is Banach, or you not live until tomorrow.”

  “He passed away,” Adam said.

  Tarnov frowned, and his eyes narrowed. “Passed which way?”

  “He died. Two weeks ago.”

  Tarnov punched him in the side of the head. “Lie! It is lie!” He drew a pistol from his holster and stomped over to the people tied to the rope. He held the gun to Krystyna’s head.

  Piotr roared another obscenity and swung his leg at Tarnov, catching him behind the knee. Tarnov stumbled and dropped the pistol. Instantly, Broken Nose charged Piotr and rammed the stock of his carbine into the big man’s forehead. Piotr collapsed backward. Tarnov retrieved his pistol and got to his feet. He pointed the weapon at Piotr, who was shaking off the blow and struggling to sit up.

  “Leave them alone!” Adam yelled. Blood dripped from his nose, and his ears rang. “They’ve done nothing!” Tarnov glared at him. “Where is Banach?”

  “He died, Goddamn it! I told you that!” The effort of shouting intensified the throbbing in Adam’s head. A wave of di
zziness washed over him.

  Tarnov’s face turned crimson. He aimed the pistol at Piotr’s leg and pulled the trigger, blowing away the Górale man’s kneecap.

  Piotr bellowed in pain, thrashing about and clutching his leg. Krystyna shrieked, over and over in a long, forlorn howl.

  Tarnov grabbed Krystyna by the hair, yanked her head to one side and shoved the barrel of the pistol against her temple. He looked at Adam with wild eyes. “Tell truth, fucking dog! Or she—”

  “Stop!” Adam shouted, louder this time. His head pounded, and his stomach churned with nausea. “Goddamn it, stop! I’m telling you . . . the truth! Ludwik Banach died of tuberculosis, two weeks ago. He was an old man . . . a sick man!” He paused to catch his breath. The pain was growing, smothering him, and he feared he would pass out. “I just found out yesterday. I’m telling you . . . the truth. Now . . . leave these people alone!”

  Tarnov released Krystyna’s hair and shouted a string of commands at another group of riflemen who had stepped into the clearing. One of them carried a coil of rope. He sprinted over to Zygmunt and secured his wrists to the main rope with the other captives. A second rifleman hustled over to the smoldering cabin, picked up a scrap of wood and handed it to Broken Nose. One end of the wooden shaft was still in flames.

  Then Tarnov shouted at the Giant. The huge man gripped both of Adam’s wrists in one of his massive hands. With the other hand, he picked up Adam’s glasses and put them back on his face. “I want you see clear,” Tarnov snarled at Adam. He pointed at the stout, blond woman crouching on the other side of Krystyna.

  Broken Nose stepped over Piotr, who was covered in blood and only barely conscious, and approached the other woman. She struggled against the ropes, her eyes wild with fear. “No! Oh God, no! Please!”

  Broken Nose kicked her onto her back, stomped his boot on her forehead and thrust the flaming shaft of wood against her chest. The woman shrieked wildly, legs thrashing.

  “Jesus Christ!” Krystyna screamed at Broken Nose, “You bastard! Stop!”

  Zygmunt lashed out with his feet, trying to kick Broken Nose, but he couldn’t reach him.

  “Stop it! Goddamn it! Stop!” Adam shouted, desperately trying to break loose from the Giant’s iron grip.

  Broken Nose kept his boot on the woman’s forehead, pinning her down as her white cotton blouse caught fire. She shrieked long, agonizing wails, over and over again, until Broken Nose turned pale and backed off. He dropped the flaming stick on the ground and looked the other way. Finally the woman shuddered, wheezed one last time and passed out.

  Tarnov snapped a command to Broken Nose, then put his boot on Krystyna’s shoulder and shoved her onto her back. Krystyna grunted, her simple, cotton dress stretched tight over her swollen belly.

  Broken Nose picked up the burning scrap of wood and dutifully stepped forward. Tarnov shouted at Adam, “Where is document? You care about this woman. I know. I save her for worst. You lie, she burn next!”

  Krystyna spat at Tarnov. “Go to hell, you son of a bitch!”

  Tarnov kicked her in the stomach. Krystyna grunted in pain, drawing up her knees.

  Adam’s eyes clouded with tears as he struggled to stay on his feet and focus his vision on Tarnov. Stay calm. Stay calm, Goddamn it . . . and think! He took a deep breath, forcing himself to concentrate. He could tell by Tarnov’s reaction earlier that Kovalenko’s letter gave him pause. Tarnov was NKVD, but Kovalenko was a Russian general, and there’d be trouble—not what anyone wanted with the Potsdam conference coming up.

  “Last chance, Nowak!” Tarnov bellowed. “Where is document?”

  Krystyna lifted her head. Her forehead glistened with sweat as the rifleman held the burning wood close to her face. “No, Adam!” she cried. “No! Don’t tell him!”

  Adam hesitated a moment too long, and Tarnov flicked his head toward Broken Nose. The rifleman jabbed the burning stick against Krystyna’s neck.

  Krystyna howled and jerked her head, kicking her feet wildly, squirming away. Broken Nose stepped toward her and pressed the red-hot stick against her neck a second time as Krystyna writhed helplessly. Her long, agonizing screams sliced through Adam’s soul like a hunting knife.

  “Stop!” Adam screamed. “Stop! I’ll tell you what I know! Just get that son of a bitch away from her!”

  Tarnov waved a hand at Broken Nose who again tossed the burning stick to the side. “If you lie, I burn off ears. Then I work on baby.”

  Adam swallowed hard, choking back the bile in his throat as Krystyna rolled on her side, moaning, curling her legs into a fetal position. He glared at Tarnov, quickly running through all the possibilities in his mind as the NKVD officer approached him. “The document you’re looking for is in Nowy Targ.”

  Tarnov spit in his face again. “Fucking lie! Why you go up mountain if document in Nowy Targ?” He shouted a command to Broken Nose, who stepped over to Krystyna and jerked her head back, exposing the charred and blistering skin on the side of her neck.

  Krystyna shrieked again, then convulsed violently, gagging on her own vomit.

  Seething with rage, Adam jerked his arms with every ounce of strength he had left. He broke free of the Giant’s grip, lunged at Tarnov and grabbed him around the neck. He squeezed and dug in his fingernails as Tarnov ripped at his hands. An instant later, the Giant brought a massive fist down on Adam’s shoulder.

  Adam’s arm lost all feeling, and he dropped to one knee. His grip fell away from Tarnov’s neck as a double image of the Russian oscillated back and forth in his field of vision.

  Tarnov punched him in the face. “Lies! Fucking lies!”

  “I didn’t know . . . the document was in . . . Nowy Targ . . .” Adam gasped as the Giant grabbed his wrists again. “I didn’t know . . . until the Górale people told me. Banach hid it there . . . when he passed through.” Adam struggled to breathe. Sweat ran down his face. Would Tarnov take him along to Nowy Targ? Maybe not. The city was so close Tarnov could leave him under guard for a short time. All I need is one more day and Natalia will contact Kovalenko.

  Tarnov glared at him. “Where in Nowy Targ?”

  Adam’s foggy mind was just barely a step ahead. “In a locker at the bus station . . . number 39.”

  “Key! Where is key?”

  Adam shook his head. “No key . . . they didn’t have—” Tarnov punched him again. Adam’s head jerked back and a bolt of pain shot through his forehead.

  “Burn pregnant woman’s face off!” Tarnov roared. He shouted the command a second time in Russian.

  Broken Nose hesitated.

  Adam screamed at Tarnov, “It’s true! Banach was an old man . . . he lost the key . . . but he remembered the number—39—it’s the year he was arrested!”

  Adam kept his attention riveted on Broken Nose, who still had not moved toward Krystyna. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement. A crunching blow slammed the back of his head. Everything went black.

  Fifty-Two

  20 JUNE

  THE NEW LOCATION of the wireless was a dilapidated garage on Filipa Street, north of the Stare Miasto District on the other side of the Rynek Kleparski market. Leopold had been waiting for Natalia outside the café on the Rynek Glowny. As soon as he spotted her, he turned and walked away. Natalia followed him, walking hunched over with the cane. She wore the gray scarf over her head, a gray sweater and a black-and-red, flower-print skirt she’d obtained from a secondhand store. It was the first time she’d worn a skirt in years.

  She remained at a discreet distance behind Leopold until the elderly man disappeared inside the garage, leaving the door ajar. As soon as Natalia stepped into the dank, dirt-floored building, Leopold pulled the creaking door closed behind her. A young, bearded man with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth sat in front of a wireless set. Rabbit stood next to him, peering over his shoulder, obviously engrossed in the equipment.

  Seemingly oblivious to Natalia’s presence, the bearded man tightened the connection
s to a twelve-volt battery, donned a headset and slowly adjusted the dials of the Canadian-built wireless set, one of the few still in the hands of the AK. He listened intently, then adjusted the dials again.

  Natalia removed her scarf, leaned the cane against the wall and handed Leopold a slip of paper with the message she wanted to send. After lying awake most of last night tossing and turning, she had finally decided that it was Whitehall she would contact.

  Leopold sat down on the other side of the wireless and wrote out the code. Then he handed it to the bearded man, who began tapping on the key. When he finished, the man disconnected the battery, lifted the wireless set off the workbench and placed it inside a wooden crate. He covered the crate with a canvas tarp, set three worn-out tires on top of the tarp and left the garage without a word.

  “So, now what?” Rabbit said, with that same eagerness that Natalia recalled from their street battles in Warsaw.

  “Now we wait,” Natalia replied, though the delays were driving her crazy. It was all she could do not to get on the bus to Nowy Targ. And do what, take on Tarnov alone?

  Leopold nodded. “We’ll meet back here tomorrow at noon and see if we get a reply.”

  Natalia put a hand on Rabbit’s shoulder. “You’re OK?”

  “Yeah, sure,” the boy said. “Mr. Leopold kept me busy painting windows today.”

  Natalia smiled. “That’s fine. Tomorrow then.”

  Natalia left first so Leopold could lock up the garage. He and Rabbit would return to the Church of Archangel Michael and Saint Stanislaus by a different route so they wouldn’t be seen with her. She crossed the tram tracks that ran along the busy Avenue Basztowa, and passed through St. Florian’s Gate back into the Stare Miasto, heading for her dingy room on the east side of the Kazimierz District. She had no idea who else lived in the building, if anyone, though she was certain she’d heard someone in the hallway when she woke that first morning. Like the other places she’d gone to find smuggled packages when she was part of the channel, the room was secure, carefully selected and away from prying eyes. She figured she’d be safe there for another day. At least it had a bed, running water and a toilet.