The Miernik Dossier

by Charles McCarry

  “What time is it?”

  “Five-thirty.”

  “You won’t get anything to eat at five-thirty. The dining room opens at half-past seven. Go for a walk, why don’t you?”

  “We’re going skiing as soon as we have some hot chocolate.”

  I then remembered that we had agreed, near the end of a second carafe of strong Anstrian wine the night before, that we would do some dawn skiing. There is still snow on the Valluga, the high mountain behind our hotel, and it’s possible to have a run down from the cable car station before the sun is too high.

  By the time we got downstairs, Collins had organized everything. A table in the lobby was laid with hot chocolate and biscuits, and four pairs of hotel skis leaned against the wall. We found boots that more or less fitted, and went to the cable car station. We rode up with the cooks and waitresses of the mountaintop café. The valley was still in shadow, but as we rose in the cable car so did the sun; the first pink light touched the snowfields and the meadows and the windows of the musical comedy houses with their flower boxes. Miernik put an arm across my shoulders. “It makes one quite sentimental,” he said. “How could such a landscape produce Adolf Hitler?” He spoke in German so that our fellow passengers would be certain to understand. They turned their fascinated gaze from Kalash, who had drawn up one bare black leg and dozed off standing on the other leg like a stork, and stared in unison at Miernik.

  At the top we inquired about the ski paths and chose the longest; there are no tows at that height, so it’s necessary to walk the rest of the way down the mountain when you come to the end of the snow. I paired off with Kalash; he is a fine skier, and I did not want to spoil the experience by having to help Miernik down the path-or to listen to him quite so early in the day. Collins, divining my purpose, kicked his feet into his bindings and pushed off first down the long straight run. Miernik followed him, arms flailing, thick body tipping from side to side as he tried to keep his speed down. I waited for five minutes, hoping that would be time enough for him to get far ahead of me, and started down.

  The path turns gently on the breast of the mountain, so that it covers a couple of kilometers. It’s a lovely run, with other snowy peaks all around backlit by the sun; the snow was crisp, although there were patches of ice in the shadows of several big rocks. About halfway down I came upon Miernik; he seemed to be all right, leaning on his poles by the side of the path, so I went right by him. Far below I saw Collins dropping down the mountain and a moment later heard Kalash shout something to Miernik. The snow ran out abruptly, but you could see perfectly, so there was plenty of time to stop. Collins was waiting for me with his skis already off when I got to the end. Kalash pulled in a moment after I did. No sign of Miernik. Minutes went by. “Let’s not wait.for the silly bastard,” Collins said, “he’s probably decided to walk down the steep part.”

  Collins has not been in one of his better moods since the beginning of the trip. He is pleasant enough to Kalash and me, but he barely speaks to Miernik. I have an idea that this has something to do with Ilona Bentley. In the car yesterday, Miernik asked some innocent question about her and Collins flicked him with a look of contempt and ostentatiously changed the subject. Now, with his skis on his shoulder, he began to walk down the dirt path that leads to the bottom of the mountain.

  At this moment, Miernik came into sight above us. His poles were tucked under his arm and he was moving very fast. I swore and Kalash watched impassively as Miernik tried to snowplow, lost control of his skis, dropped one of his poles, and went by us right off the edge of the snow. He flew over a patch of jagged gravel and landed on his shoulders at fifty miles per hour on a small meadow of alpine grass. He lay quite still about a hundred feet below us. “It looks as if he’s broken his bloody neck, doesn’t it?” Kalash said calmly.

  By the time we reached him he was up on all fours, feeling in the grass for his glasses. Without the spectacles his face had a naked look. Blood oozed from a scrape on his cheek, and a dribble of pink saliva ran from the corner of his mouth. He was breathing hard. “No matter,” he said, “I have another pair of glasses in my bag.” Collins reached the scene at this moment, out of breath from his scramble up the steep path. “Miernik, you clumsy ass,” he cried, “what do you think you’re doing?”

  Miernik, still down on his hands and knees, shook his head from side to side, looking more than ever like a wounded animal. It was almost impossible to feel sympathy for him. If ever a man was born to be injured it is Miernik; it occurred to me that this unconscious masochism is his essential quality. It makes it impossible to like him-or to abandon him. Even when he is all buttoned up in one of his black suits, walking through a quiet park surrounded by harmless children and little dogs on leashes, you have the feeling that something terrible is going to happen to him. When it happens, you find yourself nodding your head—you knew it all along. “You’d better feel his bones,” Kalash said. “He may have broken something.”

  Miernik turned his face toward Collins; we hadn’t been able to find his glasses, and no doubt he saw nothing but a blur dressed in a red sweater. It is just as well that he could not see the expressions on any of our faces. Collins’s was a mask of disgust. “I’m sorry to say that I have not killed myself, Nigel,” he said. “Yes, I suppose you are, Collins said. “I’ll get some snow for your face; you’ve got dirt in those cuts.”

  Miernik was able to walk. He stumbled down the mountain path between Collins and me, leaning heavily on our arms. He was sweating heavily and trembling. Collins held him upright in cold silence, and when we got to the village, he turned away and started back to the hotel. Miernik got little more sympathy from the local doctor, who seems to have been driven into a state of perpetual annoyance by the stupid accidents of skiers. “If you cannot deal with the mountain, you should not be on the mountain,” he said, poking fingers into Miernik’s stomach and manipulating his limbs. The doctor was still in pajamas. He found a dislocated shoulder and some cracked ribs and bandaged them. “Also,” the doctor said, as he pocketed his fee, “you should not have walked in those ski boots. It ruins them.”

  At the hotel we found Nigel and Kalash sitting in the sun on the terrace with the remains of their breakfast in front of them. Miernik sat down heavily, his arm in a sling and the left side of his face painted bright red with Merthiolate. He groaned. “I’m not going to be very comfortable in the car,” he said, “but that can’t be helped.” Kalash asked about Miernik’s injuries; Collins picked up a newspaper and began to read it. Miernik, refusing to eat, stumbled away. When he was out of earshot, Collins put down his paper. “Really, Paul,” he said. “How on earth could he do such a thing?”

  I shrugged. “We all know he can’t ski,” I said. “Why did we let him try it?”

  “You realize the whole trip is going to be one thing like this after another, don’t you?” Collins said. “We’ll spend all our time helping him across the street and bandaging his wounds.”

  Miernik returned, wearing his spare glasses. He had managed somehow to get into a shirt and tie, and he wore a pressed suit coat, the empty sleeve draped over his bad shoulder. Collins said, “I’ll pack for you, Miernik, and have your bags brought down. We ought to leave in half an hour.”

  Miernik nodded. I ordered some tea for him and he began to drink it clumsily, sitting far back from the table because of his sling. When we were alone he glanced around him, squealing the legs of his chair on the floor as he turned stiffly to look behind him, and began to talk.

  “Did you think any further about our conversation of last night?” he asked. “I had difficulty sleeping. I dreamt of Zofia, waiting in the coffeehouse all alone. No one came for her. Finally a secret policeman came and began to read a book. She went with him. I saw her go with him. A very bad dream.”

  “There’s something I’d like to ask you,” I said. “Did you fall off your skis with the idea that I’d be more tenderhearted if you had your arm in a sling?”

  Miernik gave me
a shocked look. “Of course not,” he said. “I might have killed myself at that speed.”

  This is true enough. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing on the conscious level, but he makes me wonder. There was such perfection in his victimhood that I began to take bets with myself that some part of his punished brain told him to have the accident. I have played the role of sympathizer for so long that it’s beginning to have some reality for me. Watching him struggle with his teacup, observing the flashes of pain playing across his injured face, I began for the first time to think seriously about rescuing Zofia for him.

  It might be worth the risk just to see what scene Miernik will play next. That, at least, was the thought I had with the part of me that is a professional agent. The situation is very interesting from that point of view: he has left just enough unsaid to intrigue me. (How did Zofia get from Warsaw to Bratislava? How did Miernik, who professes to have no friend in the world, make all those “arrangements” for visas and a quiet stroll across a fortified frontier?) Of course he must know this, and be counting on it. His attempts to outwit me are annoying as hell. I tell myself that I can walk in and out of Czechoslovakia and confound the son of a bitch by doing so. One American is worth any five Communists.

  At the same time I have to keep in mind the possibility that he may be exactly what he says he is. This becomes a smaller possibility every day, but it is still there. Going into Czechoslovakia may be the way to find out. The plot is interesting. There is an artistry to what we are doing: spies are like novelists—except that spies use living people and real places to make their works of art. More and more I want to see what I can do with these characters I’ve been given.

  34. REPORT BY CHRISTOPHER’S CASE OFFICER (FROM VIENNA).

  1. Christopher made telephone contact at 2345 hours 14 June and reported to my hotel room at 0245 hours 15 June for an operational meeting. He submitted a written report (attached), which despite its poor organization and extraneous matter provides interesting new light on Miernik.

  2. Christopher regards Miernik’s request that he cross into Czechoslovakia to “rescue” Miernik’s “sister” as operational opportunity. He estimates that Miernik has set up this venture as a means of testing Christopher’s willingness to (a) trust Miernik and (b) be manipulated by Miernik. In Christopher’s reasoning, a successful “rescue” of the “sister” would increase chances that Miernik will make an overt attempt to recruit Christopher as an asset for the operation Miernik plans in Sudan. Such a move on Miernik’s part would certainly be consistent with the clumsy tactics he has used so far with Christopher.

  3. To minimize risk, Christopher proposes changes in the scenario Miernik has laid on for the “rescue.” Instead of following Miernik’s plan, Christopher would enter Czechoslovakia in the secret compartment of Khatar’s Cadillac. (He believes that Prince Kalash, who has a diplomatic passport and would presumably have no difficulty in getting a genuine twenty-four-hour Czech tourist visa, could be persuaded to drive the car.) Christopher proposes to bring the girl out overtly, using public transportation. He will require two Swiss passports with Czech visas and entry stamps, made out as if to a married couple, to be used by the girl and himself on exit from Czechoslovakia. He requires also supportive documentation (i.e., driver’s licenses, Swiss identity cards, membership cards, and Czech currency). No photograph of Zofia Miernik is available, but Christopher has seen a picture of her and states that she is a common physical type; a believable likeness can be found in the files and used for the passport.

  4. Christopher would bypass altogether Miernik’s proposed meeting with “the man in the black Citroën.” He rightly regards this element in Miernik’s plan as a possible attempt at entrapment. On my own discretion I told Christopher of Miernik’s contacts with Kirnov, including Kirnov’s recent letter to Miernik. It seems possible, in light of Christopher’s new information, that this letter was a signal that the “rescue” operation had been arranged. It is not probable that the cutout in the Citroën will be Kirnov himself, but this remains a possibility.

  5. Miernik states to Christopher that the “rescue” attempt must be made at 1540 hours 16 June. The time and date cannot be altered. A river steamer departs Bratislava, westbound on the Donau-Danube for Vienna, at 1710 hours. Christopher proposes to exit Czechoslovakia on this boat.

  COMMENT: The operation by Christopher does not, in my opinion, present an unacceptable risk. What is lacking is a contingency plan to exit Czechoslovakia alone if his attempt to contact Zofia Miernik fails, or if he decides that he is in danger of arrest. As we have no assets of any kind in the Bratislava area, he would be on his own in any emergency. The only border he can cross is the Austrian. The Vienna station has a standing arrangement with an officer of the Czech border guards at a point 12 kilometers east of Drasenhofen. A night crossing can be arranged at that point on short notice. I propose that a time be set for a clandestine crossing by Christopher on a contingency basis, and that he be provided with the information necessary to find the crossing point before he enters Czechoslovakia. Transport in the form of a motorcycle can be provided for him in a predetermined location in Bratislava.

  Because of the short time element, Headquarters is requested to grant its immediate approval for the operation outlined above, bearing in mind not only the risk to Christopher but also the possible dividends of success—i.e., a closer relationship to Miernik with the possibility that he will be encouraged to invite Christopher’s participation in his activities in Sudan.

  35. CABLE FROM WASHINGTON TO THE ABOVE OFFICER.

  1. CHRISTOPHER’S ENTRY INTO CZECHOSLOVAKIA FOR ONE DAY ONLY 16 JUNE APPROVED IN ACCORDANCE YOUR PLAN ON CONDITION ALTERNATE ESCAPE ROUTE IS FEASIBLE AND ARRANGED IN ADVANCE. . . .

  36. REPORT BY COLLINS.

  Christopher and Khatar went out foraging for girls last evening (14th June), leaving me to entertain Miernik, who is in considerable pain from his injuries but as chatty as ever. Nothing new developed from an interminable conversation. He dwelt on the problem of his sister who is marooned behind the Iron Curtain. Her fate is much on his mind. Bearing in mind our information that no such university student as Zofia Miernik exists in Poland, I asked him a number of questions about her studies. He spun a very circumstantial story about her activities as a student of art history at Warsaw University; she is a painter of some talent; she is beautiful (hard to believe of Miernik’s sister, but he has a photograph of a pretty blonde he says is Zofia); his fondest wish is to have her join him wherever destiny may take him. Etc.

  2. After breakfast this morning I joined Christopher for a walk around the Inner Stadt. Miernik has been talking to him too about his sister. I told Christopher that I regarded Miernik as a mytho-maniac, that I did not believe in the existence of the sister. Christopher is unbelievably discreet for an American; he almost never asks a direct question about anything. But my statement startled him, and he put me through a sharp interrogation. I told him only that my doubts were instinctive, not being based on any real information. I don’t know whether he accepted this explanation.

  3. A bit later in the day I learned from Prince Kalash that there may be a reason for Christopher’s anxiety. The prince mentioned casually, in the midst of a description of the Viennese whore he had had the night before, that he is going to drive Christopher over the Czech border tomorrow (16th June)—and leave him there. Christopher has told him that he wants to see a Communist country and will return to Vienna by his own means. Kalash does not accept this explanation, but he is quite willing to do as Christopher has asked. “He is probably on some spy mission,” Kalash says. I declined an invitation to go along, even with a diplomatic passport.

  4. I confronted Christopher with Kalash’s information. I must say he is very professional. He must have been devastated by this leak (although I suppose he expected something like it to happen in dealing with Prince Kalash, who is not only an amateur but incapable of keeping a confidence of any kind). But he showed no discomfort
whatever. “It’s just a one-day tour behind the Curtain,” he said. “You can come along if you like. I thought someone should stay with Miernik to keep him from falling out the hotel window.” Not surprisingly, no amount of prodding could induce him to tell me more.

  5. Speculation: Christopher’s excursion must be illegal (no American is given a Czech tourist visa) and it must therefore have an operational purpose. I assume that he and I are along on this journey for similar reasons. Therefore what he is doing must have something to do with Miernik. He cannot be taking this extraordinary risk merely to gain information. What would the Czechs, even some Czech controlled by the Americans, know about Miernik that would be sufficiently important and urgent that it could not be communicated in a normal way? It is my belief (again instinctive) that Christopher is going in with the idea of bringing somebody out. Putting together his reaction to my doubts about the existence of Zofia Miernik with Miernik’s preoccupation with his sister, I think it is possible that the Americans have laid on a rescue attempt involving Zofia. The purpose obviously would be to cement Christopher’s relationship with Miernik.

  6. Recommendation. That we stand aside entirely from this situation. If Christopher is arrested, as seems likely, I will still be in place. If he does turn up with Zofia Miernik in tow, we will have even stronger reason to believe that Christopher is, as we have always assumed, an American agent, and that his current assignment points to the conclusion that Miernik is up to something sufficiently important to justify Christopher’s masters exposing him to very high risks.

  37. DISPATCH FROM THE AMERICAN STATION IN VIENNA.

  1. In accordance with your instructions, we placed S. Kirnov under twenty-four-hour surveillance during his presence in Vienna 9–13 June.