James Benn - Rag and Bone

“Listen, Eddie. I think we can work something out. I have a friend on the Polish staff. Do you know Lieutenant Kazimierz?”

“The baron, you mean? Small fellow?”

“That’d be him. He might be interested in hearing about the Russian. He might even see his way clear to paying you to keep meeting with him.”

“How about I just stop, and we all part company as friends?” Eddie offered.

“Sorry, Eddie. It doesn’t work that way. Either we talk to Kaz or I throw you to the wolves.” Eddie had that look in his eye, the look I’d seen a hundred times before. A guy in a dead-end job, or with no job, sees a way to make a quick buck. At first it works like a charm, but then something goes wrong. The fact that you can count on something to go wrong escapes these chumps. Then when it does, they get the look that Eddie was giving me. A beseeching, haunted look. The look of a guy who is hoping you’ll set things right, when the whole thing was his fault in the first place. The look of a guy who will never learn.

“OK, if you say so,” Eddie said.

“You can trust me, Eddie. The name is Billy.” I stuck out my hand and we shook. Eddie might never learn, but I’d learned fast. A chump is a chump, but the best chump is your chump.

Within twenty minutes we were in a room with Kaz and Captain Valerian Radecki. I couldn’t leave Eddie in place as Sidorov’s spy, so I explained to both of them what I’d seen, and suggested they might want to use Eddie to funnel phony information to the Russians. It gave me a headache trying to figure out which side I was on, so I’d gone with helping Kaz.

“Edward Miller,” Valerian said, leafing through Eddie’s billfold as he paced behind him. “Why are you not in the army, Edward Miller?”

“I tried to sign up. Punctured eardrum, they said. What are you going to do with me?”

“Eddie,” Kaz said, leaning on the table, leaning into Eddie and his nervous eyes. “We should be asking what you were going to do with us. Betray us? To the Russians?”

“It didn’t seem that serious, sir, honest. Just some harmless information, about who came and went, what the gossip was, that sort of thing.”

“But the money was good,” Valerian said. “More than a tip for your cooperation, correct?”

“Yes, it was.” Eddie stared at the table. He was afraid of Valerian, who somehow managed to give the impression of easy violence lurking beneath the surface.

“What did he ask you about today?” Kaz said.

“About that fellow, the real nervous one. Tadeusz Tucholski. Lately that’s all he’s been asking about. Where does he live, who sees him, what does he talk about, that sort of thing.”

“What did you tell him about Tadeusz?” Kaz said. I watched a nervous glance pass between him and Valerian.”

Only what I’ve seen-that you, in particular, are working with him on something. It looked to me like you were writing a book, taking down what he was saying.”

“Did you overhear anything?” Kaz said, in a slow, patient voice that I knew was holding back fury.

“No, never. I only talked to him once, when I brought up a meal. You’d left the room, and as I laid out the food, I asked him how he liked London. He said it was very pleasant, that’s all. Really, those are the only words I ever heard him speak. Honestly.”

“Very well,” Valerian said. “We believe you. We want you to continue to see this Russian as he wishes. But we will provide the information you are to give him. Do you understand?”

“Is this like being a double agent?”

“Yes, exactly, Edward Miller of 420 Penford Street in Camberwell,” Valerian said, tossing Eddie his billfold. “Except this is not the moving pictures. If you perform well, we will pay you. If not, we will kill you.”

“And forget you ever saw me, Eddie,” I said.

“I wish I could,” he said, holding his head in his hands.

“ Thank you, Billy,” Kaz said when we were alone in the hotel lounge bar. “You didn’t have to do that, I know.”

“It would’ve been hard to ignore,” I said. “Once I saw Sidorov meeting with that guy so close to the hotel, I knew it would involve you. I couldn’t let it go.”

“I hope we can turn this to our advantage,” Kaz said, lowering his voice. “The Russians are about to issue their own report on Katyn, now that they’ve had their own so-called experts examine the site. If they know we have an eyewitness, they may take action against him.”

“What kind of action?”

“What do you think?” Kaz said, finishing off the last of his lunch. “But I believe Eddie will soon tell them that our eyewitness confessed to being a fake. A deserter, a criminal who hoped to benefit financially, but grew afraid of unwanted attention. How does that sound?”

“Flimsy. Say he fell in love with his nurse, and she convinced him to tell the truth. The story needs a woman’s touch; it will make his change of heart more convincing. Tell me something, Kaz. Have you been aware of any other spies, or Russians following you around?”

“That’s very good-the woman, I mean. No evidence of Russian spying, although I have to assume they are aware of our activities. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” I said, draining my glass of ale, working at not meeting Kaz’s eyes.

“I am glad you are my friend, Billy. I’d hate to think you were suspicious of me.”

“You know me, Kaz. I’m suspicious of everyone.” I tried to smile and make a joke of it. Kaz laughed, but I don’t think he thought it funny. “Ever see this guy before?” I handed him the photo of Gennady Egorov.

“No, I haven’t,” Kaz said. “He doesn’t look well. Who is he?”

“He was Captain Gennady Egorov, late of the Soviet Air Force. Or NKVD. Stationed here in London, shot in the back of the head a few nights ago. I’m supposed to look into it for the general.”

“And you can’t help but wonder if the Polish Government in Exile was mixed up in it, given our differences with the Russians?”

“It’s a possibility that has to be explored, Kaz. It’s the first thing anyone would think of. It was the first thing you brought up.”

“It is how I’ve come to view the world. Through the eyes of thousands of murdered Poles. Through the eyes of Tadeusz. I want the world to know what they did, Billy. I want them to pay!” His voice had risen, and I laid my hand on his arm, quieting him with my touch. Heads had turned in our direction, but the other patrons soon went back to their drinks and dining.

“I know,” I said. I also knew that the Russians were fighting the Germans in far greater numbers than we were, and would be for months. The Poles were important, for historical as well as moral reasons. England had gone to war with Germany over the invasion of Poland, and the Polish people had suffered terribly since then. But the Russians had many, many divisions in the fight, and they were headed for Berlin, killing Germans as they went. The more they killed, the fewer would be facing us when we landed and made our own run at Adolf. Uncle Ike had taught me the mathematics of war, the horrible truth of the planned deaths of thousands. Some must die now so that more would live later. And it followed that some causes would be sacrificed, no matter how honorable, if doing so would lessen the final tally of dead, maimed, and lost. “I know,” I repeated, unable to tell Kaz what it was I knew with such certainty.

“What will you do next?” Kaz said, after the silence between us had become awkward.

“I need to check in with Harding, and then try to find a London gangster named Archibald Chapman.”

“Archie Chapman? What do you want with him?”

“You know him?”

“I know of him, and that’s quite enough. He’s head of an East End gang, and quite vicious. Unbalanced and unpredictable, they say. His gang has gone heavily into the black market since the war, but still runs a prostitution ring and deals in drugs.”