The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(106)

“There’s another corpse down on Level IX. One of the guides that Ivan or Reinhardt killed.”

“I hate to hear that,” Czajkowski said.

“Can I get out of here without a lot of hassle?” Malone asked.

Sonia grinned. “We can do that, and get someone to dry your clothes, too.”

“Now, that I would appreciate.”

Czajkowski stepped forward and offered his hand, which Malone shook, hard and firm. “Thank you. For what you did, and for your honor.”

“It was my pleasure, Mr. President.”



* * *



Cotton stepped out into the bright evening, which struck him like a blow, his eyes struggling to focus after the gloom within the mine. Sonia had made good on her promise and had his clothes dried in the mine’s laundry. They were a bit wrinkled, but felt a damn sight better than the previous salty cold. Stephanie waited for him outside.

“Patrycja okay?” he asked.

“She’s good. Somebody else is calling the shots here. I tried to get the security people on board, but nobody was listening. The next thing I know, Patrycja is gone and I’m in the elevator and out the door, told to wait out here.”

He reported all that had happened, leaving nothing out.

“Sonia’s in charge,” he said. “Czajkowski is there, too. Though she was working to sneak him out when I left. I gave the information to Czajkowski.”

“I’m glad. If you hadn’t, I would have.”

“Your career is over.”

“I know. But maybe it was time for me to leave.”

He felt for her. But there was nothing he could do, and the last thing Stephanie Nelle would ever want was pity.

“Let’s head back to Kraków,” he said.

“Cotton.”

He turned at the call of his name.

Sonia was exiting the building and approaching. “I wanted to say thank you. I appreciate what you did down there. All of it.”

He’d noticed something while talking to the Polish president. “He’s your new man, isn’t he? Your love.”

“How did you know?”

“The look in your eyes. The willingness to take all the blame.”

She nodded. “He and I have been seeing each other for a while now. His marriage is over. I don’t know where we’re headed. But we’re together.”

“I’m happy for you, Sonia. Go for it.”

And they hugged.

She gave him a soft kiss to his cheek. “Like I told you in Belgium, that girl of yours is a lucky woman.”

But he wasn’t going to accept that praise.

Not then.

Or now.

“I’m definitely the luckier one.”





CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT


SUNDAY, JUNE 9

6:15 P.M.

Czajkowski stared at the fire.

He was back in Warsaw at the presidential palace, the events from three days ago in the salt mine still weighing heavy on his mind. He’d managed to leave Wieliczka unnoticed, making it back to the hotel in Kraków under cover of darkness. Sonia supervised cleaning up the mess. There’d been some press coverage about the gunshots since so many had been witnesses, but according to the reports the perpetrator had not been caught and no one had been injured.

God bless Sonia.

But he could not forget Anna, either. She’d obtained what Father Hacia had withheld from him. The proof about the Warsaw Protocol. Which was no longer needed, though it was still good to have, along with the documents that Jonty Olivier had wanted to auction. Which lay on the table beside him, free of their vacuum-sealed packet. He’d studied every one of them, recognizing his handwriting, his signature, and the disgusting code name Dilecki assigned him.

Baran. Sheep.

Many of the pages brought back memories of people and places. Of things that he’d done. Of fateful decisions that had consequences then and now. Would he do anything different?

Not a thing.

It all turned out as it should.

Poland was free.

He sat and watched the flames, enjoying a splash of whiskey, which seemed one of his more constant comforts of late.

The door to the room opened and Anna walked inside. He’d told the staff to send her this way as soon as she arrived. She’d stayed in the south all of yesterday, fulfilling obligations as the country’s First Lady. That was the thing about her. She performed her duties with grace and dignity. A credit to the nation. Sadly, they were not as dedicated to each other.

But at least they were friends.

She came inside and closed the door. Over her shoulder hung a cloth bag that appeared heavy.

“Is that it?” he asked.

She nodded and removed a thick pocket folder stuffed with paper. “I went through some of it. Lots of names, dates, places. Payments made. Bribes. Hacia seems to have played the game well with the communists. One list details people who worked directly with him. A lot of names. Yours is on that list, near the top. Proof positive.”

“Sadly, nobody would have cared. They would claim it all was a forgery, done to protect me.”

“But there are surely many still alive who were part of the protocol. They can be found for corroboration.”

“I doubt a one of them will want to talk about it. Like me, they prefer to leave it in the past.”