Enemy Contact

by Mike Maden

  “Please, call me Jack. And no. It’s my first time.”

  Jack glanced out the rain-spattered passenger window. A lot of greenery and clean streets. The storm was picking up. “It’s a nice city.”

  The first few drops of rain hit the windshield. The automatic wipers kicked on.

  “It’s big for me. I originally came from a smaller town just outside of Kraków in the south, but I love it here.”

  “Your English is superb, by the way.”

  “Thank you. I have family in Chicago. I did a year-abroad program there in high school, and another two years in college at Loyola, where I majored in piano and minored in accounting.”

  “Interesting combination.”

  “Accounting was my father’s idea. He was a very practical person.”

  “He’s passed away?”

  “Last year. Prostate cancer. He was a good man.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So how long have you been in the ABW?”

  “Five years.”

  “Do they need a lot of piano players in your department?”

  She laughed. A pleasant surprise for them both.

  “Not many, no. It was my accounting degree that got me in, how do you say, by the skin of my teeth?”

  And such pretty teeth they were, Jack noticed. Also, no wedding ring. But Bosnia had taught him a few more lessons about women, so he told himself to throttle back.

  “So, how did you go from piano recitals to packing heat?”

  “My sister overdosed on heroin the year I graduated.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “Death is not such a stranger in Poland. But thank you. After she died, I felt so helpless, so angry. The ABW was a place where I thought I might be able to do some good. Perhaps save someone else’s sister. It was the least I could do.”

  “Drugs are a poison killing the entire West,” Jack said. “Over seventy thousand Americans died from drug overdoses last year. More Americans than died in the Vietnam War.”

  “It’s a big problem all over Europe, too, and getting worse here every day. My casework is focused on organized crime, so drugs and drug money play a big part in my investigations.”

  “And then you got stuck with me.”

  “I would hardly say ‘stuck.’ I’m happy to assist you in any way that I can.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  But how can you help me? Jack wondered. I can’t exactly tell you I’m hunting for dirt on an American senator. Besides the fact that he was under strict orders from Gerry to keep it quiet, Jack didn’t much like the idea of showing America’s dirty underwear to an agent of a foreign security service, even an allied one.

  “If you don’t mind my saying, I am a big fan of your President,” Liliana said. “He had the guts to stand up to the Russians when most NATO leaders didn’t want to.”

  “I’m a big fan, too. And no, I don’t mind you saying it.”

  “You are a financial analyst with Hendley Associates, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting that your boss, Mr. Hendley, is close friends with the head of the ABW.”

  “Gerry was formerly a U.S. senator. He knows a lot of people everywhere.”

  “I understand he is a close personal friend with President Ryan.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “So tell me, Jack, where do you want to start?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Perhaps if you can tell me what you’re looking for?”

  “I’m investigating the business relationships of a corporation registered in Poland as Baltic General Services LLC. It’s wholly owned by two parties, one of which is an American named Christopher Gage. Have you heard of him?”

  “I’m afraid not. And why are you investigating him?”

  Jack hated to lie, but she wasn’t read in to any of this.

  “Poor choice of words. It’s not really an investigation. My firm is working on behalf of a client that wants to do business with Gage, but they want more details about his financial affairs before they proceed further in the relationship. Does that make sense?”

  “For now, yes. And what is this Baltic General Services company doing in Poland?”

  “That’s partly what I’m trying to figure out. They seem to be partnering with other companies in Poland.”

  “What kind of companies?”

  “I’m not sure. They are privately held, just like Baltic General Services and, for that matter, Gage’s parent company, Gage Group International. That’s one of the reasons why I came. I can’t exactly figure out what those companies are doing—my resources for Polish companies back home are limited. Besides the fact Gage’s company has invested in them, the only common denominator between them is that Gage has done so through a German regional bank, which seems like an odd thing to do.”

  “What is the name of the bank?”

  “OstBank.”

  Liliana frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m not at liberty to be specific, but I can say that my office is familiar with OstBank.”

  “Dirty?”

  Liliana drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, weighing a decision. Finally, “A German BKA agent—a sister agency to mine—was killed last week in Berlin.”

  “And he was working the OstBank angle.”

  “Exactly so.”

  “Then that’s the place to start. What time do the banks open here?”

  “Not for another hour.”

  “Then maybe I will let you run me by my hotel for a quick shower and shave before we head out.”

  “Very well. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  29

  Jack’s hotel was in the city center, convenient to everywhere by foot, which most of Warsaw seemed to be. The hotel lobby was bright and modern, in muted grays and blues, with white leather couches and Danish-style furniture. The young desk clerk, a cheerful Ukrainian woman, spoke fluent English. She informed him with a bright smile that his room was ready and the corporate tab opened in case he wanted room service or anything else.

  “The bank opens in a few minutes,” Liliana said. “Would you like me to call and make an appointment for you?”

  “For us, I think.”

  “And what do you want me to say the appointment is for?”

  “Tell him I’m with Hendley Associates, we’re a large American financial firm, and we want to do business in Poland.” He was quick to add, “All of which is technically true. If there are any business opportunities here, Gerry will want to know about it.”

  Liliana smiled. “You have a hard time lying, don’t you?”

  “It wasn’t exactly encouraged at home.”

  “You’d make a terrible spy.”

  “I can’t cook, either.”

  “And how should I introduce myself?”

  “Are you okay saying that you’re my personal assistant, locally based?”

  “Makes perfect sense. I’ll call him while you take care of business.”

  “Back in thirty.”

  Liliana took a seat on one of the white couches and pulled out her phone.

  Jack took the stairs with his two bags to boost his energy. What he really craved was another cup of coffee. Actually, a whole pot.

  * * *

  —

  Twenty-five minutes later he was back in the lobby, showered and shaved and in clean clothes, with a leather folio in hand and his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. He found Liliana on the same leather sofa, texting.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Liliana stood, pocketing her phone. “The bank manager’s name is Stanislaus Zbyszko and he’s expecting us.”

  “Great. Lead the way
.”

  * * *

  —

  A constant stream of city trams and cars shuttled passengers everywhere, but the sidewalks were also crowded, even in the rain.

  Liliana skillfully navigated the crowded six-lane boulevard, keeping pace with the bright yellow electric tram rolling down the middle seventh lane. Warsaw was a modern, bustling European city. Office buildings crowded the main thoroughfares, along with high-rise apartments and gleaming skyscrapers.

  “Almost there,” Liliana said.

  “The buildings in Warsaw seem brand-new, or at least most of them do.” The Audi stopped at a red light. Jack pointed at a tall building across the street. “I don’t know what that thing is. Looks like a wedding cake from hell.”

  “That’s the Palace of Science and Culture. It was built by Soviet Communists in the fifties. For decades, it was the second-tallest building in all of Europe.”

  “I can’t quite make it out. It sort of looks like the Empire State Building, but then it has those weird other features. It’s damn tall, for sure.”

  “We locals call it Stalin’s Penis.”

  Jack laughed. He wasn’t expecting that one. “Yikes. It does seem rather imposing.”

  “The Russians were definitely sending a message. We were, after all, a Soviet colony at the time.”

  “It really stands out from the rest of the architecture.”

  “Most of what you see is relatively new. What you need to understand is that Warsaw was almost completely destroyed—flattened, just like those pictures you’ve seen of Hiroshima and Nagasaki after the bombing.”

  “The Nazis?”

  “Yes, and the Russians, who allowed it to happen. Have you heard of the Warsaw Uprising?”

  “Yes, but only in passing. We didn’t study it in detail.”

  “It is one of our most heroic moments. Thousands of Poles rose up against the Nazi occupiers in 1944, using handmade or stolen Nazi weapons, and guns supplied by the Brits from the air. The Soviets were on the other side of the Vistula, urging us to rise up. But our forces were slaughtered—the very best of the Polish underground—because the Russians refused to intervene. Stalin allowed the Germans to butcher sixteen thousand Polish fighters because he didn’t want any Polish national patriots to survive the war.”

  “If it were me, I’d blow that wedding cake up and use the bricks to build outhouses.”

  “We prefer to leave it there as a reminder of Russian treachery. Do you know history very well?”

  “I studied history in college.”

  “That’s good. Most Americans don’t seem to care about the subject. I’ve noticed that Americans seem to think that World War Two started when the Germans invaded Poland on the first of September, 1939, but I think you forget that Hitler only did so because he signed a treaty with Stalin, who also invaded us three weeks later, dividing us in two, like a Christmas goose. The Germans were defeated, but the Russians kept all of Poland for themselves after the war anyway. Ironic, isn’t it? The British appeased Hitler before the war, and then they appeased Stalin after the war. In both cases, Poland paid the price. The Allies declared war on behalf of Poland, but in the end betrayed us by giving our country to the Communists as a gift. For you, the war ended in 1945. But for us? Not until 1989, when Communism finally fell. We suffered fifty years of occupation, and in the end, we had to save ourselves.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I’m sorry to talk so much. History isn’t just a school subject for us. It’s our daily reality.”

  The red light turned green and Liliana hit the gas. “By the way, the reason why so many buildings are new is because almost ninety percent of the original ones were destroyed by the Germans throughout the war. When the Uprising ended, they razed what was left of the city to the ground in their retreat, and slaughtered two hundred thousand civilians in mass executions.”

  Jack hardly knew what to say. He couldn’t imagine the utter devastation, let alone the collective anguish of brutality and betrayal by friends and foes alike.

  Liliana offered him a polite smile. “Welcome to Poland.”

  They rode along in silence. A few minutes later, Liliana turned onto another busy boulevard near the city center and pulled into a parking lot across the street from a towering building still under partial construction. She killed the engine and set the parking brake.

  “We’re here.”

  Jack stuffed his laptop underneath his seat. “Let’s go.”

  30

  Liliana and Jack rode the swift elevator up to the seventh floor in silence, standing opposite three well-dressed Chinese businessmen, smiling and quiet.

  The elevator doors opened and Jack and Liliana exited directly into the receptionist’s lobby. The OstBank corporate offices occupied the entire seventh floor of the twenty-two-story building. The three Chinese businessmen continued to a higher floor.

  The receptionist was a young man in a trim, dark suit and steel-rimmed glasses sitting behind a marble-and-steel half-round desk.

  Before Liliana said a word, Jack approached the desk.

  “Dzień dobry”—Good morning—Jack said, hoping his terrible accent wouldn’t cause an international incident.

  “Dzień dobry. How may I help you?”

  “We have an appointment with Mr. Zbyszko. The name’s Ryan. He’s expecting us.”

  “I’ll call him. Please, have a seat.”

  Jack stepped away from the desk. Liliana cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t speak Polish?”

  “I don’t, but my Uncle Google taught me a few words on the flight over. I can ask where the bathroom is and apologize profusely for being an American idiot. But that’s about it.”

  “Mr. Zbyszko will be right out,” the receptionist said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like a coffee? A water?”

  “We’re fine, thanks.”

  A moment later, a trim, middle-aged man came through the glass door. Tailored suit, French cuffs with gold links, and a matching tie pin. Very old-school, Jack noted, compared to his own sport coat and slacks. He thrust out a firm but manicured hand. Jack shook it.

  “Dzień dobry, Mr. Ryan. So nice to meet you. My name is Stanislaus Zbyszko. I am the bank manager.” He handed Jack his business card.

  “Pleased to meet you, sir. This is my assistant, Ms. Pilecki.”

  The manager took her hand as well.

  “Please, both of you, come to my office. Did my receptionist offer you something to drink?”

  “Yes, thank you. We’re fine.”

  “Good, then please, come with me.”

  The manager led them through a wide floor crammed with cubicles and busy brokers working the phones, to his office on the far side of the room. The actual bank—tellers and the like—was located on the first floor on street level. Liliana had brought them to the business offices of the regional headquarters of OstBank.

  Zbyszko opened his door and ushered them in. “Please, please. Have a seat.”

  Jack and Liliana sat in short-backed teak-and-leather chairs on the other side of the manager’s wide, modern desk, also in teak.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I did a quick Internet search of your company, Mr. Ryan. Quite impressive, as is your list of clients.”

  “We’re a small boutique firm, but we have a very special clientele. We provide wealth management and investment services. We’re always looking for new and interesting opportunities.”

  “A very wise decision to come here. Poland is rapidly becoming an economic powerhouse. Certainly, the most important economy in Central Europe. In fact, just last week the FTSE announced we are the first Soviet-bloc country to achieve ‘developed’ status.”

  Jack nodded. “Believe me, our firm is very impressed with your country’s commitment to free-market refo
rms. We’re also impressed with the fact you’re part of the European Union and yet you avoided the Maastricht Treaty and kept your own currency rather than adopting the euro.”

  “Keeping our own currency means we control our own monetary destiny, avoiding the struggles that economies like Italy now face. But being part of the EU grants us access to the world’s largest trading zone. Poland is the place to be, and Warsaw is the heart of Poland. So, how can OstBank be of service to you?”

  “We certainly need local expertise and guidance, and your bank’s reputation is stellar. You have the kinds of relationships we seek, and we’re hoping you can help make introductions for us.”

  “Thank you for the kind words. Banking is all about relationships. I hope that ours will be long and profitable. So, what is it I can do for you today?”

  Jack opened his folio and removed a notarized letter with Hendley Associates letterhead authorizing Jack Ryan, Jr., to wire-transfer $10 million into any bank account of his choosing. He set it on Zbyszko’s desk. He then pulled out a black ballpoint pen from his pocket, clicked it, and prepared to take notes on the pad inside his folio.

  “If you’ll notice, that ten million dollars is the first of three tranches I’m authorized to invest over the next twelve months.”

  The manager read the letter casually, registering no response.

  The best damn poker face Jack had ever seen.

  “If I were to deposit a ten-million-dollar check in your bank today, Mr. Zbyszko, how would you recommend I invest it?”

  Zbyszko set the letter down on his immaculately clean desk. “I can think of several opportunities, Mr. Ryan. Of course, that all depends upon your appetite for risk, as well as for reward.”

  “No risk, no reward, right?” Jack smiled. “However, we take the safety of our clients’ money very seriously. The least amount of risk possible with a reasonable rate of return is our standard.”

  “Quite admirable. We are similarly conservative in our approach to our clients’ assets. At the moment, real estate is an excellent investment opportunity here in Warsaw. Office rents per square meter have increased six percent year over year, and residential rates approximately nine percent. As I’m sure you’ve seen, construction is booming here in the capital. Besides the favorable foreign investment climate, we have over a million Ukrainian refugees in Poland, most of them in and around Warsaw. The housing shortage is a problem—and a great opportunity.”