KRAKÓW, POLAND
Jack and Liliana hit traffic on the two-lane road on the north side of the city. Traffic was heavy in both directions.
It was hard to believe that a city of nearly eight hundred thousand residents had such small roads, but then again, Poland appeared to have a lot more public transportation than the United States did. On this side of town, at least, there weren’t any skyscrapers. Mostly low apartment buildings, homes, and businesses. Everything was neat and clean, as it had been in Warsaw. Maybe more so. The architecture had changed somewhat. Jack knew he was about as close to Budapest in the south and Vienna in the southwest as he was to Warsaw in the north. So perhaps it was the influence of the Austro-Hungarian Empire he was feeling.
“Everything looks neat and clean here. I take it Kraków was destroyed during the war, too, and then rebuilt?”
“The city was last destroyed during the Mongol invasion in the thirteenth century. The Nazis felt Kraków was the most Germanlike city in Poland, so they preserved it. They even ran their wartime administration from here, instead of Warsaw. There is a great deal of history here, including German history, which the Germans admire most of all.”
There were just five addresses and income tax statements on the list sent by Liliana’s friend at the tax office, and Liliana had already marked them on Google Maps.
“So where do you want to start?” Liliana asked.
“The most interesting place. His house.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Liliana followed the ring road west, then south, avoiding the city center. They crossed the wide Vistula River and headed farther south. Without the onboard navigation, Liliana admitted, she would have had a hard time finding Stapinsky’s neighborhood, located on the edge of a protected forest. The homes here were larger than most, with distinctly alpine features and situated on large, heavily wooded private lots. From an American perspective, it had a middle-class feel, but Liliana assured him that the average working person could never afford these properties.
The woman’s voice in the Audi’s MMI console directed them onto a gravel road cutting through a stand of trees, which they followed around an S-curve.
A two-story house stood on the crest of a small hill. New construction, to judge from the remnants of fresh lumber and paint buckets stacked neatly to one side.
A tallish man, balding and bearded, tossed Tumi luggage into the back of a brand-new grape-colored Mercedes G-Class, a square-shaped SUV that Jack’s dad referred to as a high-dollar Tonka truck. The man’s round gut bulged beneath an Adidas-branded turquoise-and-black tracksuit, with the famous three white stripes running the length of his sleeves.
But it was the two big black-and-tan Rottweilers in the yard that caught their attention.
Or was it the other way around?
The two thickly muscled guard dogs barked as they charged in a flash of snarling teeth toward the Audi at full speed.
The man set his bags down in the grass, squinting behind his glasses at the silver Audi rolling up his driveway.
Liliana hit the brakes and slammed the car into park just as the enormous forepaws of the black-and-tan monsters slammed onto the driver-side glass, their massive jaws snapping and snarling, fogging the window with their hot breath and saliva.
Liliana reached into her coat pocket to grab her pistol, but a sharp whistle from the man outside yanked them away as if they had been jerked by leashes. Their stubby tails wagged furiously as they charged back toward their master and dropped to a sitting position on either side of him in perfect synchronicity.
The man smiled.
Liliana turned to Jack. “Shall we?”
“So long as you’ve got that pistol, I’m good.”
She hit the unlock button and the two of them emerged from the Audi, opening the doors slowly. They approached, careful not to make any sudden or threatening moves. The two male Rotties were each easily one hundred pounds of raw muscle and slashing teeth, descended from a breed of dog first brought to the region by Roman legions two millennia earlier.
“Mr. Ryan, I assume?” the man said.
“Mr. Stapinsky,” Jack said. The man didn’t offer a hand. Neither did Jack.
Stapinsky turned to Liliana. “And you must be Ms. Pilecki?”
“I am.”
“Pavel was quite impressed with you, according to my secretary. I can see why.”
“He is a nice man.”
Stapinsky laughed. “Nice? I’ve heard him called a lot of things, but never ‘nice.’ One evening not so long ago, we went out to a pub and he got roaring drunk. A young idiot insulted his wife and a minute later Pavel threw him against a plate-glass window. Fortunately, the glass didn’t break, or else the man would have been shredded like a cabbage.”
“That sounds very gallant,” Liliana said.
“It might have been, except that Pavel has never been married. So, how can I help the two of you? Something about an investment?”
Jack shot a quick glance at the panting dogs, their eyes fixed on him. He handed Stapinsky his business card, hoping his arm wouldn’t be snapped in two by a pair of anxious jaws.
“I’m an analyst with Hendley Associates, a private equity firm. We’re looking for investment opportunities in Poland, and, more importantly, partnerships with well-managed local businesses.”
Stapinsky held the card with two hands, pinched between his thumbs and index fingers, straining to read it through his thick lenses.
“I’ve not heard of your firm, I’m sorry.” He handed the card back to Jack.
“Keep it, please.”
Stapinsky shoved the card into his pocket as if it were a dirty Kleenex.
Jack continued. “We’re one of the most successful private equity and investment firms in the United States. We’re looking to expand overseas.”
“You were wise to pick Poland. Our economy is booming, and we are in the heart of Europe. But I’d like to know: Of all of the thousands of companies in Poland, how did you happen to pick mine as a target of opportunity?”
“Research, Mr. Stapinsky. That’s what I do.”
“As a skilled researcher, you must have discovered that I have no need of any investors.”
“You mean any new investors, don’t you?”
“To whom are you referring?”
“I believe Baltic General Services has recently partnered with you, providing cash and other services to bolster your enterprise.”
“What of it?”
“Did they buy you out? Fifty-fifty ownership?”
“I’m not inclined to discuss my arrangements. But tell me, what is it about my company that interests you so?”
“That’s what we’d like to talk to you about, if you have a few minutes.”
“As you can see, I’m packing to leave for a long vacation.”
“Somewhere fun, I hope.”
“It’s really none of your business, is it?” Stapinsky lifted another bag into the trunk.
“It will only take a few minutes of your time, and I think you’ll be glad you did.”
“You assume a lot.”
“I assume ten million dollars is worth your time.”
Stapinsky’s eyes widened at the number.
“And that’s how much I have to invest. Today, if possible.”
“I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Please, won’t you come inside?”
Gotcha.
They sat on a green leather couch in Stapinsky’s library, its newly built shelves bulging with books, mostly paperbacks. The covers were pristine, as if the books were unread. The English-language titles were business texts and literary classics. The same with the Russian. The Polish book titles he couldn’t read, but he assumed they were the same.
“May I?” Jack asked, pointing at one of the shelves near his desk.
“If you must,” Stapinsky said, annoyed, as he tamped sweet-smelling tobacco into the bowl of his Italian briarwood pipe.
Jack lifted a copy of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls off the shelf.
“Great book. Love the movie. Have you seen it?”
“Many times. Bergman is a dream,” Stapinsky said, lighting his pipe.
“But the actress who played Pilar stole the show. What was her name?”
“I haven’t the slightest.”
Stapinsky’s attention turned to his young live-in maid as she entered the room with a tray. The Ukrainian girl brought in cups of instant coffee and Biscoff cookies, still in their plastic wrappers.
Jack returned the book to its shelf as Stapinsky dismissed the girl with a flick of his hand.
“I love these cookies,” Liliana said. “They usually serve these on airplanes.”
Stapinsky released a cloud of blue smoke, then offered an oily smile. “We are the exclusive Biscoff distributors in Poland.”
“Impressive.”
Jack took a seat next to Liliana. Stapinsky pointed at the coffee and cookies. “Please, help yourselves.”
“Thank you.” Jack took a sip of the weak coffee.
Stapinsky folded his long fingers together and leaned forward on his desk, his pipe clenched firmly between his yellowed teeth.
“So, Mr. Ryan, what is it exactly you are proposing?”