by Mike Maden
The first property they visited was just south of the city center off highway 91. It checked out as described in the tax records: a gas- and diesel-fueling station for both cars and big rigs. They did a quick drive around the property and saw nothing unusual. They parked and popped inside the clean and well-stocked minimart/restaurant. Nothing and nobody stood out.
Back in the Audi, they headed toward the center of Gdańsk, not far from the European Solidarity Centre, where the last property was located.
“Yeah, I know. Next time,” Jack promised before Liliana said a word, as they rolled past the famous museum.
The museum was located on the property of the famous Gdańsk shipyards where Lech Wałęsa and the Solidarity union led the strikes culminating ultimately in the downfall of the Communist government. Though much smaller than in its heyday under the Communists, the shipyard was still in operation. Giant cranes that lifted the multi-ton sheets of steel used in ship construction dominated the skyline. Machine shops, engine repair facilities, and every other construction and maintenance facility required to build or service ships were also present, along with docking facilities and equipment for loading and unloading ships’ cargoes. The entire facility was built along the Martwa Wisła River, a tributary of the Vistula that gave easy access to the nearby Baltic Sea.
The shipyard area was surprisingly open, Jack thought, with no security he could determine. Not even surveillance cameras. Forklifts and other utility vehicles rumbled along the well-worn asphalt roads between semi-dilapidated buildings, mostly brick and iron.
“The ones in the best shape were built by the Prussians, before the First World War,” as most of the city had been, Liliana explained. “The ones falling apart were built by the Communists.”
They turned onto one of the service roads, alternately passing around or crawling behind slow-moving forklifts and other service vehicles. Many of the shop and warehouse doors were open. Pallets were loaded and unloaded, cutting torches threw sparks, welding rods flashed. Clanging, banging, and shouting punctuated the air.
Liliana had to dodge one forklift racing out of a workshop with a load of pipe, and was nearly hit by a delivery truck loaded with acetylene and oxygen tanks that demanded right of way on the tight-fitting road.
“Gage’s property is just up here,” she said, though Jack saw it clearly marked on the Audi’s map display.
“It’s the warehouse on the end,” Jack said.
A truck horn blasted behind them. Jack turned around. A hundred feet back, a red JAC tractor-trailer rig was honking at a forklift blocking the road. It looked a lot like the one he saw being loaded up at the Warsaw warehouse, but there was no way this was the same one. Through the windshield glare he barely made out the driver, a Chinese man, and his passenger, a white guy, with his booted feet splayed up on the dashboard. It appeared as if two more tractor-trailer rigs were inching along behind the first one.
Just as Liliana pulled up to the Gage warehouse, two huge green sliding steel doors were pushed open by a couple of beefy Poles. They glowered at the Audi beneath their yellow hard hats. One of them shouted over his shoulder. Jack caught a glimpse inside of the cavernous warehouse. Forklifts raced around, stacking palletized loads, but what really caught Jack’s attention was the docked ship unloading its cargo just outside the warehouse in the fading sunlight.
A mountain of a man stepped out of the shadows and into the open doorway. His brush-cut blond hair and broad shoulders made him look like Dolph Lundgren’s younger brother, only bigger and uglier. His mallet-sized fists were perched on his hips and his elbows splayed outward like steel joists in physical challenge to the strangers in the Audi. The glare in his cold, blue eyes told them to keep moving. So did the pistol printing on his hip beneath his work shirt.
“Friend of yours?” Jack asked.
“I should ask to see his carry permit. I doubt he has one.”
“Might not solve our bigger problem. We need to find out what’s going on in that warehouse. And I wouldn’t mind a look around on that ship unloading, either.”
“Won’t be dark for another two hours. Hard to do any surveillance undetected in this alley.”
“We’ll come back when it’s dark and see if we can get a better look.”
The truck that was behind them came barreling up, blaring its horn. Jack turned around again. The scowling Chinese driver didn’t try to hide his disgust. The other man’s boots still rested on the dashboard.
The driver gave the horn a long, hard blast.
“Osioł,” Liliana swore as she stomped the gas, throwing rocks and debris.
The goon and his buddies shouted and cursed as the Audi sped away.
“I hope you’re hungry, Jack. I know a place. It’s not far from here.”
“Starving. We can eat and talk at the same time.”
Jack knew he would love the food, and Liliana would hate his plan.
* * *
—
Cluzet’s boots were on the dashboard of the JAC truck he’d ridden across most of Central Asia. His back ached and a hammer pounded the inside of his skull. He had no patience for anything now, especially lost tourists. They were less than three meters from ending an ass-breaking journey of more than six thousand kilometers. He was a day late already, which cost him and his men their bonus. They were just a few hours short of a bullet to the back of the head.
“Hit the horn again,” he told his driver. Lin gave it a long, hard blast. The silver Audi sped away, throwing debris from the pitted road.
The Chinese man laughed. “I scared them good!”
Cluzet sat up, staring at the Audi.
The Chinese shifted into low gear and the truck lurched forward.
Something wasn’t right about that Audi. But the throbbing migraine torturing his brain wouldn’t let him think about it. He snatched a bottle of Tylenol from the glove box as the air brakes whooshed. He dropped three white tablets into his mouth and started chewing them as the truck shuddered to a final stop in front of the open warehouse doors. His advance man, a towering slab of Scandinavian meat by the name of Hult, was still staring daggers at the fleeing Audi.
Cluzet climbed down out of the cab, stretched, and yawned. He shook hands with Hult, and the two briefed each other over recent events. Hult agreed to supervise the unloading and reloading of the trucks while Cluzet set out in search of a good meal, a clean bed, and a pair of enthusiastic whores before the convoy headed back out in the morning.
58
Jack and Liliana parked in a paid parking structure adjacent to the Motława River, which snaked its way through the old town and the heart of the tourism district.
Liliana’s phone buzzed. “Looks like Goralski is headed out of town, south on the E75. He could be headed to Warsaw. It’s too early to tell.”
“So long as he’s not here in Gdańsk, I don’t give a rat’s.”
They made their way by foot to her favorite restaurant in the city, Machina, housed on the first floor of a soaring Gothic-style building. “Best pasta in the city,” Liliana promised.
They opted for inside dining to stay out of view instead of enjoying the festive ambience on the porch and people-watching beneath the warm flame towers. Jack’s pesto gnocchi topped with smoked bacon and fresh mozzarella was the best he had ever eaten, and the chocolate-and-quince tiramisu was perfection. He passed on the craft beer selection and opted for bottled water. Liliana had finished her spinach-and-ricotta ravioli and was working on a house merlot instead of dessert.
They reviewed the facts as they knew them and tried connecting a few more dots as they ate. Jack gave her as many details about Christopher Gage and BGS as he could recall. Mostly, he was stalling. But it was clear that Liliana wasn’t really paying attention.
“What are you thinking?” They didn’t have to whisper. The place was lively. Locals and tourists having a good
time. The four women seated at the table next to them had killed off three bottles of wine already, gossiping and laughing like schoolgirls.
“I shouldn’t be sitting here. I should have Goralski picked up and questioned. Tonight.” She checked her phone. “He’s definitely heading for Warsaw.”
“And if he doesn’t talk?”
She took the last sip of merlot. “Believe me, he’ll talk by the time I get through with him.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Or maybe he lies. But if he’s a pro, he’s on a check-in schedule. You pull him in, his handlers will know he’s blown. There’s a bigger picture here.”
Liliana let out a long, frustrated breath. “Yes, you’re right. I should call in for a warrant for the warehouse right now.”
“Do you think a judge will issue one just because you thought that big dude was carrying illegally? That wouldn’t cut it with any judge I know of in the States.”
“No, probably not.”
“So, I have this idea,” Jack began. “More wine?”
“I can tell already I’m not going to like it.”
“It’s a good one. You’ve got to trust me on this.”
“You want to go in there tonight, don’t you?”
“Have to. You don’t have any compelling legal reason for a warrant to search the place. I can get you something.”
“I can’t let you break the law. My boss would have my head if you got caught.”
“I won’t get caught. And I’m not going in there to commit felony armed robbery. Just a little trespassing. I’ll get you your evidence, you get your warrant, and we’ll crack this nut wide open. My guess is that ship is as dirty as anything in that warehouse. It’s a twofer.”
“Then I’m going in with you.”
“No way. If we found anything and word got out that you broke in there illegally, any evidence we found would get tossed.”
Liliana leaned forward. The candle flames were dancing catchlights in her eyes, but she was stone-cold serious.
“Tell me the truth, Jack. You’re CIA? Military?”
Jack laced his fingers together and leaned forward on the table, matching her intensity. He lowered his voice.
“If you’re asking me if I can play the piano, the answer is no.”
Liliana’s expression darkened, and then suddenly she caught the joke and burst out laughing. Loud enough that the four women at the next table glanced over, smiling, wondering what all the fun was about at their table.
Jack raised a bottled water in a mock toast to them. “She said ‘yes.’”
The table of four women looked at one another, then cheered and clapped and raised their glasses to them, congratulating them in English and Polish.
Liliana blushed seven shades of red before turning toward Jack. She lowered her voice, staring daggers at him despite the fake smile. “I didn’t say ‘yes’ to anything.”
“They think you did. They just don’t know to what.” Jack stood. “We should go.”
He helped Liliana with her coat and threw a wave to the table of smiling ladies, who cheered them on one last time.
59
After dinner, Jack and Liliana grabbed their bags from the Audi and walked toward a hotel on the other side of the river near where they had parked.
The harbor area of the city was busy with tourists even though it wasn’t high season. The waterfront restaurants were packed and the lights were just coming on. It was a picture-postcard image that on any other night Jack would have called beautiful, but tonight they were still too involved in formulating their plans for ingress into the warehouse and tomorrow’s follow-up actions.
They passed by a garishly ornate theme-cruise “pirate ship” that had just docked and was unloading its last tourists. The familiar sea shanty “What Do You Do with a Drunken Sailor?” was blasting on the ship’s loudspeakers in Polish and the pirate crew was securing the boat for the evening. Liliana explained that it ran daily tours past the Westerplatte—the place where World War II started when German forces opened fire on Polish defenders.
Construction cranes dotted the sky on the other side of the river behind the ship on one of the two islands formed by the splitting of the Motława River. Brand-new buildings designed to mimic seventeenth-century architecture were going up, shoulder to shoulder.
Jack picked the hotel off a TripAdvisor recommendation, an authentic, renovated seventeenth-century, four-story royal granary. Photos showed a double-sized bed for her and an extra-long couch that could accommodate his six-foot-one, two-hundred-pound frame.
She agreed with Jack that there was no telling if her organization was compromised, given the fact that an ex-ABW agent was now working for the other side. She also reluctantly agreed to his idea to rent the room for the night with cash and his Gavin-generated passport under an alias. He would bring her in later that evening as a “guest” with a nod and wink to the desk clerk—along with a twenty-zloty tip—so she didn’t have to show her credentials or reveal her identity.
He paid his bill and dropped their bags off in the fourth-story suite after pocketing a couple of Gavin’s devices and headed back down to meet Liliana. The good news, Liliana reported, was that Goralski’s car was still on the move and tracking toward Łodź rather than Warsaw. She said that tourists traveling to either Prague or Vienna would take the same route, but it was too early to tell which one.
With any luck, Goralski was out of the picture for the rest of the evening. That was good. There was too much else to worry about without the ex-ABW agent charging through the back door when they least expected it.
* * *
—
Liliana was an officer of the law and a patriot. When she and Jack finally got back to the hotel room, she started to get cold feet.
Jack rightly pointed out that she couldn’t break into the warehouse and gather any information that wouldn’t automatically be compromised for lack of a warrant. Worse, she’d lose her job, which to her was more than a source of employment—it was her life’s calling. How better to serve the nation she loved so dearly?
But Jack’s offer to break in instead was equally problematic. He was a foreigner threatening to trespass on private Polish property, though Jack reminded her that Gage was an American like he was, and Hu Peng a Chinese national, and they were the property owners, technically.
“Look, I promise not to steal anything. Only plant these.” Jack showed her two small cellular video cameras with both optical and night-vision capabilities. With their own SIM cards and transmitters, they could broadcast live video and audio signals to Jack’s cell phone or store them on The Campus’s cloud, which Gavin managed. The Campus’s cloud was, of course, just a data-storage facility, i.e., racks and racks of bare metal servers built and designed by the world’s premier company for that sort of thing:
CloudServe.
Still in the hotel room, Jack set up the two camera units to record when the motion-detection sensors were activated. At any point he could manually fire the cameras, turn them off, or program them to record on a set schedule of his choosing. The lithium-ion batteries and supplemental solar cells would provide a minimum of one hundred hours of continuous recording. More than enough time to identify any possible criminal activities that might occur inside the warehouse.
“I put these in, and then I’m out of there. Twenty, thirty minutes, tops,” Jack promised.
“You’re putting me in a very awkward position.”
“That’s what friends do.” Jack smiled, packing up the cameras. “Trust me. In and out.”
Given the possible connections to the international drug syndicate she and Jerzy had been investigating, as well as Jerzy’s likely attempted murder, and given the relatively minor criminal infraction that Jack was about to commit, she reluctantly agreed.
Liliana called Tomasz and wished him good night and, at the boy�
��s request, so did Jack. “Mommy will be home tomorrow, sweetheart,” she said. She struggled to hang up, but finally did when her mother said good night and whisked Tomasz away for his bath.
The two of them set their alarms for midnight and grabbed some fitful shut-eye in their separate beds, giving themselves some rest and the warehouse district time to empty out.
* * *
—
Gdańsk was a very safe city, particularly in this part of town, even at this late hour. Rather than walk back to the car, drive it, and park it at a safe distance, it was easier and even faster to just make the brisk twenty-two-minute walk from their hotel to the port facilities and the Baltic General Services warehouse.
The port itself was mostly shut down from its hectic daytime activities of shipbuilding and repair, but a number of ships tied up at pier were well lit, and a few still loading or unloading.
The line of workshops along the narrow street where Gage’s warehouse was located was dark and quiet, and the street itself poorly lit, but a half-moon shone enough to keep them from stumbling over their own feet. A cloudless sky chilled the air, but at least it was dry. The weather app on Jack’s phone promised rain later, but for now they were fine.
They stayed in the shadows wherever possible. Jack didn’t see any surveillance cameras, and the one police vehicle that passed through did so at a speed as if taking a shortcut rather than actually patrolling.
They took a position behind a long blue dumpster across the street opposite the giant green doors of the BGS warehouse, now shut tight. The lights inside were off and there wasn’t any noise coming from within. The truck that had honked them out of the way was nowhere to be seen, nor were any others.
