The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(66)

“If I do nothing, I will be ruined. Poland will be infested with foreign missiles, and, if aggressions ever escalate, we’ll be the first target Moscow will destroy. We’ll be nothing but a puppet to the West. Beholden to it for our safety. Our existence. History has shown that nobody gives a damn what happens to Poland. But I do.”

“You can draw comfort from the fact that you know the truth. That we did what was necessary and changed the world. In fact, what we did allows you to be in the position you now are in. It was glorious, Janusz. Glorious.”

He headed for the door.

This had been a waste of time.

He turned back and faced Mirek, his expression cold, his eyes conveying the rage he felt. “That glory doesn’t mean a thing anymore. It only counts within the mind of the pathetic coward who hides behind these walls.”

And he left.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


Cotton now understood what all the furor was about. Somehow Jonty Olivier had managed to acquire 147 documents, most in President Janusz Czajkowski’s own hand, that directly implicated the president of Poland as a former communist informant.

He had to admit, it definitely looked bad.

“President Fox is going to love this,” Bunch whispered. “It’s everything he needs to make those missiles happen.”

“And you think Poland is just going to roll over? Give you what you want? Without a fight?”

“Get real, Malone. What can they do? If Czajkowski wants to stay president, he’ll work with us. It’s that simple.”

No, it wasn’t.

Far from it, in fact.

The Poles were a tough, resilient people who had survived both the Nazis and the Soviets. That was no small feat. They were now, once again, a free nation and Cotton doubted they would relinquish that independence without a fight. Actually, he was counting on a fight. A part of him knew that his duty was to aid his country. But another part told him that his country was dead wrong.

“Are there any questions?” Olivier asked from the front of the gathering.

“Will we have the documents today, when we leave? You’ve insisted that payment has to be verified and completed immediately. When will we get what we paid for?” one of the French asked.

“The documents are not here. I have hidden them away in a place that is fairly inaccessible. I’m sure you can understand that precaution. I am the only one who knows that location. But again, all of you possess a vast multitude of resources, so obtaining them will be easy. I will inform my assistant, Vic DiGenti, of the location after the auction, and if you desire he can be your guide. I’m hoping that gesture is a further demonstration of my good faith.”

“And your distrust of us,” one of the Russians added.

“What is there to trust?” Olivier said. “Each of you is here for differing reasons, most of which conflict with the other. I realize that none of you are above using violence to get what you want. So no, I trust none of you. As I’m sure none of you trust me. This whole endeavor is not about trust. It’s about power.”

“It’s about blackmail,” Cotton said. “And coercion.”

Olivier faced him. “I suppose it is. A most unpleasant business.”

“But profitable,” he said, adding a smile.

“That it is. Or at least, I’m hoping so.”

Olivier extended his arms in a welcome embrace.

Everyone looked back in silent anticipation.

“Shall we begin?”



* * *



Czajkowski rode in the back of the car driven by his two security people, still unnerved by the meeting with his former boss. Mirek had always been a hard man, difficult to know, even harder to like. But the nature of the job had demanded a certain degree of detachment. Of all the recruits, only a few managed to get close. He’d always thought himself one of those. How many counter-informants had he personally recruited for Mirek? Fifty? More like a hundred. People who’d placed their lives on the line. Some even gave their lives. Others had them taken. Which would all come out if the protocol became public. The good and the bad. How would the people react? Would he face charges? Had what he’d done been a crime against peace and humanity? Hard to say. And that indecision troubled him.

His cell phone vibrated.

He found the unit and saw it was Sonia.

“I hope you have good news,” he said, answering.

“The tracker worked,” she said. “The auction is occurring at Sturney Castle, inside Slovakia. Not that far away.”

No, it wasn’t. “Where are you?”

“Positioned about half a kilometer away, among the trees. I’ve watched as three cars drove inside, all similar to the cars that brought Cotton and Bunch.”

“You still think Malone knew you would be following?”

“Absolutely. You have to think that whoever transported Malone and Bunch to the castle guarded against being followed. Yet Cotton made sure that tracker stayed active. I was able to stay a long way back. Now I just have to figure out how to get inside, undetected.”

“What do you plan to do, once there?”

“Improvise.”

“Be careful.”

“You sound like you care.”

“I do.”

He heard the smile in her voice.