The Katyn Order

by Douglas W. Jacobson

  Hunched over with her cane and wearing the gray scarf and flower-print skirt, Natalia took a different route from Kazimierz to the Stare Miasto, then wandered about aimlessly, blending in with the crowd. An hour later she stopped on Avenue Mickiewicza. Across the street was the Copernicus Memorial Library.

  Where Ludwik Banach had worked.

  And Jerzy Jastremski.

  Natalia stood and stared at the stately, modern structure that occupied an entire block. A heavy weight of helplessness pressed down on her. Adam was somewhere up in the mountains looking for Banach, and Jastremski was the only one who knew exactly where.

  And now he was gone.

  Time crawled past and still she watched people going into and coming out of the library. She had to move on. She was going to draw attention to herself. She consulted her watch again and was relieved to see that it was time to meet Rabbit and Leopold. She headed for the rendezvous.

  As she approached the ramshackle garage, Natalia spotted Rabbit waiting outside. He walked up to her and took her elbow, turning her away from the garage door. “I’ve got to talk to you,” he said. They moved around to the back of the garage. Rabbit’s eyes darted around. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “They killed Leopold.”

  Natalia took a step back and stared at Rabbit. “Leopold . . . when?”

  “Early this morning. I found him in the priest’s dining room. He was . . .” The boy made a slitting gesture with his forefinger across his throat.

  “What about the priest?” she demanded.

  Rabbit shook his head. “He was gone. Someone took him away.”

  “Tarnov,” Natalia said. It slipped out before she could stop herself.

  “Who?” Rabbit asked.

  “I haven’t told you the whole story. I will, but not now. First we have to find out if there’s a reply to our message.”

  They walked around to the front of the garage again, and Rabbit pulled open the door. The same bearded wireless operator sat hunched before the radio. He looked at them with a frown. “Where’s Leopold?”

  “Murdered,” Natalia said, removing the scarf and running a hand through her hair. “At the church this morning.”

  The young man dropped his cigarette on the earthen floor and ground it out with his boot. “Who did it?”

  “NKVD,” Natalia said.

  “Shit! I’ve got to get this unit packed up and moved out of here. We can’t risk any further transmissions.”

  “What about my message?” Natalia asked. “Did you get a reply?”

  He nodded. “Just before you arrived.” He handed her a slip of paper with scribbles on it.

  “It’s not decoded?”

  The man started disconnecting wires. “Leopold does that.”

  Natalia clenched her teeth, forcing herself to stay calm. “Can you do it?”

  He stopped and stared at her. “You want me to decode it? You don’t even know me. What if it’s something you don’t want me to know? Or something I don’t want to know. That’s Leopold’s job.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Rabbit blurted out. “Didn’t you hear the lady? Leopold is dead!”

  The young man leaped to his feet. “Hey, you little shit, I don’t take—”

  Natalia stepped in front of him and poked a finger into the man’s chest. He was taller than she was but skinny and, despite the scrawny beard, didn’t appear to be more than about twenty years old. “Listen to me, and listen carefully. I’m on a mission authorized by the British SOE. Several people have already been killed, and if you don’t decode this message right now other people will die.” She slipped her right hand under her sweater, feeling for the handle of the Browning 9mm pistol tucked in the waistband of her skirt.

  “That’s not my concern, lady.”

  Natalia took a step back, pulled out the pistol and aimed it at the skinny young man’s head. “You’d better make it your concern, mister. And you’d better do it right now!”

  His eyes widened, and he held up his hands, backing away. “Hey, take it easy. I don’t want—”

  “Just shut up and decode the damned message!”

  Beads of sweat appeared on the young man’s forehead. His eyes darted back and forth between Natalia and Rabbit. Then he snatched the paper from Natalia’s hand and sat down at the stool. “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” he sputtered. “Just put away the gun. I’ll decode the Goddamn message, then I’m packing up and getting out of here.”

  It took only a few minutes, and he handed Natalia the decoded message.

  PIRATE ARRIVING 22 JUNE

  KRAKOW CENTRAL STATION

  1500 HOURS

  “June 22nd? That’s not until tomorrow! What the hell are they—”

  “It’s a part of the new code,” he said, packing the wireless set into a wooden crate. “They set the date one day ahead, an extra precaution in case the message is intercepted.”

  “Then he’s coming today?”

  “That’s what it says: three o’clock this afternoon. And now, unless you’re going to shoot me, I’ve got to get this stuff out of here.”

  Rabbit helped the young man hoist the crate into a wheelbarrow. The man threw a tarp and two tires over it and pushed it out of the garage, giving Natalia a wide berth, muttering under his breath.

  “Who’s Pirate?” Rabbit asked after the wireless operator was out of sight.

  Natalia had no idea, and she also wondered how they would recognize each other. She shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough. It’s probably best if we stay here until it’s time to meet him.”

  Rabbit nodded. “And now you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Fifty-Five

  21 JUNE

  NATALIA SPOTTED HIM from across the street. He was tall and thin, wearing a gray pin-striped suit, a fedora and a black patch over his left eye. Some pirate, she thought. At least he didn’t have a parrot on his shoulder. After a moment the “pirate” looked in her direction. With a slight nod of her head, Natalia communicated she was the one he was to meet. Then she turned away and, hunched over with her cane, headed back toward the garage.

  She didn’t look back, but Natalia knew he was behind her, following at a safe distance as they crossed the Rynek Kleparski market, busy at this hour with people picking over the half-rotten potatoes and the few loaves of stale bread that remained in the stalls. When she arrived at the garage, Natalia slid the door open and stepped into the dimly lit interior. Rabbit was waiting for her, standing next to the workbench where the wireless unit had been. She pulled the Browning from the waistband of her skirt.

  The thin man with the eye patch appeared a few minutes later. At this closer distance Natalia noticed heavy scars across the left side of his face. She raised the pistol and pointed it at him.

  The man carefully set his briefcase on the dirt floor, then slowly removed his hat. “I am Captain Andreyev, an associate of Adam Nowak’s and chief aide to the late General Andrei Kovalenko.”

  Andreyev. Natalia remembered the name from what Adam had told her. His Polish was very good, with a slight Russian accent, but she was so startled by the rest of what he’d said that she barely registered his fluency. “Did you say, the late General . . .?”

  Andreyev held his hat in both hands and nodded. “The general was killed in an automobile accident.”

  A chill crawled up Natalia’s back. “When did it happen?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Natalia stared at the Russian who stood calmly in the center of the gloomy, dilapidated building. Kovalenko was dead? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone must have murdered him. Who . . . and why? Because of the letter he gave Adam? The letter I have a copy of! She pushed a ladderback chair toward Andreyev and took a stool facing him, still pointing the gun.

  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—”
<
br />   “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.”

  Fifty-Six

  21 JUNE

  THE DRIVE UP TO NOWY TARG 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 ceil
ing 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.”