Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

Natalia put a hand on Rabbit’s shoulder. “You’re OK?”

“Yeah, sure,” the boy said. “Mr. Leopold kept me busy painting windows today.”

Natalia smiled. “That’s fine. Tomorrow then.”

Natalia left first so Leopold could lock up the garage. He and Rabbit would return to the Church of Archangel Michael and Saint Stanislaus by a different route so they wouldn’t be seen with her. She crossed the tram tracks that ran along the busy Avenue Basztowa, and passed through St. Florian’s Gate back into the Stare Miasto, heading for her dingy room on the east side of the Kazimierz District. She had no idea who else lived in the building, if anyone, though she was certain she’d heard someone in the hallway when she woke that first morning. Like the other places she’d gone to find smuggled packages when she was part of the channel, the room was secure, carefully selected and away from prying eyes. She figured she’d be safe there for another day. At least it had a bed, running water and a toilet.

It was almost five o’clock, and the Rynek Glowny was busy with pedestrians returning home from their jobs and queuing up at the few shops with something to sell. A scattering of people sat in the cafés around the perimeter of the market square, sipping watered-down beer and cheap wine.

Natalia smiled at the driver of a horse-and-carriage that passed by. The horse snorted, its hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestones. The driver tipped his hat. She grinned to herself and glanced toward the Mariacki Church, then stopped dead in her tracks.

In front of the church, two khaki-uniformed NKVD troopers were questioning a petite young woman with short black hair, who had been riding a bicycle. Natalia kept her eyes focused straight ahead and quickened her step as she passed by. It could be anything, she told herself. The NKVD was always questioning somebody about something. But Rabbit’s words flashed back like a thunderbolt. Those two NKVD agents you shot! They knew all about it!

As she continued across the Rynek Glowny, Natalia felt completely exposed, as though she was the only person on the immense square, and someone would shout her name from the top of City Hall Tower and freeze her in her tracks. Then a car would roar up and a half-dozen agents would leap out and—

She shook her head as she reached the south end of the square, turning quickly onto Avenue Grodzka where another horse-and-carriage passed her going in the opposite direction. She thought it was going to be a long time until noon tomorrow.

ADAM’S HEAD HURT like hell. The throbbing sensation along both temples woke him, and he struggled to sit up. It was dark. He blinked, then reached up and felt for his glasses. Remarkably they were still there. He blinked again and saw a thin shaft of light above his head.

“Adam?” It was a man’s voice, a whisper, close by.

“Zygmunt?”

“Yes. Thank God you’re alive.”

“Are Piotr and Krystyna here?” Adam began to make out forms as his eyes cleared. Zygmunt was sitting up. Next to him, two shadowy humps lay on the floor.

“Piotr’s still unconscious,” Zygmunt said. “He was bleeding badly. I tried to stop it, made a tourniquet with my belt.”

“What about Krystyna?”

“Over here.” Zygmunt motioned with his hand, and Adam crawled closer.

Krystyna lay curled up, breathing shallowly, her arms wrapped around her protruding belly. There was something white around her neck.

“I did the best I could. Tore strips from my shirt,” Zygmunt said. “There was some holy water in the bowl near the door. I think the moisture helped ease the pain a bit.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Adam is awake,” he whispered.

“Adam?” Krystyna tried to lift her head but cried out and stopped. “Are you hurt?”

Adam struggled to hold back the tears. He touched her shoulder. “I’m fine. Don’t try to move.”

“How is… Piotr?”

“He’s still unconscious,” Zygmunt said, “but the bleeding has stopped.”

“That’s good… isn’t it?” she whispered in a raspy voice. “Can you… move me closer?”

Slowly, with Zygmunt holding her shoulders and Adam her legs, they slid her a meter or two across the wooden floor, now sticky with congealed blood. Adam could feel her body jerk as she struggled to hold back her screams. She rested her head on Piotr’s chest, then took his right hand and placed it on her stomach. “It’s moving. Can you feel it?” she whispered to her husband in a barely audible voice before drifting off.

Adam felt Piotr’s forehead. It was cold and clammy. The big man’s breathing was erratic.

“I loosened the tourniquet every fifteen minutes or so, judging by the angle of the moonlight,” Zygmunt said quietly. “After a few hours, the bleeding had slowed enough to take it off. He was also shot in the side, just above the hip, when they attacked us in the wagon. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Adam nodded and caught Zygmunt’s eye in the gloom of the chapel, silently acknowledging his efforts. The Górale were incredibly self-sufficient, they had to be, but in this case it probably wouldn’t be enough. “What about Krystyna?”

Zygmunt glanced at her, but Krystyna’s eyes were closed. “She was badly burned,” he whispered. “I’m afraid she’s going into shock. Infection will kill her if we don’t get help.”

“Where are we?” Adam asked, but he thought he knew the answer as his senses started to kick back in—the hard wooden floor, a shaft of moonlight through an octagonal window. “The chapel?”

“Yes. There’s just the four of us. They took Maria away.”

Adam hadn’t known the third woman’s name, but he could imagine what Tarnov’s men did to her. He tried to stand, but a jolt of pain shot through his head. He felt nauseous again and leaned back against the stone wall. “How long have we been here?”

“I’m not sure. Nine or ten hours at least.”

“I’m sorry… it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have come.”

Zygmunt shook his head. “They’d have killed us anyway. That’s the way they are.”

Krystyna stirred and managed to turn her head toward the two men. “What document… is Tarnov… looking for?” she asked.

The pain in her voice cut Adam to the quick. He touched her shoulder gently. “It has to do with…” He swallowed hard and continued. “It has to do with the murders of Polish officers back in 1940.”

“Katyn?”

“Yes.”

“Tarnov was involved in that?”

“Yes, he was.”

She was quiet for a few minutes. Adam thought she might have drifted off again and leaned closer. In the moonlight he saw a tear trickling down her cheek. She blinked and their eyes met. “You’re not just a diplomat… are you?”

Adam didn’t respond.

“I saw how you… shot… those soldiers.” Krystyna reached up and brushed her fingers along his cheek. “I’m glad… you’re here now.” Then she closed her eyes again.

Adam slumped back against the stone wall, sick to his stomach. He had the sudden urge to strangle someone. He’d never felt this helpless in his life. Krystyna was carrying Piotr’s child. Three days ago they were a young, happy couple who’d risked their lives for their country. They had been looking forward to peace and quiet, to raising a family in their simple mountain existence. Then I came along! This is my fault! Adam closed his eyes, clenching his fists, wishing with all of his soul for just three seconds alone with Tarnov.

Several minutes passed as Adam leaned against the stone wall, forcing the rage to subside. It was Wednesday night, or more likely early Thursday morning. Natalia had said she’d wait until the middle of the week before coming to find him. But she wouldn’t come alone. They had discussed that. He had told her to use Kovalenko’s letter, or contact Whitehall, and he was certain that’s what she’d do. She was too smart, too well trained, to try anything foolish. She’d get help. Would she use her copy of Kovalenko’s letter and go to the Krakow police? Or would she contact Whitehall? Either way, Kovalenko would know that something had happened, and he’d take action.