He was still watching her. Did he think she did not notice?
Another impulse. She took in a breath and turned in his direction, making her way through a pass between two abutting stalls to the next row over. When he realized that the hunter was about to be confronted by the game, he stiffened, watched another few moments—perhaps in disbelief—as she came yet another row closer, and made his move. Away from her and with some speed.
Iza followed. Even at that moment she knew it was foolish, but she was brazened by daylight, the number of people in the square, her curiosity—and indignation that someone might mean to frighten her. And she would not allow someone to so intimidate her that she would be afraid to leave the house. She would confront him here in the public square. Where better? What overt move could he make? And even if the man remained mute, she would at least have had a good look at him.
He moved quickly but with some effort. He was older than Iza would have imagined. Using her method, he ducked between two stalls, moving to the outer row that faced the storefronts. Iza followed. Head down, the man exited the Market Square, going up Krzywe Kolo, turning briefly to look back before following the street’s sharp turn. Iza pursued. He turned right at Nowomiejska and seemed to be heading for the city walls. Iza’s pace slackened in conjunction with doubts that shot like darts from that part of her where suspicion and sense prevailed. She had thought she had turned the tables, but he was taking her into a less populated part of town. There were lonely paths and dark alcoves there. Vulnerable places. Would any passerby or beggar at the wall pay her any mind if she were placed in danger? What was she doing? Risk now outweighed curiosity, anger, and the need to know.
Iza stopped. Taking a moment to catch her breath and then her bearings, she turned about and walked away. She had gone but a hundred yards when the temptation to look back became too much to resist.
He was there, standing at the wall, the shadow of the wide-brimmed hat still sheltering his visage. What expression was he wearing? Was it one of relief? Mockery? Amusement? Disappointment?
The voice within that had cautioned her settled on the last possibility.
Iza was too disturbed to go home. She walked and walked. Miles, it seemed, her mind consumed not with the current streets and boulevards but with the path her life had taken after leaving the order. Suddenly she realized she was in Łazienki Park. Taking care to stay on well-populated paths, she lost a good hour. She looked about, noticing now the great hulk of a building on the edge of the park. It was the Officer Cadets School.
Józef was there, somewhere behind that great façade. What if she were to go in to see him? Michał had been so serious about learning of some political plan. Might she be able to coax information from him? It was unlikely—she hadn’t seen him in years—since he was a child. And yet, she had often been able to charm the most difficult children. Are seventeen-year-olds so very different? She was here, standing in front of the academy. It was worth the try.
Called again to meet with Nikolai Novosiltsev, Viktor laboriously climbed the four flights to the fifth level, cursing the man, not for any of his many failings but for the placement of his office. In the outer office Larissa nodded dispassionately at Viktor to go in to his superior’s inner sanctum. Viktor knocked and entered.
“Sit down, Viktor,” Novosiltsev said, his emotions clearly roiling and near the surface. His face was red as rouge, the tiny purple veins in his nose apparent.
Viktor obeyed.
“Why is it, Viktor, that important information comes to me from sources other than my Third Department?”
“I’m sorry, sir. If you would just tell me—”
“I’ll tell you on what pike at the city’s walls I would like your head placed if this happens again. That’s what I will tell you.”
Viktor thought it best not to respond.
“Perhaps you’re losing your enthusiasm for Russian interests. Perhaps a Polish wife has recalibrated your world view. They can do that, you know. These Polish sirens.”
Viktor’s fingers curled, his nails digging into his legs. But he knew that—beyond insult to him—this was a scarcely masked indictment against the Grand Duke Konstantin, who had taken a Polish wife—Countess Joanna Grudzińska—and had come to profess an unusual affinity for Polish culture. It was an unfiltered and loose remark leading Viktor to assume Novosiltsev had had his morning quotient of vodka. But it was also a measure of Novosiltsev’s contempt for the Grand Duke—and a quote worth jotting down when he would return to his office. Who knew when it might come in handy, when it might rid him of this man and push himself up a rung? “My views remain Russian, sir.”
“Indeed. Well, Viktor, are you aware that your brother-in-law has been to the Officer Cadets School?”
Viktor swallowed hard. A lie would be too easily found out. “No, sir,”
“And why not?”
“I’ve had a man on him.” Damn! How could he know this? “He must have lost him. I’ll find out, sir.”
“Do that, will you?”
Christ! Viktor cursed to himself. It was no secret that Novosiltsev had other sources doing the work of the secret police—but to think others were monitoring the Third Department came as an unexpected slap.
“I do not think any of this is coincidental,” Novosiltsev said. “First, Prince Czartoryski’s visit to Michał Stelnicki, then Stelnicki’s nighttime return visit to the prince—and now, your brother-law’s visit to the Officer Cadets School, the very place where the pot is boiling, but no one seems to know what kind of rancid stew it is they are making!” He was shouting now. “Is everyone aware of the secret goings-on but me?”
“Sir, Michał’s brother is a cadet there. He might be merely checking up on his well-being.”
“So,” Novosiltsev bellowed, “you think it is unconnected with Stelnicki’s alliance with the prince? You’re a fool, Viktor—or is it that you think me one? Either Michał Stelnicki is involved or he is seeking involvement. And it’s likely that the young Stelnicki cadet is privy to important information. You’re to find out what little scheme those damn cadets are up to. And find out who the hell they are!”
“Sir, if I may . . .”
“What?”
“I suggest another possibility. What if the prince is urging Michał to somehow douse whatever plan may be in the works? He’s a realist and he’s not known to be a war-monger. He knows that, ultimately, the Poles cannot stand up to us. David and Goliath is a Biblical fable, sir.”
The general thought for a long moment. “Ah, Viktor, you know a bit of politics. There is something holding those ears together. I’m impressed. What you say is a possibility, I admit. He may be trying to tamp down their insurgency. If that is the case, we need to know it. We need to know everything!”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“You’re in a difficult spot, having married into that family. I thought you a fool for doing so, but perhaps your position will prove a catbird’s seat, after all. You need to keep your occupation in the Third Department secret. That is, if you wish to keep your position.”
“I do.”
“Your wife is still unaware of your duties in the Third Department?”
“She is.”
“I wish we could bring in the boy, your brother
. . . what’s his name?”
“Józef.”
“Yes, well, whatever may happen in reference to the Stelnickis or, for that matter, to Prince Czartoryski in the unfolding days, the Third Department must appear free of any involvement. Do you understand?”
Viktor nodded. The Polish nobility still carried considerable weight at Belweder Palace—too much in Novosiltsev’s view. On more than one occasion Viktor had heard the general curse the Grand Duke’s Polish associations, and he understood that should something untoward happen to any Pole of significance, Novosiltsev himself meant to appear free of any involvement. Self-preservation. No doubt, too, the general thought he was protecting his own reputation as friend to t
he Poles, a reputation as inflated as his ego—and false.
The conference came to an end and Viktor forgot for once the pain and humiliation of the slow, jolting movements down the stairs so absorbed was he in wondering at the innuendo that something sinister may befall the Stelnickis. As for the fate of Prince Adam Czartoryski, he cared nothing.
Coming into the Castle Square, Iza sighed heavily. Her feet hurt. She could not remember ever having walked so much. She was close to home now, but she was in no hurry. Her little scheme had failed. She had tried several different approaches to the stern official at the academy, to no avail. It is not visiting day, Mademoiselle, she was told and no words or pleasant expressions could make the officious gatekeeper see her way.
And how she had imagined bringing news to Michał of some romantic plot of a group of young idealistic cadets! How she longed to see his face light. He could then move forward with his plan to dissuade them. Peace would be maintained. “Christ’s wounds,” she whispered to herself, “so much for that.”
She thought that if she ever attempted entry to the academy again, she would wear her brown Carmelite habit. It would open doors for her, quite literally. The Russian beast would at least honor her once-upon vocation. She had kept both her everyday habit and the new one used at celebratory services. They hung unhappily at the back of her wardrobe. Her final act at the convent had been a sinful one: she had kept them both, including the black veil that was to take the place of the white, had she stayed and professed her final vows.
What she hadn’t kept—never possessed, in fact—was her vocation.
In late afternoon Viktor called in one of his men and had him sit in front of his desk while he stood at his side, looking down. “I understand, Ryszard, you were the officer on duty to keep surveillance on the Gronska home and to monitor the comings and goings of Lord Jan Michał Stelnicki.”
“Yes, sir.”
Much better, this position, Viktor thought, realizing he was playing Novosiltsev’s role. The shoe felt best on this foot. “What went wrong?”
“I did follow Lord Stelnicki yesterday. I did. He didn’t know, I’m sure. He went into a tavern down at the river. I waited outside.”
“And?” Viktor didn’t care for this pup’s lack of seriousness.
“And he didn’t come out. Ever. Must have gone out the back.”
“You said he didn’t know he was being tailed.”
Ryszard merely shrugged. No, yes sir, no no sir. Viktor struck him hard across the face. “You’ll learn proper Third Department respect, Ryszard, or you’ll wind up in climes so cold your most private parts will fall off. Understand?”
“Yes sir, I understand.”
“Get out.”
Ten minutes later, Viktor descended the cellar stone steps to inquire about the status of their mole in the academy.
“Nothing new, sir,” Sergei answered. “It’s not been long since we took the finger. I expect he’ll bring us some news, though.”
“He’d better have something. Novosiltsev is losing patience. I’m losing patience. What did you promise young Gustaw if he failed us again?”
Sergei smiled. “Oh, the promise came from Luka and he believed it, I can tell you. Luka’s most convincing.
“I asked you what it was!”
The glint in Sergei’s dark eyes failed. “That he will lose an ear, sir, as you ordered.”
“Not good enough. We’ll waste no more time on him. We’ll have to try a different tactic. We must send a message.”
“Yes, sir.”
Viktor turned, heading for the stairs to his office. “If he’s useless, kill him,” he called back, “Kill him and be quick about it. And quiet!”
The heavy metal door to the stairway closed behind him, cutting him off from any response Sergei might have made.
Perhaps the disappearance of one of their own would rattle the cage of the cadets and bring their plans to light.
7
MICHAŁ ARRIVED AT THE GRONSKA town house an hour before suppertime, his mood grim, for he had been able to report nothing of substance to Prince Czartoryski that morning at Mass, and the day had wound down slowly in anticipation of his secret meeting with Józef which would—if all went well—take place the next day. He strode into the reception room to find Zofia entertaining an unexpected guest, one that brightened his mood.
“Mother!”
“Hello, Michałek,” Anna said, standing to receive kisses on either cheek. She wore a dark blue traveling dress.
“What are you doing here? This is so unexpected—not to say it it isn’t very fine indeed.”
“I’ve come on a little business.”
“You will both excuse me,” Zofia said, “I’m going to change for supper. Isn’t this lovely, Michał, having my favorite cousin here?”
“Your only cousin,” Anna said with a laugh.
“Favorite nonetheless, Princess. I’ve invited Barbara and her husband for supper, Michał. We’re to make a party of it—and why not, I want to know?” With that Zofia swept from the room.
Michał turned to his mother. “Did I detect a note of sarcasm in her address to you?”
“That’s Zofia. I’ll be glad to see Barbara and the boys.”
“Why sarcasm, Mother?” Michał asked, pressing the issue. “Was she mocking your title?”
“Oh, it’s just her way.”
“Mother?”
“Never mind.”
It took some persistence on Michał’s part before Anna gave way. She sighed. “Oh, I guess you’re more than old enough to know some things.”
“I should hope so, for God’s sake. Come sit down.” Michał led Anna over to the fireplace and to chairs that faced each other.
“Years ago,” Anna began, settling into the thick cushion, “not long before King Stanisław was forced to abdicate and live under a kind of exclusive house arrest in Russia, he gave me the appellation of princess.”
“Because you brought him news of an impending uprising here in Warsaw, one that was premature and doomed to fail.” As he spoke it came home to Michał how similar was the situation in which he now found himself. He, too, was attempting to preempt a foolishly planned and executed coup.
“My patriot friends and I thought the king would step in, see it aborted, and then—when Kosciuśzko arrived—we could successfully expel both Russian and Prussian troops without a great deal of bloodshed. My pleading didn’t convince the King to take action, but he was impressed enough to award me the title. From countess to princess in one swoop. I never cared the price of an apple for it because, as you know, the Polish Sejm does not bequeath titles of any kind in the interest of democracy, so my title came through King Stanisław’s influence with Russia’s Catherine.”
“His old flame.”
“And the person who saw to his election years ago, but she is no friend to the Poles.”
“And Cousin Zofia?” Michał whispered.
“Zofia did care,” Anna said in even a softer whisper. “She had a difficult time. You see, she had known King Stanisław long before I met him. She had some—how should I say—history with the king.”
“Ah! This is the part I never knew. You mean she had been intimate with him!”
“Hush, Michałek! Hush.”
“God’s bones!—or should I say, the King’s bones!”
“Michał!”
“And she became jealous that he gave you the title.”
Anna gave a little wave. “Human nature, I imagine.”
“You never told me this.”
“And I expect it is indiscreet of me to do so . . . Now I want to know about Józef. Have you seen him?”
“Yes, and he seems fine. You’ll be glad to know he still plays the piano.”
“Does he? Composes, too, I hope. That is encouraging. And is he still enthralled with the military life?”
“He seems to be, although my visit was short. He won’t be able to see you until next Monday, visitors’ day.”
“Mother, just what is this ‘little business’?”
Anna’s expression darkened, signaling a resolve Michał had seen many times before. “I plan to see whomever it takes to get some answer out of these Russians as to where your father is. I’ve written to everyone I could think of only to receive precious little in return.”
“I told you that I spoke to Prince Czartoryski about him last May at Sochaczew, and he’s been doing what he can to elicit information.”
“Ah! But Adam is no longer currying favor with the Russians. Not like in the old days when he was advisor to Aleksander. No, if I must cozy up to the Russians for your father, I will. I’ll find my way to the Grand Duke if necessary. I mean it, but I plan to start with the Imperial Commissioner.”
“Novosiltsev? Really? That’s not starting at the bottom, to be certain. But he’s a difficult nut to crack, I hear.—You do know Viktor works under the commissioner?”
“I do—do you know in what capacity?”
“He’s been rather vague about that, purposely so, I’ll wager. You’ll have to ask Barbara.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t think I’m going to ask him for any help.”
Michał was relieved. He would not wish to find himself beholden to Viktor Baklanov. He was caught up in a second thought, however. Might his mother be humoring him, knowing his hatred of Viktor? After all, she would go to any length to search out her husband. He could not blame her for that.
A few minutes later the door knocker sounded. Presently the Baklanov twins came toddling and whooping into the reception room, behind them a maid ushering in Barbara and Viktor Baklanov.
The Warsaw Conspiracy Page 13