Czajkowski stared out the window at Wawel Castle. He was nursing his second whiskey, propped in the bed, the same one he and Sonia had shared last night. The last thing he’d heard was gunshots through the phone. What was happening? Was Sonia all right? Her reputation was legendary, and her superiors spoke of her in glowing terms. But that didn’t mean trouble could not find her.
He savored another sip, allowing the alcohol to trickle down his throat and burn away the anxiety.
Out the window, the view to the castle was across a busy street, up a rocky slope populated with cafés and restaurants. Crowds occupied the path that encircled Wawel Hill, particularly off to the right at the exit for the Dragon’s Den, where an enormous bronze effigy of the famous dragon stood atop a limestone boulder. Seven-headed, with one that breathed fire thanks to an ingeniously placed natural gas nozzle. It had even been modernized so that a text message from a phone could trigger the fire, which people did hundreds of times each day.
Modern technology.
The bane of his existence.
The entire reason he was in this mess.
The Aegis Ballistic Missile Defense System.
Designed to provide protection against short- to intermediate-range ballistic missiles, and to intercept incoming missiles above the atmosphere, prior to reentry, long before they could do any damage, with a fragmentation warhead. Right now they were deployed on U.S. warships and land-based in Japan and Romania.
But were they reliable?
Nobody knew.
Most times they worked, but most was not all.
Russia hated them, saying they were merely fueling a new arms race based on nonexistent dangers, since Iran had never threatened Europe with missiles. The last time the idea was proposed Russia announced that it would deploy short-range nuclear missiles along its NATO borders. A new Cold War had been predicted. Putin even stated that Russia would withdraw from the Nuclear Forces Treaty of 1987 and that the chance of Poland being subject to attack, in the event of war, was 100 percent.
He had no reason to think that this time would be any different.
Nearly 60 percent of Poles had been opposed to the missiles. He imagined that percentage would be higher this time. So far, the outcry had been minimal, but the debate had not yet begun.
Oddly, years ago, the Polish government’s response to the first cancellation of the program had been mixed. Some had been glad the missiles were gone, but a sizable bloc voiced concern that the country would lose its special status in Washington—that Obama had canceled the project to appease Moscow at Poland’s expense. One proposal in Parliament had been to spend the equivalent of $10 billion U.S. in zlotys to build their own missile defense system.
Talk about insane.
He recalled one party leader lamenting that the decision to withdraw the initiative had been made independent of Polish sensitivities. Lech Wałęsa had been openly critical of the cancellation, saying Americans have always only taken care of their own interests and they have used everyone else. One front-page headline he recalled quite clearly. ALE BYLIŚMY NAIWNI. ZDRADA! USA SPRZEDAŁY NAS ROSJI I WBIŁY NAM NÓŻ W PLECY. WE WERE SO NAÏVE. BETRAYAL! THE U.S. SOLD US TO RUSSIA AND STABBED US IN THE BACK. Oddly, the ending announcement came on September 17, 2009, a date of great symbolic value, as it had been on September 17, 1939, that the Soviet Union invaded Poland.
Irony? A message? Or just a coincidence?
Who knew.
Ever since the announcement by President Fox the foreign ministry had been working on both responses and alternatives. Ways to try to appease both sides. No formal request for the missile base had yet been made. He assumed Fox was waiting to acquire the ammunition he would need to make sure that there was no meaningful opposition from Warsaw. And certainly the Americans knew they had a friendly ear with the marshal of Parliament, who would temporarily assume the presidency if a resignation was forced. That’s when things would escalate out of control into a wild national debate.
He needed to handle this.
One man.
Quick and decisive.
Thankfully, the constitution gave him the power, which could not be overruled.
Why had Sonia not called back? He wanted to call her, but knew better. He had to trust her to handle it.
He finished his drink.
And knew better than to have another.
The door to the outer room opened. He stood and stepped from the bedroom. Michał Zima occupied the entranceway. Odd. He wondered why this cold, calculating man had traveled south from Warsaw.
“I’ve come to see if I can help,” Zima said.
“With what?”
“Sturney Castle.”
Apparently the head of the BOR had become well informed. “What do you know about that?”
“I know that a Russian foreign intelligence operative named Ivan is there. He was detected in Bruges, where he came into contact with a former American agent named Cotton Malone. Interestingly, Malone was here, yesterday, in Kraków, where four of the AW’s intelligence agents brought him to you.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve been doing my job.”
He appraised Zima with a critical eye. “You’ve been doing exactly what I told you not to do.”
“I’m not your enemy.”
“But you’re not my friend, either.”
“I am here to protect the president of this country. Being your friend was never part of that duty. But if you must know, I actually admire your leadership.”
That was a surprise.
And welcomed.
“Something is happening that affects the security of this nation,” Zima said. “Something that involves our foreign intelligence agency. I’m aware of your relationship with Sonia Draga. The BOR has accommodated your requests in that area. Again, I am not here to judge. Only to help.”
“Michał, I appreciate your concern and your offer, but I cannot involve the BOR. This is a personal matter.”
“That somehow concerns a man who once directed the secret intelligence services for Solidarity.”
Zima surely knew of the trip to Jasna Góra, since two of his men had been there. But he was surprised about the reference to Mirek Hacia’s past life experience.
“Is that a well-known fact?” he asked.
“To some it is. But it’s a select few. Does whatever is happening here relate to what happened back in the 1980s?”
He decided to be honest. “It does.”
“And Major Dilecki was likewise involved? I could tell when we were at his house that you knew the man. I can only assume that since he retained records on others, he did so on you. Records that are now out in the open.”
“That would be a safe assumption.”
“And Sturney Castle is where they have surfaced?”
“In a manner of speaking. They are being auctioned to the highest bidder.”
He caught the moment of concern on Zima’s face. Perhaps this man did genuinely care.
“Sonia is there,” he said, “trying to stop that from happening. But there were gunshots during her last call to me. I’m concerned.”
The door leading out of the suite opened. Usually, the security detail knocked first before allowing an intrusion.
Then he caught site of his visitor and understood.
His wife.
Who did not look happy.