The Warsaw Protocol (Cotton Malone 15)
* * *
Eli followed Ivan.
Thankfully, the Russian had volunteered to stay in front of him. The big man carried a gun in one hand and the sealed packet in the other. Munoz had handed it over back in the chamber.
He debated whether to kill the fat Slav and take his chances with anybody waiting above. But the Russian foreign service, the SVR, was every bit as ruthless as its predecessor, the KGB. Its staff and resources were endless, and there would literally be no place to hide anywhere on the globe. Not to mention the Americans, French, Iranians, North Koreans, and Chinese who would want to exact revenge for their losses, too. The smart play, the only play, was to allow Ivan his moment and get out of this mine, and away, with his five million euros. The Pantry was still one level below him and he could barter it to the Poles.
Personally, he would have killed Malone and the others back in the chamber. But Ivan had made it clear that was not to happen. He did not want to antagonize the Americans any further by generating another martyr they could rally behind. Better to let Malone and Stephanie Nelle be embarrassed over their failure to secure the information.
They kept walking, following Konrad down the dark tunnel, their lights illuminating the way. The chilly breeze in their face felt good and brought the anticipated comfort of fresh air above.
Around two bends and they came to the elevator.
Konrad stopped before the closed doors. “When do I get paid?”
“That not my problem,” Ivan said.
Konrad pointed at Eli. “It’s his problem. One hundred thousand euros. And no one said anything about guns and shooting. Weapons are not allowed here. We could all be in trouble if anyone heard that shot.”
“But apparently no one did,” Eli said.
“You said I would be paid once I led you to that statue. It’s done. Where’s my money.”
Ivan raised his gun and fired.
* * *
Cotton heard a shot.
From somewhere in the echoing darkness.
“How far to the elevators?” he asked Patrycja.
“Just ahead.”
* * *
Eli motioned and Munoz dragged Konrad’s body back down the tunnel and into one of the offshoots they’d just passed.
“Was that necessary?” he asked Ivan.
“We can’t afford that witness.”
But he needed Konrad to get back to the Pantry. Now another way would have to be found.
Damn Russians.
“Can you afford me as a witness?” he asked.
Ivan chuckled. “I was told to leave you be. You have friends in Kremlin who like doing business with you. No worry.” Ivan motioned with the packet. “We have what we want.”
Some comfort, but not enough, since Russians lied.
Munoz returned.
He wondered how long it would be before the body was found. Hours? Unlikely. Days? Probable. Which was fine. He’d already thought it all through and saw Munoz had been thorough, handing over Konrad’s fob that activated the elevator.
“We go up to Level III and blend in with the tourists leaving for the day. That way”—he motioned with the fob—“this gets recorded as having been used to leave from down here. We remove these coveralls and walk right out with the rest of the visitors. Nobody the wiser.”
Ivan smiled, then reached out and clamped a paw on his right shoulder.
“Good plan.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Czajkowski still sat at the table in the meeting hall. A few people had wandered in and out, but no one had paid him any attention, thinking him a mine employee thanks to the coveralls. Sonia was dealing with the mine manager, checking out the situation and determining how they would proceed. She’d thought it best he wait here, which had given him time to speak with Anna.
Interesting how his fate might rest in the hands of two women, one his estranged wife whom he’d once loved, the other a woman whom he now loved. Both working in concert, their goal the same.
To save his ass.
Some men might see that as emasculating. Not him.
His entire life he’d tried to do the right thing. But defining right had sometimes proven tricky. Dealing with the communists had required extreme measures. Both offensive and defensive. Back then they’d lumped it all under the label of “resistance.” An easy thing to describe. Difficult to understand, since its actions took many differing forms. Eventually, he’d come to learn the difference between revolution and resistance. Revolution looked ahead to what could be. Resistance dreamed of the past and a restoration of what once existed. Both, though, were paid for in exile, prison, torture, and death. He, and millions of others, had resisted the communists, wanting nothing more than a free Poland restored.
It had been a war.
Exactly how the communist government described it, declaring that there will be no turning back from socialism. And the government supported that declaration with fifty thousand SB internal security forces deployed throughout the country, who broke strikes, coerced, and intimidated the people with death, violence, and fear. Spies played an integral part on both sides.
It truly was war.
And there were casualties.
On both sides.
Sitting here now, over three decades later, within the cocoon of an underground hall, it all seemed like yesterday. But lately, his mind had stayed deep in the past. The government had been so stupid. So foolish. Adhering to what Stalin had practiced. The people who cast votes decide nothing. The people who count votes decide everything.
Which, luckily, evolved into a disaster for them.
He could not repeat those mistakes, nor allow others to do so.
In truth, he was replaceable. He could be gunned down at any time, in any crowd, and the police would have his blood hosed from the pavement and traffic flowing again by nightfall.
Sad.
But not a lie.
In Poland, no one person controlled much of anything.
Everything was a consensus.
Nothing good would come from revealing the Warsaw Protocol. Any defense he might mount would be drowned out by a screaming opposition. There was no internet in the 1980s. No social media. No Twitter. Information could actually be contained. The backlash today would be relentless. A multitude of Polish political parties, who could not agree on a single thing, would unite under one common theme.
Removing him from office.
And they would succeed.
His entire ruling coalition revolved around the other side staying fractured since, sadly, creating unity within Poland always seemed easier when confronting a common enemy.
This time that would be him.
He shook his head.
What a quandary.
Made worse by another reality. Hastily planned operations nearly always came with problems. He had a bad feeling t
hat some detail, now tiny, could later reveal itself and grow into something fatal. Something out of his control. But he realized that doubt always accompanied responsibility. So he sucked in a few deep breaths and steeled himself.
Sonia appeared at the entrance and walked toward him across the parquet floor. “The elevator is coming up from Level IX.”
He stood. “I’m not waiting here. So don’t tell me to.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“You have any idea who’s coming up?”
She shook her head. “Let’s hope whoever they are have what they came for.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll go find it.”
He loved her determination. Never an ounce of pessimism. “I think I need a divorce.”
She smiled. “That’s the anxiety talking.”
“It’s a man who loves you talking. Why can’t I be happy, too?”
“Because you’re the president of this country and Poland will never tolerate a leader who divorces while in office. You know that.”
“I’m tired of living a lie.”
“It seems you’ve been doing that for a long time.”
She knew nothing about the protocol, only fleeting references here and there. He needed to tell her, but now was not the time. So he only said, “There’s more to this than you think.”
“That’s always the case.”
“We’ll talk. Once this is done.”
“Janusz, I don’t care what you did. I’m sure, whatever it was, you did it out of necessity. I was ten years old when the Soviet Union collapsed. Those were tough times. People did whatever they had to do in order to survive. Me, you, no one can judge them by today’s standards.” She paused. “And who am I to judge anyone. I shot a man in cold blood today. And he was not the first. So I really don’t give a damn what you did.”
He smiled.
So practical, too.
“Come with me,” she said. “There’s a place where we can watch that elevator when it arrives.”
And he followed her from the hall.
CHAPTER SEVENTY