The Warsaw Protocol allowed Solidarity to continue to function without some of the prying eyes of the government. Was it 100 percent effective? Absolutely not. But it was effective enough to ensure that the movement survived.
And Walesa himself created it?
“What are you saying?” he asked Mirek.
“In the 1970s Walesa was recruited as an informant. Of course, at the time he was just a young electrician at the Gdansk Shipyard. A nobody. But he was tough and scrappy. He hated the communists and everything they had done to Poland. He wanted to know more about them. So he allowed himself to be recruited. It was quite an education, one he put to good use years later when he helped lead a revolt.”
When all of the furor arose over any supposed complicity, Walesa stayed silent for a while, but eventually stated that he was never an agent, never spied on anyone, took no money, and would prove it all in court. He also boldly stated that if he had to repeat his life, he would not change a thing.
Now Czajkowski knew why.
“Walesa came here,” Mirek said. “We sat at this same table. He wanted me to testify before the court and prove his innocence. He knew of my record of the protocol and wanted it made public. I refused.”
“He took quite a public beating.”
“That’s true. But he survived. As you will, too.”
“This is much different. He did not have to face an electorate. The safety of the Polish people was not at stake. Those missiles make us a target on Moscow’s radar. They threaten our existence. We would have chosen sides in the conflict between East and West. My opponents will skewer me with those documents, if they are made public. Then the weak will bow down to the United States.”
“You have little faith in your government.”
“I have no faith. I believe only in me.”
Mirek smiled. “You always were the tough one. I saw that the first day we spoke, and you proved it every day thereafter. You were a fighter.”
He appreciated the kind words.
“I sympathize with your situation,” Mirek said. “I truly do. But it doesn’t change things.”
No, he supposed not.
“I took Walesa’s idea and expanded it from one person to hundreds, to eventually over a thousand. Not only did we learn about our enemy, we were able to mislead them, all made easy since they were too stupid and too anxious to be careful. In the process, yes, Poles were killed. But I have no regrets over those deaths. We had to weed out the traitors, and what better way to deal with them than allowing the government to kill its own. But what we did must remain secret. To reveal anything now would only taint what we accomplished.”
“I have no regrets, either,” he said. “Those people chose their fate when they became spies against their neighbors.”
“That is exactly what Walesa said. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I swore upon the Bible, to God, that I would take that secret to my grave. I kept a record only to clarify history, if that was ever needed, after I was gone. What happened to Walesa, what’s happening to you now, requires no clarification. This is not my problem.”
He shoved the chair back and came to his feet. Anger surged through him. “Not your problem? You coerced me into your scheme. Me and all of the others. We had no choice. Then I helped you recruit so many others. They, and I, worked for you so we could justify in our minds the weakness we’d shown to the SB.” His voice kept rising. “We convinced ourselves we were doing the right thing playing both sides. And we were, Mirek. It helped win the war. We took down a government. We threw the communists out. We gave courage to all of Eastern Europe to follow our lead. We changed the world.”
The white-robed prelate never moved, his face set in stone. He allowed a moment for his words to take hold. Finally, Mirek said, in barely a whisper, “That does not alter what we all agreed to.”
“I can go public and expose it all.” He pointed. “You included.”
Mirek looked up at him. “You can. But the taint upon you will still be there.”
“So what? I’m destroyed at that point. There are others, still alive, who participated. They can speak out, too.”
“Not a one of whom would ever admit to being an informant, much less a counter-informant. None of those people want to relive any of that. Why would they? And if they do, it is merely their word. There is no proof. You will stand alone, Mr. President. Just as Walesa stood alone. Be strong, as he was.”
“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 tha
t 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.