Early Saturday morning, the small van waited in the drive of the Newport Hotel. The day was surprisingly sunny, given the recent weather, though still bitterly cold.
Stepping out into the brisk light, Angela raised her hand to shade her eyes and took one last look at the city around her. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she stepped into the van where the other members of the team were already waiting.
The streets of Warsaw were crowded, as they always were on All Saints’ Day. Some city streets were closed for processions and parades, which meant heavier traffic on the streets that remained open.
All Saints’ Day brought out not only city residents but also visitors from around the country, who came to Warsaw to see the famous cemeteries within its boundaries. Powązki Cemetery held the remains of some of Poland’s greatest figures while Okopowa bore memorials to the millions who had been killed on Polish land.
The van made its way slowly through the city streets, winding its way to the airport on the outskirts of town. The driver cautiously navigated the busy streets, weaving through traffic as cars pulled over to let passengers disembark or stopped suddenly to avoid hitting one of the many pedestrians that swarmed over the sidewalks and sometimes out into the streets.
The driver stopped at a red light and glanced in his side view mirror. A black sedan had pulled up next to him, which meant nothing, until he noticed a second, similar vehicle pull up a little too close on the other side as well.
The attack took less than three minutes.
A man dressed in black with a balaclava pulled low over his face jumped out of one of the sedans and reached for the van door. The driver tried to drive forward, but he couldn’t maneuver the van around the second car.
The man moved swiftly, professionally. The doors flew open, the man pushed his way violently inside. Witnesses heard the screams, but stood rooted to the ground in fear. In the blink of an eye, the man was back out of the van and in his sedan. Both cars screeched into motion, blowing through the still-red light, forcing other cars off the road.
Within minutes, sirens could be heard approaching the scene. Three police cars surrounded the van, which now sat still and silent at the intersection. An ambulance approached with a little more caution and stopped a few cars back.
By now, a crowd of people stood on the sidewalks and pushed out into the street near the van. Harsh whispers filled the air as people described to each other what they had seen and heard, and what they had not seen.
As the police approached the van slowly, the doors opened once again. The police halted their progress, weapons drawn. Angela stumbled out of the van, her glasses hanging awkwardly from her face, her coat covered in blood. She gasped and fell onto the pavement.
The police and medics jumped into action. One moved forward to support Angela, leading her carefully back to the waiting ambulance. More moved into the van to offer what help they could to the other passengers.
Leaning heavily on the arm of the technician, Angela shook her head. “No, no, I’m all right, I wasn’t hurt, just pushed a little. But… he’s dead… he’s dead.”
“Who’s dead, Pani, what happened?” the young man asked fearfully in English, carefully wrapping a warm blanket around Angela’s shoulders and offering her a drink from a steaming thermos. “What happened to you?”
“It was an attack. They were there specifically to kill him. It doesn’t make sense… why him?” She started to sob softly, and the technician looked away, back at the van where other passengers were being led away.
The last two police to leave the van stepped slowly down and shook their heads at their commanding officer. “One dead.”
Their words carried to the technician, who unconsciously pulled Angela’s blanket tighter around her shoulders, as if to protect her from the words. Words she couldn’t translate.
“Who is it, what can you tell me?” the senior officer asked.
“American man, reddish-brown hair, tall, more than six feet.”
“How was he killed, was it an accident?”
“No accident, he was stabbed in the heart. One stab, strong and sure. The killer took the knife.”
“Okay.” The commander looked around at the gathering crowd. “We need to start taking statements, talk to all these people. Someone must have seen the attackers, seen the cars they came in. We need a witness who can tell us what he saw.”
The police moved off to start their investigation as two medical technicians stepped out of the van. Between them they held a stretcher, the form of a large man on the stretcher fully covered.
Angela gasped and put hand over her mouth. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said again, “Why him?”