She shook her head. ‘No. I saw the dispensation. His Holiness had signed it. . . his seal was on it.’
Mirek just looked at her, not knowing how to tell her. He did not have to. Realisation dawned. She put her hands to her face, drawing in breath.
‘A forgery! What have I done . . . What have they done?’
He had pushed back the covers and, in great agony, swung his feet to the ground. He walked to her and put an arm round her shoulders and led her to the bed. They sat side by side while she came to terms with her situation. He thought she would cry, but she did not. He expected that her mind would be numb from the experiences and revelations of the past hours and days. It was not.
She composed herself and said, ‘I understand their motives, the Nostra Trinita. I think they are terribly wrong but I understand their concern for His Holiness . . . But Mirek, I don’t understand yours. It cannot be money.’
He remained silent, considering again, then said, ‘No, Ania. It is not money. Nor is it concern for the Pope. It is hatred.’
She turned to him and he explained.
He told her of his early life. Of his conversion to Communism and his absorption by it. He explained that it suited his character. He was ambitious and single minded. Also selfish. The family of his best friend at school had been hard-line Communists for three generations. He was much influenced by them and ended up spending more time in their home than his own. His parents were virulently anti-Communist but he felt that their arguments had no logic; that their minds were only ruled by emotion. The estrangement progressed rapidly. His friend’s father arranged for him to get a scholarship to university which would result in recruitment to the SB. It had suited Mirek perfectly. He was a dedicated atheist and considered the Catholic Church to be the most reactionary element in Polish history. He blamed it for the propping up over centuries of a corrupt aristocracy and for being the main cause of Poland’s historic ills.
For his parents, his joining the SB was the final straw. His father told him that he no longer had a son and that he would never look on his face again. His mother told him that he no longer had a mother and that she cursed her womb for producing him. He did not care. His vision was straight ahead. The past was finished. His only regret was his sister. She was three years younger, and as children, they had been close. He had deliberately closed his heart to his parents but could never totally close it to her.
His family had lived in Bialystok. He had been posted to Cracow far away. A deliberate move by the SB to keep him at a distance from a residual familial influence. It had been unnecessary. He never contacted them or heard from them again; or from any other relatives or childhood friends. When you joined the SB the regime became your family.
As the years passed he worked hard and intelligently and served his new family well. He explained to Ania that within the SB there is an unofficial inner group. It bears the nickname Szyszki - the circle. Many totalitarian security organisations have such groups. They form an elite. They keep themselves secret. They select their candidates with great care and test them well beforehand. Of course everybody in the SB knew about the Szyszki. Everybody knew that to be invited to join was the guarantee of success and promotion. The Szyszki carried out a lot of dirty work that could never be talked about or put into a report. It was the dark and silent arm of the SB.
As soon as Mirek had been promoted Major he waited with mounting impatience to be asked to join. The invitation came two years later. He was taken to lunch by Colonel Konopka; a very good lunch at Wierzynek. Mirek had been impressed. The Colonel had heaped compliments on his head and then told him that he was being considered for entry into the Szyszki. Mirek told him that he was deeply honoured. The Colonel had explained that before entry a candidate had to prove himself and in so doing tie himself for ever to his fellow members. Mirek had assured the Colonel that he would pass any test.
He did. The test was simple and straightforward. There was a subversive group in Warsaw led by a group of three. The group was very clever and had always avoided normal prosecution. They were dangerous and caused both damage and embarrassment. Mirek’s initiation test to the brotherhood of the Szyszki would be to eliminate them. If he blundered and was exposed the SB would naturally disown him.
Mirek had accepted with alacrity. The Colonel told him that it was simple. The group would be at a certain house on the outskirts of Warsaw at a certain time. Their car would be parked outside in a quiet street. Mirek was to wire up the car to a powerful incendiary bomb. When they turned on the ignition - end of problem.
Mirek was shown how to do the job and he carried it out with total proficiency. Nothing appeared in the newspapers.
Some years later Mirek was sitting on the toilet in the officers’ luxurious rest rooms at SB headquarters in Cracow. There were wide gaps above and below the door. He had almost finished when two senior officers came in. One was Colonel Konopka, the other a visiting Colonel from Warsaw. They must have enjoyed a good lunch. They were jovial and slightly drunk. They talked as they urinated.
The Colonel from Warsaw asked, ‘How’s young Scibor getting on?’
Konopka answered, ‘Brilliantly. He will go far.’
Behind his door Mirek had preened himself. Then the Warsaw Colonel said, ‘Yes, but I think we went too far with his initiation.’
Konopka said, ‘Well, maybe. But he’ll never know. You know, it was Andropov’s idea . . . he has a weird mind that one. He was visiting Warsaw at the time and they were comparing our Szyszki with the KGB’s inner circle. We were talking of the trauma of initiation being equal to the dedication. Someone mentioned that Scibor’s parents and sister were becoming a nuisance but were not indictable. Andropov laughed and said, “So have Scibor kill them . . . if he gets caught it will be put down to a family quarrel.” Well, old Mieszkowski went along with it. . . you know what an arse-licker he is . . .’
After they had left Mirek had sat on that toilet for an hour. When he stood up he was a different man.
Ania had listened to it all in silence. When he finished she said, ‘So I understand your hatred. What he did was despicable, especially as he never intended you to know. He did it for his own obscene pleasure . . . but, Mirek, I cannot understand what kind of man you were. You callously killed people of whom you knew nothing, never mind that they were your parents.’
“That’s true,’ he admitted. ‘Ania, I would probably have gone on doing it. But the experience in that SB rest room was like having a lobotomy. It put me outside of myself and allowed me to see what I was. What I had become. I jumped at the Bacon Priest’s offer not just to expiate my own hatred and guilt but to try and redress the evil that I had done and become . . .’
She nodded. ‘I believe that. I believe you are a man who would now not be evil.’
He smiled slightly. ‘If that’s true, Ania, then your involvement has been a big influence . . . So what happens to us now?’
She shrugged. ‘Well now we are both changed. You for the better. Me for the worse. I don’t know what I am any more. I take physical pleasure and then rationalise that I have dispensation. Then I find out that I don’t. It’s confusing. I feel used by your so-called Nostra Trinita.’
‘It’s true,’ he agreed. ‘They used my hatred and your faith. Ania, we can call it off now. Get out of here. Make a new life far away.’
She had shaken her head. ‘No. I cannot even contemplate that, Mirek. Whatever they have done to me I am still a nun . . . And if what you say is true - and I believe it is - then the Holy Father is in terrible danger. We must finish what we have started. Then I will examine myself in God’s light and, I hope, His sympathy.’
The train passed through the city of Radom, then into rolling farmlands. Mirek had made this journey many times before but never in such luxury. He was sitting up in a double bed covered by a goose-down duvet. A little chandelier swung overhead. The walls of the carriage were panelled and mirrored. He felt languid. His mind went back again to Ania. Be
tween that momentous night and this journey they had settled into an undemonstrative but very affectionate relationship. They had slept together, in each other’s arms, for two more nights but nothing had happened beyond a mutual warmth. She would kiss him in a way that was neither chaste nor salacious. She had, in her mind, put everything into abeyance until this mission was over. It was obvious to the others that they were very close. Presumably lovers. They acted as if they had been together for a very long time.
Now the door opened and Ania stood at the entrance looking at him. She curtsied demurely and said, ‘The food is ready. Would Your Honour like his on a tray here or would he deign to join the proletariat in the dining compartment?’
He grinned at her and pulled back the duvet.
‘I’m coming. What is it?’
‘Nothing very grand,’ she answered. ‘How’s the wound?’
He was putting on one of Natalia’s father’s silk dressing gowns. He said, ‘The wound is improving fast. You have healing fingers.’
In the outer compartment the others were settling up. Jerzy was morosely counting out twenty-zloty notes. Marian was watching him gleefully. She said, ‘I keep telling you, Jerzy. You just think I’m a dumb blonde. Well, it takes real intelligence to play skat.’ She looked up at Mirek and said triumphantly, ‘My mother always said “In skato veritas”.’
Jerzy counted out the last of the notes, pushed them across to her and said, ‘Your mother was an old dypso and that’s what you’re going to be.’
Marian gathered up the notes. ‘Jerzy, you’re a lousy loser. I’m also told that you’re a lousy lover. Isn’t that so, Natalia?’
Jerzy’s girlfriend was coming out of the kitchen with a tray. She smiled and nodded.
‘I only love him because of his sense of humour.’
They cleared the cards and overflowing ashtrays from the table and all sat down.
The food was bread and cold meats and pickles, pickled fish and cheese together with Bulgarian wine.
For a while they ate in silence, then Antoni looked at his watch and said, ‘Warsaw in half an hour. Then we say goodbye.’ He smiled at Ania and Mirek. ‘It’s a contradiction. We’ll miss you and at the same time be glad to see the back of you. I’m looking forward to a relatively quiet life.’
Jerzy said, ‘You haven’t forgotten the password?’
Mirek shook his head and mumbled through a mouthful of pickled fish, ‘He says, “You picked a good day to arrive in Warsaw.” I reply, “It’s always a good day to arrive in Warsaw.”‘
‘I wonder who it will be,’ mused Irena.
Mirek sighed and then smiled. ‘Whoever it is, I won’t get more of a shock than when I found Marian waiting for me by that lake.’ To Ania he said, ‘She told me I was just in time for the party.’
Marian grinned. ‘Yes, and what a disappointment you turned out to be! Ania, I tried to seduce him and he turned me down like an old hag!’
In mock sympathy Ania said, ‘I’m sure he was exhausted, Marian. It can be the only explanation.’
The banter went on for the next twenty minutes, partly to hide the impending sadness of parting and partly to cover up the rising tension. They all knew that the hand-over was a dangerous moment. If the other party’s security had been breached then a different kind of reception committee would be waiting.
The table was cleared away as they entered the outskirts of Warsaw. Natalia explained that in a couple of minutes the train would stop. Their carriage would be uncoupled and a shunting engine would pull them off to the siding.
‘Is it always the same siding?’ Mirek asked.
‘Always,’ she affirmed.
They all got their bags ready. The girls really were going to do some shopping to keep up the cover. They would stay two days in Warsaw with friends and then return the same way to Cracow.
With a series of shudders the train screeched to a stop. Natalia lowered a window and looked out. The others stayed clear of the windows. She gave them a whispered commentary.
‘They’re uncoupling us now.’ She waved to the railway workers. There was the shrill sound of a whistle, then a jolt and then stillness. ‘The train is pulling away.’ Silence for half a minute, then a chugging noise getting louder. ‘The shunting engine is coming.’ Half a minute later the carriage was jolted, then again, harder. ‘We’re coupling up.’ She called outside, ‘Thanks very much.’
They could hear answering voices, then the carriage moved forward with a jerk. Natalia stayed at the window. There was a clattering as they moved over several rail crossings. The carriage slowed again. Natalia leaned further out of the window. Over her shoulder she said, ‘The siding is coming up now.’
The train slowed further. Jerzy called, ‘Is there anyone on it?’
‘Yes . . .’ The carriage slowed to a halt with a hissing of the engine’s brakes.
Natalia leaned back from the window and turned. Her face was pale. She stammered, ‘It’s . . . it’s a Red Army Major.’
Chapter 25
Mirek grabbed Ania’s wrist and started to hustle her towards the door of the sleeping compartment. The others stood in petrified stillness. Then, through the open window, in clear but accented Polish, came the words: ‘You picked a good day to come to Warsaw.’
Mirek and Ania stopped abruptly. They heard footsteps on the platform, then a head appeared at the window. A man in his late thirties. A dark narrow face, a wide moustache that looked false, dark glasses and a peaked cap. He said again, ‘You picked a good day to come to Warsaw.’
Mirek found his voice and said with a croak, ‘It’s always a good day to come to Warsaw.’
The face smiled and a hand came through the window and turned the door handle. He was tall and very thin. He kept putting a hand up to touch his moustache as if to make sure it was in place. His glance swept around the compartment, lingering a little on Marian and finally coming to rest on Mirek. He bobbed his head in a sort of bow and said, ‘I have come to take you and the lady on your way.’
He noticed the rank suspicion on Mirek’s face and smiled, then quickly put a hand to his moustache. He said, ‘It is not a trap. If the SB or KGB knew you were here this carriage would be surrounded by a battalion of crack troops with heavy weapons. Look for yourself.’
Jerzy went to the window, put his head through it and peered to left and right. Over his shoulder he said, ‘No one about except for a couple of railway workers way down the track.’
Mirek asked the Major, ‘Who are you?’
The Major spread his hands and glancing at the others said, ‘In such circumstances it is better not to advertise one’s identity.’
Marian said, ‘It could be a trap to bring you in without a fight. He is certainly Russian.’
The Major sighed. ‘Relax, Scibor. I come at the Bacon Priest’s behest. I gave the correct password. Now hurry. There is no time to waste.’
Still suspicious, Mirek asked belligerently, ‘Where will you take us?’
The Major sighed again. ‘To someone who will explain everything.’ He gestured at the others. ‘I’m sure that your friends would not wish to be the recipients of information which could, under certain circumstances, cause you harm.’
Mirek glanced at Ania. She shrugged and said, ‘I think we have no choice. There is no one else waiting for us.’
The logic penetrated Mirek’s suspicion. He said, ‘I’ll get the bag.’
The next few minutes were very emotional. The emotion that comes from shared danger. Strangely, Jerzy appeared to be most affected. As he hugged Ania tears poured down his cheeks and into his beard.
The embraces were more eloquent than the muttered words of ‘thanks’ and ‘good luck’. Then they were following the Major on to the platform. There was an icy wind blowing. The Major noticed Ania wrapping her arms around herself. He said, ‘It will be warm in the car.’
The car turned out to be a long black Zil with military markings and a red-starred pennant. It was parked behind a store
room fifty metres from the platform. As they reached it the Major said, ‘Jump in the back. I’ll put your bag in the boot.’ He held out a hand.
Mirek said, ‘I’ll keep it with me.’
The Major shook his head. ‘It’s very unlikely that this car will be stopped, but if it is then it’s better that the bag is out of the way.’
Ania had opened the rear door and slid in. Mirek still hesitated. Irritably the Major said, ‘Come on! The schedule is tight. The Bacon Priest has placed you under my orders.’
Perhaps it had been the years of living under military discipline, perhaps a stronger gust of icy wind. Mirek shrugged and handed him the bag and slid into the car next to Ania.
The door clunked shut.
The Major moved around to the boot. It was as he opened it that Mirek noticed there were no inside door handles. Between the back seat and the front was a thick glass partition. Mirek hammered at it with his fist. It barely vibrated.
Ania said, ‘Mirek . . . What?’
‘It’s a trap,’ he snarled.
The boot was empty except for a small, green, strapped-down gas cylinder. A black rubber tube snaked from it into a hole in the front bodywork. The Major tossed in the bag, then leaned forward and opened the valve in the cylinder. He closed the boot and moved around and watched through a rear side window.
He watched as Mirek hammered his fists against the partition and the window. Being bullet-proof, the glass was certainly fist-proof.
It took less than a minute. During that minute the Major saw, in brief moments, the hatred emanating from the Pole’s eyes. Then his eyelids became heavy. The Major realised that the couple would assume that they were being gassed to death. He watched their reactions with fascination. In the last moments they clutched at each other in a tight embrace. He saw the woman’s lips moving against the man’s ear.
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