The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(75)
She shrugged. “It seems we constantly face one challenge after another. Why should this be any different?”
“Because it is different. The Americans and Russians are involved. A lot is at stake.”
“Does she love you?”
The question caught him off guard. Never had they discussed their mutual diversions.
“She does.”
“That’s good. You may not believe this, but I want you to be happy.”
“As I do for you. I have no desire to harm you in any way.”
She was still his friend, and always would be.
“I was there, Janusz. I was born into that horrible communist society. I know its mind-set. You don’t have to convince me that times were tough. Survival depended on following the rules and avoiding attention. I remember it all, quite clearly. And I agree, I shed no tears for those traitors. So I’ve come to help. But I have to know what we’re facing. I need the truth.”
So he told her everything that had happened over the past few days.
“I understand,” she said when he finished. “We cannot allow foreigners to dictate how this country is governed. Never again.”
She might be an estranged spouse, but she was first and foremost a Pole.
And a proud one at that.
“You and I do not see eye to eye on many things,” she said. “But on this issue we’re united. Why are you waiting here?”
“For Sonia to report in. The last thing I heard was gunfire.”
“Should you send people south to that castle?”
He’d been considering just that, but he’d promised Sonia not to interfere and let her handle it. “I can’t. Not at the moment.”
She seemed to understand why and said, “What would it hurt to get your men close, ready to move at a moment’s notice?”
Not a thing.
He stepped to the door and summoned Zima back inside, telling him what he wanted to happen. “Stay back a few kilometers, but close enough to move quickly, if needed. How fast can you have people there?”
“I have six already at the Slovakian border. I was hoping you’d give this order.”
He smiled. “Take care of it.”
Zima left.
Anna stood from the sofa. “I have a mission, too.”
He was curious. “Can I ask what?”
“It’s time I pay a visit to Jasna Góra. Father Hacia and I need to have a talk.”
“You might find that a bit one-sided.”
She shook her head. “Come now, Janusz. You know how persuasive I can be.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Cotton stepped away from the arch, surrounded by carnage. Sonia had executed Jonty Olivier in cold blood. What better way to protect both Poland and Czajkowski than by eliminating the source of the problem. Clearly, she hadn’t known the location of the auction. The Russians had shared no intel with her. And why would they? The last thing they wanted was Olivier dead. So she’d set the trap with the spear and allowed him to spring it. That way Olivier, the Russians, or whoever might be watching would not be spooked, and she’d get a clear shot.
He was still concerned about Ivan and Eli Reinhardt. They could be lying in wait. So he carefully made his way toward the front of the castle, finding a room from which he could gaze down at the courtyard. There he watched as Ivan, Reinhardt, and Munoz left in a black sedan. He then saw Sonia as she calmly walked across the cobblestones and out the main gate, with the boxed spear in her grasp.
There was still the matter of Eli Reinhardt. Something wasn’t right there. He wished he knew more about the man. Why was he involved? Why would he agree to take the risk of participating in the murder of government representatives, several of which were anything but friendly? And make a deal with the Russians? Olivier’s comments only confirmed that he and Reinhardt had been somewhat working together, Olivier lamenting how foolish he’d been to trust the man. A double cross? Maybe. And when Sonia gunned Olivier down, Reinhardt had seemed far more relieved than shocked.
Was this over?
Was the information truly gone?
Sonia apparently had been unconcerned with Reinhardt, leaving without giving him another thought. Satisfied the situation had been contained.
Had she made a mistake?
The castle loomed cemetery-quiet.
He left the front room and headed back to the great hall. Bullet holes scarred the walls and floor, while pools of blood framed out the casualties. He walked to Olivier’s body, the face a waxen mask, the eyes closed but distended. He searched the pockets, finding nothing except a small chunk of yellow-white rock crystal. Odd that Olivier would be carrying it. He wondered about its significance. He pocketed the chunk and recalled Olivier asking about an associate—a man named Vic—and decided the second floor would be a good place to look. So he found the stairs and climbed, passing the two dead Russians, then searching rooms until he located a bedchamber that had been converted into a command post. Another body lay on the floor with bullet holes. He was about to search that corpse when he noticed the right-hand pants pocket.
Turned inside out.
As if somebody had already been looking.
He searched anyway and found only a wallet, a set of car keys, and a cell phone. A British driver’s license identified Victor DiGenti. Vic. The video monitors were still working, displaying images of the outer walls and the forest beyond, especially the road near the main gate. All quiet. One of the split-screen images was of a vehicle parked inside the walls, probably down one of the alleys he’d noticed when he’d exited the car that had brought him earlier. The one Olivier had mentioned. Ready for his exit. Harboring the Arma Christi.