Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

When the driver of the Horch tapped the horn, Adam gunned the motorcycle and led the car out of the palace arcade. Following the route described in the surveillance report, Adam drove south on Nowy Swiat, turned onto Jerusalem Avenue and headed west, all the while working out a revision to his plan. With two SS troopers in the car, the knife was useless. Fortunately, he had a few extra minutes to think, since they weren’t headed directly to the Wola District. Heisenberg’s enthusiasm for murder wasn’t the only reason he was an early riser. He had a girlfriend.

She was a Polish woman in her thirties, not especially attractive, but well-endowed, and apparently willing to trade sexual favors—and information—for her life. According to the report Adam had studied, Heisenberg kept her in an apartment beyond the West Station in the Ochota District and visited her every morning.

With the hazy eastern sky behind him and ominous clouds of black smoke from the fires in the Wola District ahead of him, Adam continued west on Jerusalem Avenue. He kept to the side of the wide thoroughfare staying out of the way of the heavily armed German convoy rumbling toward him. The convoy was headed east, toward the City Center, and as he sped past Adam counted at least a dozen Panther tanks and twice that number of trucks towing heavy artillery. Hundreds of conscripted soldiers—Hungarians, Serbs, Ukrainians and a smattering of Russians—were crammed elbow-to-elbow in the back of the trucks, all destined to serve as cannon fodder against the AK while German SS officers hung back and watched the show.

Ten minutes later Adam made a hard left turn off Jerusalem Avenue, then maneuvered carefully through a maze of shattered residential streets pockmarked with craters and littered with debris. He finally stopped in front of a three-story apartment building he had scouted out the day before in a neighborhood Heisenberg had obviously decided to spare for the time being. It was an east-west street, and Adam parked the motorcycle pointing into the haze of the rising sun.

Adam took his time as he killed the motorcycle’s engine, climbed off the seat and set the kickstand, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Artillery shelling had commenced in the City Center, and thumping detonations echoed through the area, rattling windows and keeping pedestrians off the streets. The SS trooper in the front passenger seat of the Horch jumped out and opened the rear door. Heisenberg emerged and headed straight into the building. A man on a mission, Adam thought.

Still watching the rearview mirror, Adam removed his goggles and pulled off the helmet as the SS trooper got back into the front seat of the car. The driver lit a cigarette and held out the pack to his partner. Adam glanced quickly up and down the street then, turning to his left, he slipped the Walther P-38 out of the holster and held it tight against his right leg. In a brisk but unhurried motion, Adam took three strides toward the car.

The driver squinted into the smoggy sunlight with a hand over his eyes. It was already a warm day, and the window was rolled down.

Adam stepped up to the car and, without a word, fired a single shot into the side of the driver’s head. He took a step to his left and shot the other SS trooper between the eyes.

He wasn’t sure if the sound of the artillery would drown out the gunshots, but he wasn’t about to waste any time. Holding the pistol at his side, he walked up to the apartment building and pulled open the door. The apartment was number 2B, on the second floor, and he took the steps quietly, two at a time, holding the gun out in front. He didn’t see Heisenberg. The man must have gone right to work.

Adam stopped at the second floor landing and took a breath. He could still hear the artillery shells. He reached with his left hand for the handle on the door marked 2B and pulled it downward. It was locked.

He took another breath and stepped back, pointed the pistol at the door handle and fired. With the gunshot reverberating off the walls of the confined space like a cannon blast, Adam kicked open what was left of the door.

Across the room, Heisenberg knelt on the floor facing the sofa with his pants down to his ankles. He whirled around clumsily and struggled to stand up, stumbling over his bunched-up trousers. The woman sat on the sofa with her nightgown unbuttoned to her waist, her eyes wide in confused terror.

Adam fired a shot into Heisenberg’s groin. The SS officer’s eyes bulged. Then he curled into a ball, gasping for breath and clutching at the bloody mass that gushed from between his legs. Adam took a step closer, looked down at him and fired a second shot into the back of his head.

The woman shrieked wildly, the SS officer’s blood dripping from her face and bare chest. She stared at Adam in horror. Then she scrambled off the sofa and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Adam turned to leave but stopped at the shattered door leading to the hallway. He stood there for a moment. Then he cursed under his breath, marched over to the bedroom door and kicked it open.

The woman cowered on the floor at the foot of the bed with black, mascara-streaked tears running down her cheeks. “Please, I didn’t tell him anything,” she sobbed, pulling the blood-spattered nightgown over her ample breasts. “Nothing he didn’t already know. He forced me to do it. He was a pig! I had no choice!”

Adam raised the Walther and fired a single shot through her forehead before he had a chance to think about it a second time. Then he holstered the gun and walked out of the room.

THE MORNING WAS HOT and windless, and the smoky haze that hung in the air made it difficult to see much beyond a hundred meters. But from his perch in one of the copper-clad twin towers of Holy Cross Church, Adam had a good view of Avenue Krakowskie. Farther down the avenue, beyond the AK barricade, a German bunker and machine-gun nest guarded the white stone walls and wrought-iron gates at the entrance to Warsaw University. Beyond the gates several hundred German soldiers patrolled the tree-lined pathways of the university grounds. The bodies of five Waffen-SS troopers and a handful of Ukrainian conscripts lay in the street between the university and the barricade.

The shelling had intensified during the night as German Panzer units attacked with greater fury since the discovery of Heisenberg’s body. But the barricades protecting Old Town had held… at least for now.

Adam knew it had been a risk. Assassinations led to reprisals. But it wasn’t something to be concerned about now. He’d followed his orders and it was done. Heisenberg was a murderous butcher who deserved to die, along with his collaborator girlfriend. But that didn’t matter, either. Emotion played no part in it. The man was a target, and he had taken him out. It was that simple, just the way it had been ever since the British dropped him back into Poland. Identify the target and take it out.

It was close to noon when Adam heard someone climbing the staircase leading up to the tower where he’d been positioned since daybreak. Though the church was behind the barricades, in territory still held by the AK, Adam tensed and moved to a corner where he had a clear view of the top of the staircase.

“Captain Wolf, it’s Rabbit,” a young voice called from halfway up the stairs. “I have a message.”

Adam relaxed. Though he had no official rank in the quasi-military organization of the AK, Rabbit always called him “captain.”

“Come on up,” he called back. “I promise not to shoot you.”

The skinny lad’s blond head poked up through the opening, a broad smile on his face. He was one of the good ones, Adam thought, tough enough to be trusted and streetwise beyond his years, yet young enough not to worry about the inevitable consequences.