by Jane Gorman
“Do I? Do you? What do you really know about him, Sylvia? You must tell me, this is important.”
He sat on a blue-striped chair near the head of the sofa and leaned toward her. “Do you know about his past?”
“Ah… You are interested in the past. Yes, you always have been, haven’t you? Why is Tomek’s past of concern to you, Adam?”
He paused before responding, considering the answer. Why was Malak’s past important to him? The United States government seemed okay with it, willing to deal with him and his party, even knowing that Malak had been siphoning off profits that weren’t his. Businesses were happy to work with him, knowing he would ask for a little bit extra when the deal was done, gifts for himself or his family. No one else seemed to care, so why did he?
He didn’t, was the simple answer. He cared only for the present. For the people Malak was hurting now. Basia. Łukasz. And Sylvia.
“Tell me, Sylvia, how much do you know?” he asked again.
She nodded. “I know. I know that he has made some difficult choices. Choices that have helped him support his family even while he was helping Warsaw. Bringing good businesses into Warsaw. Perhaps leaving some of his history out of his lustration statement… it is not so unusual, we all have secrets. Like you” — she peered out at him — “like your great-grandfather.”
“What are you talking about? What does my great-grandfather have to do with this?”
“Nothing, Adam, nothing.” Sylvia’s voice was soothing. “I simply point out that we must all make decisions. Using the resources we have available.”
“Resources?” Adam’s mind was swimming. Malak. Wilenek. Sylvia. And now his grandfather’s father.
“Do you not see how difficult it would have been to leave Poland during the war? To leave safely? Difficult, that is, unless you had connections.”
“What kind of connections? What are you suggesting?”
She shrugged, a gesture burdened with meaning. The blanket shifted up and down with the movement. “Connections with people in power. Connections with the occupying forces. Connections with people who could make things happen, who could get him and his family out.”
Adam took one step back, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe that.” He shook his head again. “No. And it doesn’t matter, that’s not why I’m here. This is about Malak. About what he’s done. And how much you know.”
Sylvia’s lips turned up into a weak smile. “About Tomek? I know, yes. I don’t care. It is done, you see. That is how business in Poland is done. The first time had been a mistake, he told me. He wished he could give it all back. But he couldn’t. No one can, you know. You can’t take back the past and do it again. He was sorry for what he had done. Once it had happened once, it was easier to do again. And again. These were small mistakes, a small price to pay for what he has to offer. His ideas. His strength. His dedication to this country. Yes, I know, but I am proud to work with him anyway.”
She stopped and took a breath, as if the speech had worn her out. “Now that you know of Tomek’s corruption,” she asked, “what will you do? And remember, my career is linked to his. What you do to him, you do to me.”
“There’s nothing left for me to do, Sylvia. Malak has done it to himself.”
She saw the sadness in his eyes and jumped from the sofa, still holding the blanket around her shoulders. “What’s happened? Where’s Tomek?”
“He’s in the hospital, Sylvia. Wilenek turned on him, finally. One killer turning on another.”
“What are you talking about?” She was almost crying. “What are you saying? Tomek was attacked? What did he have to do with any of this?”
“It was Malak all along, Sylvia. He was the one who killed Basia. He was the one who attacked Łukasz.”
“That’s not possible, I work with him. His crimes are only on paper. He is not violent, he would not attack anyone.”
“Not personally, perhaps. But he was responsible. He was a desperate man, Sylvia. The truth was becoming too dangerous for him. He couldn’t risk being exposed for what he really was.”
“For his corruption? No, I don’t believe that.” Sylvia shook her head. “The people will understand. He will explain to them the way he explained to me, and they will understand.”
“Maybe he could have, Sylvia. Not now, it’s too late. It wasn’t just corruption. It was his past, what he did. He hired a killer.”
“What he did? What does that mean? No…” She shook her head and looked at him as if he were an alien just landed from Mars. “That wasn’t Tomek.”
“It was Malak. He’s responsible for Basia’s death. He was trying to hide the truth, and he went too far. His killer —Wilenek — turned on him in the end.”
“Where’s Tomek, Adam?” Sylvia whispered. “I must go to him.”
“I told you, he’s in a hospital. I don’t know which one. They came and took him from his home.”
Sylvia nodded and moved toward the bedroom. “I know where he is. I will go to him.”
“Sylvia.” Adam grabbed her arm as she passed and the blanket fell down around her feet. She hadn’t asked him why — why he would be willing to kill, what secret he was trying to protect. “Sylvia, you really didn’t know about this, his role in the killing?”
She looked up at him in wonder. “How can you ask me this? Do you really not know me?”
She leaned in toward him and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I have worked with Tomek for so long, he is like a brother to me. A brother I care about. I hear what you are saying, that he has done terrible things. But I must go to him. I must see him.”
With that, she walked into her bedroom and shut the door. Adam let himself out of the apartment.
54
With a satisfied grunt, his editor handed the article back to Łukasz. “Okay. Now it’s okay.”
Łukasz grabbed it and ran out of the office, not even waiting to thank him. It had taken him hours, precious hours, to get the man’s approval, and he was ready to tear somebody’s head off.
He had written the article quickly, drawing heavily from the records Adam had stolen from the national archives. Saved, not stolen, Łukasz reminded himself. Saved, not stolen. He filled in more blanks with the information unearthed in the hospital records and the newspaper archives, drawing connections between Malak’s past as an informer and his present involvement with Wilenek, formerly of the secret police.
His editor was not so open-minded about it. “We cannot publish anything we cannot verify. Publicly. Period.” He tossed the first draft back at Łukasz with a snort. “What is this? Gossip, stolen records? We would be sued, and we would lose. No, we can’t publish this. Not about Tomek Malak.”
His final words were the only part of that rebuff that rang true for Łukasz. He knew his editor had taken risks before, published news that had only been verified through anonymous sources, relied on “gossip” as he now called it.
Not when writing about Tomek Malak. And that was the rub. The man was powerful. He was also well-liked. Any paper publishing such accusations about him would have to have solid, verified and verifiable sources. Łukasz had stolen medical records, borrowed archival records that he wasn’t even supposed to have.
So he watered it down. He left in only the bare facts that were supported by the written records, nothing more, then went back to his editor.
And again it was rejected. “Find a source,” his editor said. “Find someone who can back up what you’re saying.”
“The source is dead,” Łukasz responded through gritted teeth. “The source was my daughter, and Malak had her killed because she found out the truth.”
His editor looked up from his massive desk, a sheaf of papers in each hand. “I’m sorry, Łukasz. I really am.” He put the papers down. “I know you want to expose this guy. I need a story I can stand behind. You know that. You would know that if you weren’t letting your emotions get the better of you.” He looked at Łukasz, tired, unshaven, still wearing ban
dages from his recent accident. “You shouldn’t be the man writing this story, Łukasz. Give your notes to Michał. He’s a good man, a good journalist. He’ll write the story the way it should be written. He’ll get justice.”
“Not a chance,” Łukasz growled as he left the office yet again.
His editor watched him storm down the hall back to his own office and shook his head.
Thirty minutes later, Łukasz was back. “This is it. You can publish this. These.”
The editor held his hand out and Łukasz handed him one sheet. It listed the exact records that had been saved from the national archives, records that were almost destroyed. It quoted the records verbatim, listing dates and times that Tomek Malak was described as having met with Stefan Wilenek, a member of the secret police. The story added no further details, simply laid out the facts that could be researched. And that could be plumbed at length by other papers, other journalists, other politicians.
The editor nodded and handed it back to Łukasz. “This will work. You took out all mention of the murders.”
Łukasz said nothing, but handed over a second piece of paper.
The editor glanced at it. This one made no mention of Tomek Malak. It reported the findings from the stabbing on Aleje Jerozolimskie, findings that could be verified by medical records. It reproduced details from previous investigations, details easily available in the newspaper archives, details that drew links between the recent stabbing and past cases. Cases in which a former secret police agent, Stefan Wilenek, had been considered a suspect, but never convicted. It reported that the previous suspect, Adam Kaminski, was no longer considered a suspect by the police, who were now focusing their efforts on finding Wilenek.
It wasn’t the exposé Łukasz wanted to write, but it might be enough, he hoped. At least it gave fodder to Malak’s political opponents, enough that he would never succeed in a run for the presidency. Enough to raise questions about his past that could be difficult for him to answer. Enough to put pressure on the police to find Wilenek and determine if there really was a link between Malak and Wilenek. Enough. It would have to do.
The editor grunted and handed the sheets back to Łukasz. “Okay. Now it’s okay.”
Łukasz grabbed them and ran for the copy room. There was still time to make this morning’s paper edition as well as get them online.
* * *
Adam watched the river flowing by as he walked slowly along the brick path that lined the water’s edge. The water moved quickly, a green-brown swirling mass that had been flowing here since before Warsaw was built. This river had seen wars won and lost, dreams built and savaged. It had seen love and it had seen death.
An American jogged past and waved at Adam, perhaps recognizing a fellow American. Adam waved in response, then tucked his hand back into his pocket.
He had been wandering for over an hour, running thoughts over and over again in his mind. Sylvia hadn’t known, he reminded himself. She knew about Malak’s corruption, but not about his past. She had forgiven him his mistakes, without realizing he was making them all over again, just in a different way.
And she cared about Malak. He couldn’t hold that against her. She had listened to what Adam had told her, then had gone to see the man himself. Which is exactly what Adam needed to do. He needed Malak to clear his name, once and for all.
Turning to walk up a street that ran uphill back to the Old Town Square, Adam slipped on the damp pavement, just catching himself against a rough stone wall. He shivered at the thought of slipping into that cold, dark river. He thought of Basia and how her last moments must have been. Prayed to God she had never regained consciousness.
He passed a small store, recessed into one of the larger buildings and selling cigarettes, milk and chocolates. His eye fell on a newspaper piled against the door. The front page article had Łukasz’s byline.
Adam stooped to grab a copy of the paper, staring at it until his head ached. Much of it he couldn’t read, but he could understand the basics. The article had been written by Łukasz, and it was about Tomek Malak. That much was clear.
Adam tossed the paper back on the pile, ignoring the angry call from the shopkeeper, and switched directions. He turned toward Ulica Wilcza.
* * *
Everyone in the room was glaring except for Adam. And they were all glaring at him.
Adam smiled his most diplomatic smile and offered a small shrug. “It was just simple police work, that’s all. You would have gotten there eventually yourselves.” If you weren’t blinded by your own prejudices and ambitions, he thought to himself, looking around the unfriendly faces.
Warsaw’s Chief of Police, Janek Matuś, had come in from home and invited Officer Szczepański to join the hurriedly called meeting as a translator. Szczepański was not happy about this, not happy to have to admit that Adam had come to him first, seeking help, but that Szczepański had turned him away.
Szczepański translated Adam’s comment, but Adam wondered what else he had added in of his own thoughts, as Matuś frowned and glared at Adam again.
Sam Newman was smiling, the only one of the group. “This is good news, gentlemen, as surprising as it is.” He slapped the newspaper that lay on the table in front of them, causing Szczepański to start. “This reporter has done significant work, a good investigation. I don’t think we can doubt that this man” — Sam leaned forward to read the name from the paper — “Wilenek… Wilenek is the man you are looking for. Not Mr. Kaminski.”
Sam’s words made it clear how pleased he was that an American had been cleared of any wrongdoing. But something in his eyes, behind the smile and the grateful words, conveyed to Adam his great displeasure that Adam had ignored his warning.
Whatever Malak’s crimes, he had been helping the US government, Adam was sure. A man like that would have found a way to make it profitable. Looking for an easy payoff, he had probably been happy to sell information to anyone willing to pay for it. Some people never change.
Adam smiled happily back at Sam. “Thank you, Sam,” he said out loud, “for your support.”
“How can we pursue this Wilenek without also compromising the legacy of Tomek Malak?” Matuś’ bushy eyebrows were knotted together over worried eyes. “He said he was innocent, his dying declaration. That is what the people will believe. They loved Malak and everything he stood for.”
Malak had almost made it to the hospital, but not quite. He had died in the ambulance, declared dead on arrival by the doctors anxiously waiting for him. Before he had breathed his last, he had also made his last confession. And his last lie.
The police officer who had traveled with him, noting everything he had said, once more glanced through his notebook. “He was very clear, sir.” Szczepański translated for Adam’s benefit, still looking unhappy about his role, “Wilenek attacked Malak. Stabbed him. Malak didn’t know why, he assumed Wilenek was crazy.”
Matuś harrumphed. “Crazy, yes. But smart. He killed for money, we cannot doubt this. Which means someone paid him.” He looked one more time at Adam. “And you are telling us that Malak was that man. That Malak paid Wilenek. To hide his past.”
“His past is public information now, sir, you can read about it yourself in the files from the secret police,” Adam pointed out. “I’m only saying what everyone will soon know.”
“To kill a man — that is a big step, Pan Kaminski. If we start to investigate Malak’s involvement, the people will rise up. They will not let us blacken his memory like that.”
“Perhaps you will not need to dig too deeply,” Sam suggested, looking at Adam. “Perhaps it will be enough to expose his past, his role as an informant. Let the people make their own decision.”
Matuś stood and starting buttoning his coat. “We will find Wilenek. That, I promise you. We will find this killer, and we will deal with him as he deserves. And perhaps the truth will come out.” He stopped and leaned over the table, looking Adam right in the eye.
“We will do what we have
to do, sir, to bring this killer to justice. And the man who hired him. But make no mistake, this will not be easy. Malak did so much for Warsaw. For Poland. I am not happy about this, Pan Kaminski.”
“When the truth comes out, sir, things will change. Łukasz has already published some of it, but more will come out. About the people he hurt, the people he turned on. Once that is out, the people will change their opinion. Public opinion is fickle, if nothing else.”
Matuś glared at him one more time. Nodding to Sam Newman and Szczepański, he left the room.
55
Golden stones, cold steel and warm red bricks caught the late afternoon light, a glowing panorama of historic buildings and modern structures arching into the distance. The view from the Łazienkowski Bridge was breathtaking. It was a place Adam wouldn’t have come to without good reason and he was grateful for the opportunity to experience it.
This was a city of hope, a city looking toward the future. A city built by people bolstered by their past.
He expressed his appreciation for Warsaw’s beauty to Łukasz, who nodded. “Basia felt the same way, you know?” He looked out over the city skyline from where they stood, halfway across the Wisła river. “She loved this country, but she also loved this city and everything it stands for.”
Tears flowed freely down Łukasz’s cheeks, and Adam turned away to give him some privacy. He looked down at the black waters swirling below them, tightening his grip on the railing as he did so.
Both men carried lilies, the flower of sadness, the flower of death. The scent Adam could never escape.
Adam waited quietly until his companion had composed himself. He spoke again. “Basia sounds like she was an exceptional young woman, Łukasz. I wish I could have met her.”
“I, too, cousin.” He smiled. “I think she would have liked you. You have much in common. Your curiosity, your strength, your determination.”