One night, while walking by the River Seine, the lovebirds were set upon by a young Frenchman, full of gung ho and passion. Not wanting to lose her German Romeo to the Grim Reaper, Benedykta tackled the blood-thirsty jeune homme and killed him with her bare hands. A lifetime on the slopes sets a person up for any task, she happily discovered.
Towards the end of August 1945, Benedykta and Herr Freudenberger’s indiscretions were uncovered by one of her former French associates. Needless to say, the officer wasted no time in capturing the traitor, but utilising her boundless charm and artful ability to tell a porky, she managed to convince him that he would be better served using his bullets on someone more worthy as she was for the scrapheap.
She revealed that the blasted tuberculosis was ravaging her sick, frail body, and that she was due to shed her mortal coil anytime now. To help persuade him of her claims, she managed to cough up blood by biting her tongue while the scars on her lungs confirmed the lie when the doctors took an X-ray. (The decidedly unpleasant consequences of spending a childhood playing in her father's auto shop had some advantages after all.)
Instead of a bullet to the head, her captor decided to let her suffer a long, slow death in prison, which was no more than she deserved. On 2 September 1945, Benedykta took full advantage of the fact that her imprisoner was somewhat distracted, celebrating the end of the war, and killed him, too, before escaping. And so, a healthy Benedykta returned to Warsaw a heroine, with nary a sinner in the loop as to how she had spent the previous few months.
With Herr Freudenberger cemetery-bound, Benedykta thought the best way to distract her broken heart (and to ensure nobody started digging too deeply into her Parisian pursuits) was to channel her energy into her skiing. Three years later, she walked away with a bronze medal in the 1948 Winter Olympics in St Moritz, making her the oldest athlete to have ever achieved such a victory.
Life then returned to normal for Benedykta, and one of the country’s most recognisable faces went back to being a dutiful wife and mother. She may have disappeared from the public eye but she certainly had not been forgotten, particularly in times of political uncertainty, when the war heroine was wheeled out in front of the country to remind the Polish people of the importance of remaining loyal and patriotic to their motherland.
In recent years, she had passed the mantle onto her darling great-granddaughter, Edyta, a regular fixture on the social scene, who sent the country into a frenzy when she decided to align herself with one of the best-loved musicians in Eastern Europe. However, as Benedykta assisted the twenty-one-year-old to prepare for her big day, nobody was aware that the world’s second-oldest person had just become the target of a family looking for retribution for their loved one's murder during the war.
After years of detective work, a French clan had finally hunted their father and grandfather’s killer down. Rather than going through the official channels to get justice for the bloody events eighty years earlier, which had seen their beloved Olivier Guinot humiliated with his dead, strangled body being dumped into the Seine, they thought it would be more satisfying to take the law into their hands instead. But what these bloodthirsty avengers didn't factor into their plans was that once the one-time Nazi collaborator had become aware that her life was in peril; she had created a network of moles around the city who gave her the heads-up any time a threat to her life became apparent.
And when she received a call telling her that the elderly nun who had been making enquiries about her on the flight was now trying, rather comically, to conceal herself in one of the apple carts that were being used as decorations in the wedding venue, Benedykta first cursed the inconsiderate timing (she was charged with walking her Edyta down the aisle, and woe betide the person who would make her late for such an important occasion), then dished out orders for this uninvited guest to be brought to the empty house in the city centre that Benedykta was in the process of renovating as a gift for the happy couple.
She was yet to pick out carpets or wallpapers for the rooms, so nobody would be too upset if a little dollop of blood were shed here or there.
Chapter Nine
It was not just Denmark's Copenhagen that had a vested interest in bare-chested, long-tailed water sirens; the mermaid was also a symbol of Warsaw, given pride of place on the city's coat of arms as well as in a number of statues and other imagery. Sister Agatha could just about make out one such figure in the centre of a busy, medieval square. She had been sitting in a dark, empty room for the past hour with her arms tied behind her back, her feet bound to the wooden chair and a gag placed in her mouth.
When the truck had stopped earlier, having been on the road for a short distance, the hostage prayed that she and the apple cart were being transported to some mart after the wedding organisers had realised that they might have been a little too enthusiastic when ordering the fruit for Edyta and Pawel’s big day (although, was there such a thing as too many apples? she wondered). If that were the case, Sister Agatha then anticipated the sight of an ageing nun hidden within the produce would cause jaws to drop, so she readied herself to take full advantage of their confusion and flee quick smart.
Except, the truck's destination had not been a mart; it was the back yard of some empty, four-story, Renaissance-styled house (that was a little rough around the edges, she critiqued). When a gruff, foul-smelling man had pulled her from the cart, before dragging her up two flights of stairs into a small, unfurnished room and tying her to the chair in which she now sat, the world’s third oldest person suspected that she wasn’t amongst friends.
She looked at the busy square outside, alive with merry musicians and street performers. Even if she had her voice at her disposal, the hostage imagined that nobody would have been able to hear her cries for help. Oh, if only she had the fine set of lungs with which Sister Pasqualina was equipped! Sister Agatha was positive that if the beautiful choir soloist were there at that moment, she would have been heard in Moscow. Such wishful thinking was not only redundant but also a waste of energy. How she cursed her stupidity for getting herself into this rotten situation!
The reluctant hostage took a deep breath through her nostrils. If she were to escape from this prison, she would have to quit her pity-partying and, instead, utilise some of the skills for which she was renowned: her practicality, determination, and single-mindedness. Over the decades, she had found herself in many quandaries—although none quite of this nature, granted, but even so, she always managed to emerge triumphant so there was no reason today should be any different, she concluded.
Before she could explore any possible means of liberation, however, the door suddenly opened behind her, and a series of footsteps approached in her direction. When those feet stopped in front of her, much to her surprise, their owner wasn’t some rowdy ruffian who could make grown men cry; instead, before her, she saw her old friend Kacper.
Although it was clear from the expression on his face that he wasn’t there to give her a second slice of sernik.
* * *
Kacper Zaleski was always in a rush. Even when he had nowhere to go, he felt it best to get there as quickly as possible. Such unnecessary haste might be traced back to his premature birth, having arrived a full three months before his due date, much to the embarrassment of his mother who had been in the supermarket when her waters suddenly broke. (The frozen food section had to be then cordoned off for almost an hour until the ambulance arrived, leaving customers rather irked, seeing as it was the hottest day of the summer, and they had all been gasping for some ice-cream.)
Kacper’s speedy approach to life ultimately proved to be his undoing, however. Six months earlier, just days after his fortieth birthday, he had been driving to work. Even though Wlochy, where the Warsaw Chopin Airport stood, was a bustling town, the air steward didn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down as he travelled through the busy streets. Having never been in an accident before, he wasn’t sure what to make of the loud thud he heard as he turned a sharp corner on
ly metres from the airport. If he had hit an animal, the birthday boy wouldn’t have bothered stopping, but he feared that he might have done some damage to his brand new car—a gift from his wife—and if it had so much as a scratch, there would have been hell to pay.
But he hadn’t bumped into a cat or a dog; he had hit a child. As the boy lay sprawled out on the side of the road, all that Kacper could see in front of him was a life incarcerated in some godforsaken prison. His wife would be sure to take the keys back from him if that were the case.
An elderly woman, wearing a shawl and sunglasses, was tending to the unconscious boy. As soon as Kacper stepped out of the car, she approached him and dragged him a few steps away from the scene of the crime.
“Meet me outside the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” she instructed. “Now, get out of here before the policja come.”
And with that, Kacper fled, thanking his lucky stars for allowing such a discreet and considerate elderly lady to be present at the scene. It had appeared that he wouldn’t have to part with his new wheels after all.
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was a stately monument in the centre of Warsaw, dedicated to the nameless men and women who had given their lives for their country. Lit by an eternal flame, it proved to be a popular meeting point amongst locals thanks to its convenient location.
Kacper, always being ahead of time, wondered how the exchange with his elderly guardian angel would play out. Seeing as his wages at the airport were modest at best, he hoped that she wasn’t expecting a remuneration for her silence. Maybe he could offer to do a spot of gardening for her or help her with the shopping, although they would need to establish some boundaries, otherwise she might end up taking advantage of his generosity.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait much longer to find out his fate because as soon as the hourly changing of the guard took place, he felt a light tap on the shoulder.
“Walk with me,” the elderly woman ordered in a low, hushed tone.
As they strolled across the square, she informed him that even though her grandson’s condition had been precarious the night before, he was going to be fine—music to Kacper’s ears! However, she now needed a favour. The woman’s life was in danger, she revealed. There were endless threats to her life and she needed protection.
Kacper’s gut told him that this woman was out for lunch, but he decided to indulge her, almost out of curiosity. “How can I protect you?”
The woman advised Kasper that she needed him to be her eyes and ears, and with the added benefit of being employed by the country’s main airline company, she asked him to flag any passengers who were making enquiries about her. While her seemingly schizophrenic ramblings amused him initially (and, of course, he was extremely grateful that she was otherwise tight-lipped by nature), Kasper was a busy man and had places to be, so he decided to put an end to the bizarre exchange.
“I’m sorry, but I must be going now.”
Just as he turned on his heels, he noticed that the old woman wasn’t alone; behind them, two heavy-duty men walked threateningly in their shadow.
“Don’t worry about that pair,” she said. “They won’t harm you, so long as you do as I ask.”
On second thought, he decided it might be best to give this possibly-not-so-batty lady his undivided attention. Besides, it’s not as if her requirements were too demanding. Kacper was curious-minded anyway and had always engaged with those who travelled on his flights, asking them about their plans in Warsaw, where they were staying and what not, so what she had requested of him was simply an extension of that.
“Okay, that all seems to be straightforward,” he told her. “I think we have a deal.”
Kacper held his hand out to shake on what they had just agreed upon, but instead of accepting it, she grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him towards her with unexpected force.
“Should you mention my demands to anybody else—anybody—I will march down to the policja. I suspect they will be interested in seeing some footage that I managed to film from yesterday’s accident,” she warned, revealing a camera in her hand.
Kacper assured her that he didn’t want anyone knowing about the mishap from the night before, so he swore that he wouldn’t breathe a word. “What is your name?” he asked, just as the pair were about to part ways.
“Benedykta Balinski.”
When Kacper had time to reflect on the events of the past twenty-four hours, he thought he had actually won the lottery when he fell into an allegiance with Benedykta (a name that sounded familiar, but being on the go all his life, he had little time for national, patriotic figures). The outcome for knocking over a child as a result of speeding could have been much worse than having to keep a lookout for unsavoury figures who may or may not be lurking about the airport.
What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had been hoodwinked. The poor lifeless boy whom he thought he had hit didn’t even have so much as a scrape—or if he did, he didn’t feel it, because the lifeless victim was nothing more than a dummy.
Benedykta’s frail body was slowing down, but the threats on her life were not. In fact, she had spent the evening before the incident with Kacper, fighting off a third knife-wielding relative. (Those aggrieved middle-aged sleuths may have been able to work their way around a magnifying glass but they were clueless when it came to handling a machete. They quickly found themselves being reunited with the late Oliver Guinot much sooner than they had anticipated.)
Benedykta had, once again, come away from the encounter unscathed, but she wasn’t sure if this would always be the case. And so, on top of the few bodyguards whom she had already engaged, she needed to establish a network of people on the ground who, to begin with, could patrol the city on her behalf. She especially needed to enlist a selection of people connected with the transport industry.
So, a blackmailing scheme was born where drivers were convinced that they had knocked down a helpless child, and as a way of keeping Benedykta—the only witness—quiet, they became her eyes and ears. Once in the fold, she would then get them to run the occasional errand for her, including the odd kidnapping or two.
Kacper was the thirteenth such chump Benedykta had drafted into her clique; a number that would prove extremely unlucky for someone who was of the persuasion that, since leaving Navan, fortune was on her side.
* * *
Under normal circumstances, Sister Agatha ought to have been a little concerned about the situation, but Kacper, who kept circling her while checking his watch, seemed so out of his comfort zone that she had to dig deep to not laugh in his face. He certainly appeared more at home serving delicious food or selling perfume thousands of feet in the air than playing the role of the hardened criminal.
Soon, a third person entered the room. Before Sister Agatha could even see who it was, the captive knew that they were a lot more competent than the slithery air steward who had been so deceptively pleasant to her that morning.
“I hope I have not kept you waiting too long,” said a voice that was almost as creaky as the floorboards in which its owner crossed.
“You see, my great-granddaughter is getting married this afternoon, and it wasn't too easy for me to slip away.”
Benedykta Balinski, all dolled up in her finest regalia, positioned herself in front of her prisoner. She clutched onto a walking stick—a natural addition to her person after all those years clutching onto ski poles. While the frock was pleasant, Sister Agatha was of the opinion that the orange eyeliner was a little on the severe side, but thought it might not be to her advantage telling her as much.
Benedykta gestured towards Kacper to leave, and as soon as they were alone, she pulled up a chair and sat in front of her prisoner.
“My friend tells me that you were eager to find me. He also tells me that he discovered a packet of rat poison hidden inside your pocket.”
Sister Agatha had hoped that that particular addition to her person might go unnoticed. En route to
Lazienki Park, she had passed a small hardware store and thought it would be an idea to invest in a little something that could be surreptitiously added to the proud grandmother’s champagne flute during the celebrations. But, seeing as Benedykta now held it aloft in front of her, Sister Agatha wagered that the small box of rat poison might prove to be her undoing instead.
“I was never too taken with math in school, Sister, but even I am able to put two and two together. From what I can tell, you were hoping to kill me today and destroy my poor great-granddaughter's special day.”
Benedykta pulled the lid off the box and flung it dismissively onto the floor.
“My family is the most important thing in the world to me, Sister. I could never let anybody do anything that would upset my beautiful Edyta,” she said, her intentions now extremely clear.
Rather abruptly, she then got to her feet and violently ripped the tape off Sister Agatha's mouth before prising it open.
“That relation of yours that I killed eighty years ago deserved to die. How dare he attempt to take my darling Herr Freudenberger from me! And you can tell the bastard that from me when you see him in a few short minutes. You can also say hello to the three other people who, just like you, failed to succeed in ending the life of the great Benedykta Balinski!”
Sister Agatha wasn’t sure if something was being lost in translation, but her instinct suggested that this megalomaniac had her confused with someone else. As she weighed up the merits of trying to explain this to her, she deduced that the great Benedykta Balinski, as she called herself, wasn’t someone you might call a rational person, interested in a discussion.
“Please forgive me for having to do this so abruptly, but I have a blushing bride waiting to be walked down the aisle.”
With that, she emptied the contents of the box into Sister Agatha's mouth, ensuring that she swallowed every last pellet. Job complete, Benedykta and her walking stick, disappeared out the door, leaving her victim coughing and struggling to catch her breath. With only the mermaid in the square outside to keep her company in her final moments, this was not how Sister Agatha had expected her day to go.
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