by Jane Gorman
Kapral froze, his face a mask. For a full minute, no one spoke. Sylvia shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, but kept her silence. Adam sat as still as Kapral. He had played this game before.
Finally, Kapral spoke. “I repeat, how can I help you, Pan Kaminski? Aside from satisfying your prurient and inappropriate curiosity, that is.”
Adam nodded. “Tell me what you know about your colleagues’ past, then.” After a beat, he added, “Minister.”
“That is a very broad question, Pan Kaminski. Is there someone in particular you are interested in?”
“Everyone who worked with Basia Kaminski. Novosad. Szopinski. You.” Adam raised his eyebrows as he spoke, but Kapral didn’t bite.
“Basia worked with many, many people here, my friend.” He smiled as if he and Adam really were close friends. “Including Pani Stanko, for example.” He turned his engaging smile to Sylvia.
Sylvia smiled and dipped her head.
“She met with a variety of committees, many staff of many ministers. I couldn’t possibly provide you with all of the background on all of these people,” Kapral explained, staring at Adam. “I see what you are asking, though. This corruption you mentioned a moment ago. You believe this was in the past. Something long forgotten, perhaps.”
Adam nodded but said nothing.
Kapral took a breath and glanced around the study room as he continued, “This is a difficult challenge for you, Pan Kaminski. You do not know our country and our history. How do you possibly hope to uncover something that has been hidden for… what… many years, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. I am not working on it alone. Łukasz Kaminski, my cousin, is a reporter with Nowy Początek.”
“Ah… Yes, I know this paper. I know the editor slightly.”
“Perhaps you can help me in this way. Łukasz needs his editor to write a letter providing him access to the national archives one more time. Including the files on lustration, if that’s what he needs. He was able to do this before, so I’m sure he can do it again.”
“And why does Pan Kaminski require this access again, if he already has the evidence?” Kapral asked, raising his eyebrows. “Is this a… what do you say in America, a fishing expedition?” Kapral’s eyes met Adam’s squarely, and he could tell Kapral was holding in a smile. Barely.
“There’s more to this story, I’m sure of it. Just one more day in those records and we can have all the evidence we need.”
“I shall help you, Pan Kaminski. There is no need to go through the editor. I can write such a letter of permission myself. I will provide it to your cousin through Sylvia.”
“Thank you, sir.” Adam didn’t hide his surprise. “And thank you again for your time.”
“Will this be the last time I see you, Pan Kaminski?” Kapral asked, standing.
“My team is scheduled to leave Poland tomorrow, sir, so this may well be our last meeting.”
“I wish you success, Pan Kaminski.” Kapral’s smile was cold. Satisfied.
26
As soon as Łukasz heard the elevator bell followed by the tread of unfamiliar footsteps, he swept the notes he had been writing into the top drawer of his desk. Tomek Malak had called earlier that morning to request this meeting. An unusual request, but not one Łukasz was likely to refuse.
The utilitarian clock on the wall clicked over to noon just as Malak stepped into the doorway, tapping politely on the open door. At least the man was prompt, Łukasz thought to himself as he waved Malak in.
“Pan Kaminski, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. May I offer my condolences on your loss. Basia was a beautiful young woman. I can only imagine how distressed you are.”
He extended his hand as he spoke, and the two men exchanged a firm handshake.
“Thank you, sir.” Łukasz was almost getting used to accepting these meaningless condolences, words of sorrow that meant nothing, in truth, to the speaker. Almost. “Please, have a seat.”
“Ah…” Malak glanced uncomfortably at the open door. “May I?”
He moved to close the door as he spoke. Łukasz nodded his approval, wondering what could be so secret about this meeting. The sounds of the newsroom diminished to a low murmur that could still be heard within the office.
As both men sat on either side of Łukasz’s scarred wooden desk, Łukasz said, “If you have information on a story you think I might be interested in, I would have been happy to come to your offices, sir. There was no reason for you to make the journey to this part of town.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Malak waved away Łukasz’s suggestion. “It is sometimes good for me to get out of the office, you know?” He smiled as he spoke, a friendly, genuine smile. “But that is not exactly what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Malak paused, glancing around the room. At the crowded bookshelves that lined one wall, at the pile of papers pushed into one corner on the floor, finally at the framed photograph sitting on Łukasz’s desk. He looked back at Łukasz. “I believe I know someone in your family. A cousin, perhaps?”
“Adam Kaminski, you mean? Yes. I only just met him myself. He’s in Poland on some sort of diplomatic mission. Representing the city of Philadelphia.” Łukasz looked at Malak with curiosity. “Is that why you are here? Because of Adam?”
“No, no.” Malak once again waved away the suggestion. “No, I was simply mentioning it.” Malak looked directly at Łukasz, staring almost. “Pan Kaminski, I have come to speak with you because I am considering running for the office of President of the Republic of Poland.”
Łukasz’s chair creaked as he leaned back, his fingers laced over his chest. “So, the rumors are true?”
Malak nodded. “Yes, they are true. My party, the Civic Platform, has invited me to run for office on their ticket, and I have accepted their invitation.”
Łukasz sat for a minute, considering this information. “So the mild-mannered civil servant becomes a hot presidential candidate.” He smiled. “Why do you come to me with this news? Surely there are other journalists you would rather have breaking this story?”
“It’s not the story I came to talk with you about,” Malak explained. “I’m here to ask for your help.”
Łukasz leaned forward again, his interest piqued. “Help? How could I possibly help you?”
Malak, too, leaned forward as he spoke. He answered slowly, as if considering each word. “In a political campaign — in any political campaign, really, and particularly in one with such high stakes — information is king. You must realize that?”
“I’ve heard something like that, yes.” Łukasz grinned, acknowledging his understatement.
“I need access to information. Real information. Not data that is corrupt by being biased. I need someone I can turn to who knows the political scene in Poland, but who is not part of that scene. An outsider with insider knowledge.” He paused, examining Łukasz. “You fit that description, Pan Kaminski.”
“I see.” Łukasz’s expression didn’t change. He once again leaned back in his chair. The clocked ticked off the seconds as he thought about what Malak had asked.
Malak sat still, leaning in toward Łukasz’s desk, waiting for Łukasz’s response.
Neither man moved when a light tap on the door interrupted the silence. “Kaminski? Latest numbers,” a voice announced from the other room, then a paper slid under the door.
It sat there in the middle of the floor, ignored.
“Everyone has skeletons in their closet, as they say, Pan Malak. Is that what you are thinking of?”
“Something like that.” Malak smiled, letting out a breath. “I am hoping I can count on you, Pan Kaminski. Will you help me by sharing information? If there is something that would help me in my campaign. Or” — he paused and cocked his head to one side — “if there is some information out there that would hurt me.”
Łukasz raised his eyebrows. “Are you thinking of anything in particular, Pan Malak? Is there information out there that, if revealed, could hurt your campaign?�
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“Of course not. Why would you ask that?” Malak shook his head, frowning, as he stood up. He stepped toward the door, turning his back on Łukasz.
Łukasz wondered if his question had offended Malak so greatly he was walking out of the meeting, but at the door Malak simply rested his hand against the door jamb, as if testing to make sure it was fully closed. He turned back to Łukasz.
“There may be people — even within my own party — whom I cannot trust, Pan Kaminski,” Malak said in a low voice. “I am turning to you for help because of your status as a journalist. As a neutral party, outside the political fray.”
Malak’s eyes moved about Łukasz’s office as he spoke, as if expecting to find the very people he was worried about hidden somewhere behind a bookshelf or under a table.
“Who do you not trust, Pan Malak?” Łukasz kept his voice calm, conversational, but his mind was spinning. Was Malak aware of a secret? Perhaps the same secret that took Basia’s life?
“What?” Malak turned back to Łukasz as if he had been slapped back to reality. “Who? No, no. Nothing like that. I just say there may be, because there always is, isn’t there? Moles within each organization, willing to dole out secrets for the right price.” Malak smiled, his mood once again shifting.
“Political secrets, you mean? Like campaign strategies?”
“Exactly.” Malak snapped his fingers. “Like campaign secrets. And it could be anyone, you see. My colleagues, my friends. Pani Stanko, for example.”
“Sylvia?” Łukasz couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice and he saw Malak’s eyes widen ever so slightly.
“Sylvia, yes. You know her?”
“Only slightly.” Łukasz shook his head. “I met her when I met my cousin. Just the other day.”
“Ah, I see. Your cousin.” Malak nodded. “Yes, Sylvia, for example.”
“If you don’t trust her, why are you keeping her so close to your campaign?” Łukasz asked, confused.
“Not that I really think she would sell me out, you understand.” Malak held his hands out toward Łukasz as if trying to stop his thoughts from moving down that path. “Not at all. I’m just using her as an example. Someone I work closely with. Someone I trust.”
Malak resumed his seat in front of Łukasz’s desk. “It could be unintentional as well, you know. Perhaps something hidden in her past that could hurt my campaign. She is tied very closely to me. And if I win, I intend to keep her on my staff. But what if she has a secret that could hurt my chances of success? Or anyone else on my staff, not just Sylvia.”
Łukasz knew what Malak was asking, and why. Malak was right. In a political campaign, secrets really could win elections or lose them. He also knew how he had to respond.
“I’m flattered you came to me with this request, Pan Malak. I can see it reflects your perception of my work. I regret to say I cannot offer you the help you are asking for. I am sorry.”
“Your reputation is stellar, Pan Kaminski. You are an excellent investigative journalist.”
“And I am not yet ready to give that up, Pan Malak. You must understand.” Łukasz spoke firmly. “Offering you the help you seek would mean the end of this career.”
“No, not at all.” Malak frowned and shook his head. “I could hire you as a consultant. It would all be above board. Nothing illicit, I assure you. And it would only be temporary. Only until the election’s over.”
“It would be forever, I’m afraid.” Łukasz shook his head. “If I associated myself with you and your party, I would lose all appearance of objectivity. I could never get that back. I could never again publish as an objective investigative journalist.”
Malak looked down at Łukasz’s desk, his eyes tracing the pattern of the scars that ran across it. After a moment, he nodded. “I see. I have my answer.”
He slapped his hands onto his legs as he stood, nodding and looking once more around Łukasz’s office. Turning back to Łukasz, who had also stood, Malak extended his hand again.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, Pan Kaminski, and for considering my offer. It’s still there, you know, if you change your mind.” He smiled.
“Thank you, Pan Malak. But I will not be changing my mind.”
Malak nodded once more, then turned and left the room.
The door bounced against the wall as Malak left it open, the clattering sounds of the newsroom once again swarming into the office.
Łukasz shook his head as he lowered himself back into his chair. Malak must have known he would turn down the request. He must have. Why would any self-respecting journalist agree to work for a political campaign, openly or otherwise?
There must have been more to that meeting. Something Malak wanted to ask and didn’t, perhaps. Or information Malak was hoping to glean from Łukasz.
Łukasz thought back through their conversation, but he couldn’t figure it out. What was Malak after?
27
Adam knew he was in the right place when he saw the crowd gathering on the sidewalk in front of the square glass building. Sylvia had given him the address, but even so, finding the place had been tough. After two buses and a four-block walk, Adam was getting to know his way around Warsaw better than he’d ever expected.
It hadn’t been easy sneaking away again. After the hard time Chris had given him that morning, he didn’t want to admit he was playing hooky again. Instead, he’d told Chris he just needed to run back to the hotel for a few minutes and would meet up with the group at their next destination.
It was sort of true. He did plan to meet up with them again.
The ribbon cutting event at the new green postal facility served not only to show off the environmentally friendly work of the Warsaw government, but also to highlight the accomplishments of the small business that had created the updated electrical system.
Adam knew Malak had been involved in ensuring the business had the permits it needed to work, so he was surprised when Sylvia told him Novosad would be at the event. Perhaps Malak wasn’t the sort of man who needed to get credit for his accomplishments.
Adam scanned the crowd of reporters, businessmen, politicians and onlookers as the various speakers stepped up to the podium. After the final speaker, a group of leaders, including Minister Novosad, came forward to place their hands on the giant pair of scissors, “cutting” the ribbon that had been placed artfully in front of the main entrance to the building. The ribbon fell away to a smattering of applause.
Once all the photos had been taken and the crowd started to move into the building, Adam approached Novosad, the man deemed by so many to still be a Russian at heart. He was older than the other men Adam had met with that morning. But his eyes were shrewd and Adam didn’t doubt this man had a few more years of politics still left in him. As long as Szopinski was wrong about his election chances.
“Minister, can I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course.” Novosad seemed surprised by Adam’s words. “Are you with an English-language newspaper?”
“Sorry, no.” Adam understood the confusion now. “No, this isn’t about this event. I’m Adam Kaminski. We met briefly yesterday. I’m with the delegation from Philadelphia.”
“Ah, of course.” The older man nodded, recognition dawning in his eyes. “I apologize, I didn’t recognize you.” He looked around as he asked, “And is the rest of the delegation here?”
“No, sir, it’s just me today.” Adam tried out his most engaging smile. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Basia Kaminski.” When Novosad’s confusion returned, Adam added, “She was the daughter of my cousin.”
“I see, I see.” Novosad looked around. A group still lingered outside the facility. One of the men looked in their direction, tentatively waving toward them. Novosad nodded for Adam to follow and turned to walk away.
They stopped just around the corner, out of sight of the others. Novosad glanced around one more time before turning his attention to Adam.
“How ca
n I help you today?”
Adam started with a few easy questions. Feeling his way into the conversation by asking about Novosad’s work in the Sejm.
When he turned to the topic of Basia’s death, Novosad answered slowly, as if considering every word he said. And every word Adam said.
“It was suicide.” Novosad nodded sadly. “Of that, I have no doubt. I understand that you are her… what, uncle?”
“Something like that.”
“Yes, I see. I understand how difficult it is when a young person dies. Needlessly. Tragically. I do understand.”
Listening to him, Adam knew Novosad spoke the truth; he did understand. “What was Basia working on while she worked for you?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that.” Novosad’s response was vague. “She had no specific portfolio, you see. She was relatively new to my staff. So she was helping others as the need arose.”
Adam nodded as he listened. Novosad’s thick gray hair surrounded a weathered face that had seen many changes over the years. The face of a man who had learned to adapt to change, not fight it. The best way to outlast your competitors.
“Politics is a fickle field. It is not a good field for those who might be easily overwhelmed.”
“You yourself changed parties, I understand?” Adam asked. “Quite a change, too, as I’ve heard.”
“It is true,” Novosad admitted. “I shifted my political allegiance when my understanding of the world — and Poland’s place in it — shifted. But I have never shifted my allegiance from Poland. I am now and have always been a patriot, Pan Kaminski. It is simply that I am able to learn from our past. To learn from our mistakes and to move forward.”
Adam considered Novosad’s words. The man had shifted his allegiance from the post-communist party, SLD, to the Civic Platform. This was an extreme change. A change in methods, a change in goals. A change in friends. A change that drastic could generate a lot of resentment, on either side. On the other hand, Novosad had a good explanation for his decision. There was nothing wrong in learning from the past, was there?