Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

“I’m aware of that,” Natalia replied, “but I must find him. It’s extremely urgent. The gift—his journal—has also revealed the existence of a document that could help save Poland. He’s the only one who can tell us where it is.”

“I suspect it’s a bit late for that, my child.”

“No, it’s not too late. But time is short.”

The priest didn’t respond.

“I’m not the only one searching for him.”

The priest’s eyes darted around. Groups of people passed by in all directions, carrying on their own conversations, the sound of a trumpet from a nearby café drowning out most of the chatter. He turned back to Natalia and whispered, “This is very dangerous.”

“I know. That’s why we have no time to lose.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Your contact. The other person in the channel.”

“Impossible! You know I can’t tell you that.”

Natalia took his arm. “Please, it’s absolutely crucial. This is our only chance.”

The priest shook his arm free. “You know the rules. I cannot divulge the name of a contact. None of us can.” He began walking again.

Natalia hurried to catch up to him. “Stop!” she hissed. “Stop and listen to me, Goddamn it!”

He stopped and turned to her. His bony face was crimson. “How dare you—”

“Just listen for one moment… please.”

His mouth tightened. “As you wish, one minute.”

“The NKVD is hunting for Banach. We both know what they’re like. They’ll eventually find out about all of us. It’s only a matter of time. Our only chance is to locate the document, and the only way to do that is to find Banach before they do.”

The priest glared at her, looking down the length of his pencil-thin nose as though she were a gnat he wanted to swat away. But he was sweating and there was a flicker in his eyes that gave him away. He was afraid.

“It’s the only way,” Natalia whispered.

A group of people staggered past, singing and laughing. One of the men waved a half-empty bottle of vodka. The priest waited until they were out of earshot. “We can never meet again. You can never come back to the church. Is that clear?”

Natalia nodded.

“Never,” he repeated.

“I understand.”

The priest hesitated then said, “His name is Jerzy Jastremski.”

“Does he know where Banach went?”

“Yes. He’s the only one who does.”

WHEN THE TELEPHONE RANG in Adam’s room at the Hotel Polonia he had been awake for a long time, worrying about his uncle. He snatched the receiver off the hook on the second ring.

It was Natalia. “The service is at nine o’clock,” she said. “Bring some flowers.”

“Christ, it’s been—” The line went dead.

Adam placed the receiver back on the hook and stared out the window at the street below, watching the city slowly come to life. He wondered if they could survive this.

At five minutes to nine Adam left the hotel. He paused on the sidewalk. The sun was bright, and there was a warm breeze. It would be hot again today. He spotted the flower stand just a few meters down the street. Natalia leaned against the wall of the adjacent building, reading a newspaper. Ignoring her, Adam walked up to the stand and picked out a bouquet of daisies. As he paid for the flowers, Natalia walked away.

Adam followed her at a safe distance, across the Planty and the Rynek Glowny, into the Mariacki Church. Inside, the sanctuary was quiet. Friday morning was an off time and only a handful of people knelt here and there, praying the rosary to themselves. Adam slid into the pew next to Natalia and laid the daisies on the seat beside him.

He waited while Natalia sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking straight ahead. Finally she turned to him and said softly, “I thought I’d never see you again. I know where you went that last night in Warsaw, and I know why, but…” She turned away, shaking her head.

Adam rested his arms on the back of the pew in front of them. How could he explain his actions on that chaotic night? He didn’t understand what he’d done any more now than he did then. In the few brief hours they had spent together in Warsaw, Natalia had stirred emotions inside him that he had thought were long dead, emotions that had driven him to try to defend the AK hospital.

He glanced at Natalia. She was as tough and battle-hardened as he was, not hesitating to kill the enemy before they killed her. But there was a difference, something he saw in her eyes every time he looked at her, a tenderness that he doubted he could ever return.

She touched his arm and motioned for him to sit back. Then, as if she had read his mind, she leaned close and whispered, “Don’t.”

He slid back in the pew. “Natalia, I—”

“Don’t,” she repeated. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“Natalia, I… Natalia, I don’t think…” Christ, he had to get this out! He tried again, keeping his eyes on the floor as he spoke. “When I went to Raczynski Palace, I knew I’d die there. I couldn’t go with you. I couldn’t escape. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.” He paused and took a deep breath, grateful that she didn’t try to stop him before he could get it out. “I wasn’t trying to be a hero. But I had to do something that would have some meaning. I just needed… I needed…”

“Redemption?” she asked quietly.

Adam blinked, taken aback by how easily she could see into his soul. Was that it? After all the murders, the hatred, the years of cold-blooded killing… Was he seeking redemption? Was that even possible after everything he’d done? He gripped the edge of the wooden pew, willing himself to go on. “I wasn’t the only commando in the palace that night,” he said. “There were six of us. The SS opened fire on the building with machine guns and mortars. They kicked in the doors and tossed grenades through the windows. Then they charged in. They shot the patients, doctors, nurses. They went from room to room. We took out a lot of them, but they picked us off one-by-one. I was the only one left at the end. I was driven back to a corner on the ground floor. And then my head…” He brushed his fingers over the scar on the left side of his face and slumped back in the pew as the events of that last night rushed back: the anguish on the faces of the doctors, the terror in the nurses’ eyes, the crushing frustration and the feeling of absolute futility.

“Then something happened,” he went on, still avoiding her eyes. “I remembered that last moment in the ammunition cellar, when the lights went out and you took my hand. And I wanted to live. Suddenly, at that moment, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life, I wanted to live.”

Natalia placed her hand on his knee and rubbed it gently. “We’ve been given a second chance, Adam. We can make this mean something.”

He finally looked at her and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

They decided it would be safer if they kept moving, and a few minutes later they were walking along Avenue Grodzka heading south, away from the Rynek Glowny. They circled around Wawel Castle and followed a path down to the bank of the Vistula River. There was no one else around, and they sat on the grass beneath a giant willow tree. Ducks swam lazily on the river, and a rowboat glided past. Natalia held the bouquet of daisies in both hands, looking down at them.

After a few minutes she laid the daisies on the ground and reached into the vest pocket of her jacket and withdrew a thin, leather-bound book. “We can’t take much time now, but there are some sections of this you must read before we do anything else.”

Adam watched in silence as she opened the journal written by his uncle, Ludwik Banach. She thumbed through the pages, then handed him the journal, pointing to an entry near the end.