It had succeeded as planned. The four of them had concealed themselves among crates and large canvas sacks filled with everything from works of art to sterling silver, jewelry and clothing that the Germans had plundered during their systematic destruction of Warsaw.
The following day, wearing new clothing and toting two suitcases filled with winter coats, sweaters and hats they’d pilfered from the baggage car, along with a few thousand zlotys that Rabbit had found in the lining of a black leather briefcase, they departed the train at Zyrardow, forty kilometers west of Prushkov on the edge of the Bolimowski Forest. Two days later, as they trudged through the dense forest, Rabbit had spotted the abandoned cottage.
As Natalia pedaled past a meadow, now alive with red poppies and blossoming apple trees, the bright mid-afternoon sun warming her back, she thought about the long, cold winter they had endured in the tiny cottage. The forest had provided ample firewood, and they had been able to find odd jobs with the farmers in the area in return for a stockpile of potatoes, turnips and a bit of salted pork before the weather turned and the snow set in. Hammer had even bartered a log-splitting job for a Russian Mosin-Nagant rifle and some ammunition. Armed with the rifle, he had managed to provide an occasional treat of fresh venison. He had also obtained a Browning 9mm pistol, which Natalia carried in the pocket of the gray woolen coat she’d stolen from the baggage car. She had never asked Hammer exactly how he’d gotten the Browning.
They had escaped the clutches of the Germans and, so far at least, they had managed to avoid Red Army troops and NKVD agents. But Natalia knew the enemy was out there. Zeeka had made contact with an AK cell in Zyrardow that had a wireless radio. She had brought back reports of the NKVD tracking down AK operatives all over Poland and arresting them—or shooting them on the spot.
Natalia took one last glance at the shimmering meadow and inhaled the sweet scent of the apple blossoms before she pedaled back under the green canopy of budding birches and aspens. They’d survived one war, but they were entering another.
When she finally cleared the forest, Rabbit was waiting for her at the edge of the village. It was a dusty, ramshackle collection of thatched-roofed wooden cottages, a cinder-block grain elevator, and a two-story wood-frame building with peeling paint that housed a post office and a blacksmith shop. The most substantial building in the village was a tiny church of white-washed brick with a faded red-tile roof. In a grassy area next to the church stood the weekly market—a dozen wooden stalls with faded canvas awnings covering plank tables set on sawhorses.
“I already checked it out,” the boy chirped triumphantly, leading the way to the market. “They have potatoes and beets. I choose potatoes.”
Natalia laughed. “You always choose potatoes. Why not beets?”
“Because I won the race, that’s why.”
Natalia and Rabbit filled their backpacks with the potatoes and a few beets, along with a half-dozen strips of salted pork, a bag of ersatz coffee and two bars of lye soap. They paid the merchants a few zlotys. Mounting their bicycles, they headed down the pathway toward the forest. As they neared the gravel road that headed west out of the village, Natalia noticed two men standing next to a black, four-door auto parked alongside the road.
“This doesn’t look good,” Rabbit said. “Maybe we should—”
Natalia cut him off with a sharp look, shook her head and continued on, instinctively sliding her hand in and out of her jacket pocket, feeling for the Browning 9mm pistol. One of the men wore the khaki uniform and gray-green hat of an NKVD trooper, and turning back now would look entirely too suspicious.
They were about to pass the auto when the uniformed trooper abruptly stepped out into the path. Natalia almost fell off her bicycle as she swerved to avoid him.
“Izvinítye,” the trooper said and grabbed the handlebars to steady the bike. He was short and plump with a grisly growth of red beard and thick hands.
He had said “excuse me,” one of the few Russian phrases Natalia understood. The hair on the back of her neck stood up at the sound of Russian. The trooper said something else, which Natalia didn’t understand. She glanced at Rabbit, who shrugged. Then she turned back to the trooper. “It’s fine,” she replied in Polish. “No problem.”
The trooper continued to grip the handlebars.
Rabbit stopped his bicycle next to Natalia, and the trooper launched into a long string of Russian. The boy shrugged again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand?”
“He said to get off your bicycle,” the second man said in Polish.
Rabbit dismounted but kept a firm grip on his handlebars.
This man was taller than the trooper and clean-shaven. He wore a dark blue suit, with a black tie and a red hammer-and-sickle pin in his lapel. He was clearly an NKVD agent and the one in charge. He approached Natalia and said, “May I see your papers, please?”
Natalia reached into her pocket and produced the identification card that Zeeka had obtained from the forger at the AK cell in Zyrardow. Obtaining new identification cards and ration coupons had been one of their first orders of business after arriving in the area last fall, but up until this moment, Natalia had never had to use hers. Trying to control her breathing, Natalia handed the intentionally weathered-looking card with her picture on it to the agent.
The Russian studied it for a long time, glancing back and forth from the card to Natalia. Finally he asked, “Where did you get this?”
Natalia feigned surprise. “Where did I get it? At the city clerk’s office in Warsaw, as you can see.”
The agent frowned. “Yes, I can plainly see that is what is printed on this card. But where did you get it?”
Natalia felt her face flush and cursed silently. Stay calm. Just stay calm. “I got it at the city clerk’s office in Warsaw, in 1938, when I applied for a job in the civil service.”
The agent took a step closer. He had a ruddy complexion and narrow, dark eyes. He glanced at the card again, then back at her. “And your name is Katolina Archowski? You were born in Warsaw in 1915?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And what are you doing in this filthy little backwater, Katolina Archowski? Working for the ‘civil service’?”
“No, I’m not. As you know, everyone was forced out of Warsaw by the Germans last September. My brother and I”—she motioned toward Rabbit—“are temporarily staying in the area, doing odd jobs, just trying to survive.”
“Staying where, exactly?” he asked.
“In a cottage owned by my family, about three kilometers down this pathway.” Natalia pointed toward the spot where the pathway disappeared into the forest. She watched the agent’s expression as he studied the pathway, obviously not eager to hike several kilometers into the forest to check out her story.