Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

Kovalenko refilled the glasses, and they drank again.

The general thumped his empty glass on the table, his dark eyes meeting Adam’s. “So, your trip to Sachsenhausen was a success?”

Adam was sure that Kovalenko had been completely briefed on everything that had taken place. There would be no point in withholding anything. The only thing he was uncertain of was why Kovalenko had summoned him. “I found the information I was looking for.”

“So, it was a success. And this information pertained to a relative of yours—your uncle, to be more precise.”

Adam took a moment to light a cigarette. “Seems like you already know everything, General.”

“I know your uncle is the university professor who was released into the custody of Hans Frank, the German war criminal.”

“Then you know more than I do.”

“I doubt that,” Kovalenko said. “But do you know that Major Tarnov has issued an arrest warrant for him?”

Adam took a long drag on his cigarette. Meinerz had warned him that a warrant was likely to be issued, but hearing about it from a general of the Red Army was another matter. “My uncle is not a criminal,” Adam said in as even a tone as he could manage.

“How do you know? It has been many years since you have seen him. Is that not correct?”

“I know my uncle.”

Kovalenko persisted. “You have no idea what he has been doing, or what his relationship was with this mad dog, Frank, or why he was brought back to Krakow. Is that not correct?” The general glared at him. “But we all know what took place in Poland and Russia. We all know what happened at the hands of Nazi bastards like Hans Frank.”

Adam clenched his teeth. “Why did you ask to meet me, General?”

At that moment the waiter returned and set a platter of zakuska in the center of the table. He was a small man with a pasty complexion and black hair, slicked back and greasy. He avoided eye contact as he carefully placed a small plate and fork in front of each man, then backed away.

General Kovalenko reached over, speared an anchovy, placed it on a cracker and popped it in his mouth. “They’re from the Black Sea,” he said, “very good. Please, help yourself. It’s taken some effort to bring Russian food to this place.”

Adam detested anchovies and looked over the platter, filled with an assortment of cheese, caviar, marinated mushrooms, pickled herring and smoked salmon. He scooped some caviar onto a thin, rye cracker and took a bite.

Kovalenko refilled the vodka glasses, and they drank again.

Kovalenko casually looked over the zakuska platter, apparently not yet ready to explain the reason for the meeting.

“Why did you arrange for me to visit Sachsenhausen?” Adam asked.

“Perhaps I was in a generous mood,” the general replied as he speared a pickled herring. “But it seems your discovery has created a fuss with the NKVD—with Major Tarnov, in particular.”

“Because he thinks Ludwik Banach is a war criminal?”

Kovalenko nodded. “Of course. But that’s just NKVD bullshit. There are hundreds of collaborators and saboteurs out there: Poles, Czechs, Romanians, as well as Germans. This is something else.”

Adam leaned back and rubbed his palms on his trousers. “What do you mean?”

Kovalenko’s dark eyes narrowed, almost disappearing in the creases of his face. “What was your uncle’s relationship with Hans Frank?” Adam hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Kovalenko picked up the vodka bottle and filled both glasses. He lifted his and tilted it toward Adam. “Be cautious, Mr. Nowak.”

Adam sat silently in the rear seat of the GAZ-11 as Captain Andreyev drove back to the Kommandatura. A dozen questions rattled around in his mind, but he doubted Andreyev would be likely to answer any of them. He seemed a decent sort and, unlike Kovalenko, there had been a flicker of recognition in his one good eye when he saw Adam for the first time in Berlin. Adam was certain Andreyev remembered him from the meeting outside Warsaw but, like his boss, he hadn’t acknowledged it. He wondered how Andreyev felt about the lie Kovalenko told him that night, how he felt about watching the Nazis destroy Warsaw and the valiant fighters of the AK.

It was almost midnight when they arrived at the Kommandatura. The area appeared deserted except for Adam’s borrowed Jeep. He bid Andreyev good night and walked across the gravel parking area.

As Adam approached the Jeep, the headlights suddenly flashed on, freezing him in place. He shielded his eyes as three figures moved toward him, silhouetted against the glaring light.

Major Tarnov came into view, followed closely by two NKVD riflemen. “You out late, Mr. Nowak,” Tarnov said, in fractured English.

“The Kommandatura is in the American sector, Major Tarnov, in case you hadn’t noticed. There is no curfew here.”

From the corner of his eye Adam noticed Captain Andreyev getting out of the GAZ. “Mr. Nowak was at a meeting with General Kovalenko,” Andreyev called out.

Tarnov kept his eyes on Adam but shouted at Andreyev in Russian and motioned for him to get back in his car.

Andreyev walked toward them slowly and responded in English. “I am under instructions from General Kovalenko to see to it that Mr. Nowak returns safely to his billet.”

“I don’t give fuck what order have, Captain!” Tarnov shouted. “This man harbors fugitive, Ludwik Banach, enemy of Soviet Union.”

Adam took a step closer to Tarnov, ignoring the riflemen, who abruptly raised their weapons. “Harboring a fugitive? What the hell are you talking about, Major? I haven’t seen Ludwik Banach in six years!”

“Turn around, Mr. Nowak, hands behind,” Tarnov hissed. He motioned with a flick of his head, and the two riflemen stepped forward.

Andreyev shouted at Tarnov in Russian.

Tarnov shouted back but stopped abruptly as two Jeeps roared into view and skidded to a stop. Four American Eighty-Second Airborne troopers armed with submachine guns jumped from the Jeeps and sprinted forward, instantly surrounding Tarnov’s group. The Russian riflemen spun around, shielding Tarnov between them, pointing their weapons at the Airborne troopers.

“Tell your men to stand down, Major Tarnov.” Colonel Meinerz marched into the circle of light, pointing a finger at the Russian. His bearing was firm and authoritative.

Tarnov glared at Meinerz but didn’t respond.

“Tell your men to stand down,” Meinerz repeated sharply.

“This man harbors fugitive. He is under arrest.”

“On whose authority?” Meinerz demanded.

“ My authority! Commanding officer, NKVD in Berlin!” Tarnov barked an order in Russian, and one of the rifleman reached for Adam’s arm.

Instantly the American Airborne troopers closed in.

“Don’t anyone move!” Meinerz shouted. He stepped closer to Tarnov. “The Kommandatura is within the American sector, Major. If your men lay a hand on Mr. Nowak, I will order these troopers to shoot them.”

Meinerz and Tarnov glared at each other.

The NKVD riflemen stood their ground, but their eyes darted around nervously.

Adam’s heart beat faster. He clenched his fists and shifted his feet slightly, ready to take out the rifleman who’d reached for his arm.

Finally Tarnov shouted another command, and the riflemen lowered their weapons. His face contorted in rage, Tarnov pushed past Meinerz and stalked across the parking area to another auto that had been concealed in the shadows.

As Tarnov’s car sped away, Adam finally relaxed and unclenched his fists. Meinerz slapped him on the back. “Fucking NKVD.”

“How did you—?”

“Captain Andreyev called me… just before you left the Adlon.”