Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

Adam remembered the Górale from a student camping trip he’d taken in 1938. They were highlanders—mountain farmers and herdsmen—tough passionate people, the type of people who would protect their friends at all costs. “How will I find him?” he asked.

“Tomorrow, take the evening bus to Nowy Targ but don’t get off. A man carrying a wicker basket will get on board.”

“Can I go tonight? It’s urgent.”

Jastremski thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll arrange it. Just follow the man with the wicker basket. He’ll introduce himself as ‘Tytus.’ He’ll expect a code name in return.”

“Tell him it’s ‘Wolf,’” Adam said as he got up to leave.

Jastremski followed him to the door, checked the hallway then pointed in the opposite direction from which Adam had come. “I suggest you leave by the service entrance in the back. Just follow this corridor and make a left. There’s a loading dock, but it’s only used on Friday mornings by the janitorial crew. Next to the loading dock is the service entrance.”

IT HAD BEEN YEARS since the last time Adam was in the eastern section of the Kazimierz District, and the now-decaying neighborhood bore little resemblance to the bustling Jewish market area he remembered. Slowly navigating the mostly deserted, filthy streets, Adam eventually found the address Natalia had written in the newspaper. His first instinct was to share the information he’d received from Jastremski with her. But by the time he arrived at the run-down building, doubts had crept back into his mind.

He stood on the sidewalk, glancing up and down the deserted street, hesitating. He remembered a similar moment back in Warsaw when he had stood outside the breach in the old city wall while Natalia waited for him in the ammunition cellar. He had hesitated then as well, but he’d had to leave when Rabbit suddenly arrived.

Or, had he?

On that night, Natalia wanted to be his friend. A simple thing, a friend: someone to talk to, someone to share his fears, his anger, his hopes for a future. But he didn’t have friends; he couldn’t have friends. It wasn’t possible. Friends, relationships of any kind, were a distraction, and distractions led to mistakes.

Assassins could not make mistakes.

He should leave. Get lost for a few hours and take the evening bus to Nowy Targ. That was the sensible thing to do. Focus on the mission. Find Banach and the Katyn Order. Natalia had done her part and there was no reason to put her in any more danger. Back in Warsaw, she had wanted a friend. But he knew it was far more than that now. If he couldn’t be her friend then, he certainly couldn’t be her lover now, not ever.

There were no second chances… and there would be no redemption.

And worst of all, he knew there would be no release from the yearning he felt to touch Natalia, to kiss her, to…

He had to leave.

Adam started back up the street, walking briskly, his mind made up. It was the right thing to do.

He approached the end of the block and was about to turn the corner, when he noticed an old man shuffling along the sidewalk on the other side of the street, poking into the gutter with a long stick. Adam slowed his pace. The man looked at him for a moment, then nodded, tipped his grimy, felt cap and shuffled on. Adam stopped and watched as the man proceeded down the street, turned the corner and disappeared… alone.

Adam turned and looked back down the street, toward the building where Natalia waited. What the hell is wrong with me?

He turned around and walked back to the run-down building, his desire now overpowering. He climbed the stairs to the third floor and found the key behind the radiator. He paused for a moment outside room no. 34… then inserted the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

Natalia sat on the bed wearing only a partially buttoned cotton shirt over her bra and panties. Her knees were drawn up, her arms clasped around them.

Adam glanced around the room, avoiding her eyes. The curtains were drawn, but the window was open at the bottom and a soft breeze fluttered in. “Jastremski was very helpful,” he said quickly. “But I’ve got to go. There’s not much time and…”

He stopped and looked at her, suddenly struck with a terrible fear that if he took his eyes off of her for just an instant, she’d be gone, like that last night in Warsaw.

Natalia cocked her head and smiled. “You look very hot—and tired.” She slid over, making room on the narrow bed, beckoning for him to sit down.

“You know who I am, Natalia. You know what I’ve done.”

“Yes, I do. Now come and sit down. I won’t bite.”

Adam closed the door and locked it. He set his briefcase on the floor, draped his suit coat over the back of the single chair and sat next to her.

She reached up and stroked the scar on the left side of his face, looking at his damaged ear. “Did that happen at Raczynski Palace?”

He nodded.

“You could have been killed. Why did you—” She stopped and bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.” She looked into his eyes. “I was in love with you, Adam.”

A knot twisted in his stomach. “And now?” he whispered.

A tear formed in the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. “I loved you. I couldn’t explain it; we barely knew each other. But I also hated you for leaving that night. I hated that you were determined to throw away your life—and my life, what we might have had together. And I hated myself for not stopping you. And then, the day before yesterday, when you stepped onto that tram…”

Adam reached over and brushed away the tear, running his finger slowly down her cheek, feeling as though he had drifted through a passageway, leaving a dark place and entering a brighter one. “That night, at the palace in Warsaw, my last thought was that I had been given a gift. In the midst of all that horror, I had been given a gift—and I threw it away.”

“We have another chance, Adam.”

He touched her knee, tracing a circle with his finger, looking into her eyes. “I want to believe that.”

She placed her hand on top of his and caressed his fingers, reached up and loosened his tie, slowly pulling it off his neck.

With a tremor in his fingers, he undid the rest of the buttons on her thin, cotton shirt and slid it off her shoulders.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, leading his hand slowly up her thigh. Her face was flushed, her hair wet around the edges, sticking to her forehead. Beads of perspiration trickled down her neck and disappeared between her breasts.

Adam leaned forward and kissed her neck.

She snuggled close as his other hand moved around her back, finding the clasp of her bra.

They lay curled together under the sheet as the late afternoon sun filtered through the grimy windowpane. Natalia rested her head on his chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart, feeling a warmth inside she had only dreamt about. If only they could stay right here, curled up in this shabby little room, just the two of them, and ignore everything that was happening in the world, she would be happy.

But that wasn’t possible. There were things they had to do. And she had to tell him about the two NKVD agents she had murdered. But not right now. For just a few more moments all she wanted to think about was Adam. She snuggled closer and whispered, “You haven’t told me how you managed to get out of Warsaw.”

He sighed as he ran his fingers through her hair. “Well, I still had that motorcycle, and the German uniform—”

She abruptly sat up. “My God, you mean that Waffen-SS uniform you wore when you shot Heisenberg? You kept it?”