Tarnov continued flipping through the file, searching for anything that might provide a clue to Banach’s whereabouts. There was nothing.
Then, at the very end, he discovered a list of people who worked at the library. With typical German thoroughness the list was complete with job descriptions, departments in which each individual worked and the dates of their employment. Tarnov studied the list, making notes, cross-referencing the information, until another name caught his attention, someone who worked closely with Ludwik Banach.
Tarnov sat back and took a deep, satisfied breath. He circled the name, folded the list and slipped it in his pocket. He was annoyed and frustrated that he had overlooked the file earlier, but he put it out of his mind. There was still time. Banach was out there somewhere. And now he had a place to start.
Forty-One
NATALIA KNELT IN A PEW at the Church of Archangel Michael and Saint Stanislaus, waiting her turn for confession. She held a rosary in her hand, but she wasn’t praying. She’d stopped praying long ago, feeling betrayed by God as everything she’d known and everyone she’d loved had been crushed under the heels of fascists and communists. She wasn’t praying, but in her heart there was a feeling that hadn’t been there for a long time. There was a glimmer of light in the darkness.
Adam was alive.
Could there still be a chance? she wondered. After all the brutality, the killing and destruction… Could there still be a chance?
She hadn’t known what to say when she saw him yesterday, standing at the bottom of the cellar stairs. As she thought about it now, she realized at that moment she had been consumed with fear. After all she’d been through, the idea that another person could mean as much to her as Adam did had terrified her.
And she didn’t know what to say.
Finally it was her turn, and Natalia made the sign of the cross and stepped over to the confessional. Today was Thursday, and it had been well established for years that contact was only to be made on Wednesdays. But surely the priest would recognize her voice. She cleared her throat and said, “In the name of our Lord I come seeking.”
There was silence. Finally the voice from behind the screen whispered, “What have you done with the gift you received from our Lord and Provider?”
Natalia’s eyes darted around the semi-darkness of the sanctuary. “It is safe, Father.”
“Do you seek consultation?”
“Yes.”
Another moment of silence, then the priest said, “Tonight, eight o’clock, on the Rynek Glowny, the southwest corner of the Cloth Hall.”
The colossal Renaissance edifice of the Cloth Hall, adorned with Italian gargoyles glaring down from an ornately sculpted roof, dominated the center of the Rynek Glowny. Dozens of arcades and merchant stalls lined both sides of the ground floor where traditionally all manner of goods could be purchased, from dishware to clothing, candy, cigars, amber jewelry and artwork. Though few of the stalls had anything of value to sell in the aftermath of the war, and few of the people milling about had money to spend, it was still one of the busiest locations in Krakow on this warm Thursday evening.
Natalia took up a spot on the southwest corner providing a good vantage point from which to observe the comings and goings of the teeming square. She was still nervous about being out in public in a big city surrounded by thousands of unfamiliar faces. Ever since her escape from Warsaw, and especially since she’d been forced to shoot the two NKVD agents near the Bolimowski Forest, Natalia expected at any moment to feel a heavy hand grip her shoulder.
The priest arrived a few minutes past eight. Tonight he was dressed in a gray suit and fedora, indistinguishable from the hundreds of other men milling about the area.
“We should take a walk,” he said in his usual clipped manner.
Natalia nodded, and they walked slowly around the perimeter of the vast building.
“I know that Ludwik Banach is the Provider,” she said after a moment.
The priest stopped as abruptly as if he’d walked into a wall. His face was sheet-white. “Where did you…?”
“It was in the journal—the ‘gift’ you left for me. Didn’t you read it?”
“Of course not. I’ve never read any of the information received from the Provider. I just pass it along.”
Natalia doubted that was true.
“And, as I told you,” the priest continued, “the Provider is no longer among us.”
“I’m aware of that,” Natalia replied, “but I must find him. It’s extremely urgent. The gift—his journal—has also revealed the existence of a document that could help save Poland. He’s the only one who can tell us where it is.”
“I suspect it’s a bit late for that, my child.”
“No, it’s not too late. But time is short.”
The priest didn’t respond.
“I’m not the only one searching for him.”
The priest’s eyes darted around. Groups of people passed by in all directions, carrying on their own conversations, the sound of a trumpet from a nearby café drowning out most of the chatter. He turned back to Natalia and whispered, “This is very dangerous.”
“I know. That’s why we have no time to lose.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Your contact. The other person in the channel.”
“Impossible! You know I can’t tell you that.”
Natalia took his arm. “Please, it’s absolutely crucial. This is our only chance.”
The priest shook his arm free. “You know the rules. I cannot divulge the name of a contact. None of us can.” He began walking again.
Natalia hurried to catch up to him. “Stop!” she hissed. “Stop and listen to me, Goddamn it!”
He stopped and turned to her. His bony face was crimson. “How dare you—”
“Just listen for one moment… please.”
His mouth tightened. “As you wish, one minute.”
“The NKVD is hunting for Banach. We both know what they’re like. They’ll eventually find out about all of us. It’s only a matter of time. Our only chance is to locate the document, and the only way to do that is to find Banach before they do.”
The priest glared at her, looking down the length of his pencil-thin nose as though she were a gnat he wanted to swat away. But he was sweating and there was a flicker in his eyes that gave him away. He was afraid.
“It’s the only way,” Natalia whispered.
A group of people staggered past, singing and laughing. One of the men waved a half-empty bottle of vodka. The priest waited until they were out of earshot. “We can never meet again. You can never come back to the church. Is that clear?”
Natalia nodded.
“Never,” he repeated.
“I understand.”
The priest hesitated then said, “His name is Jerzy Jastremski.”
“Does he know where Banach went?”
“Yes. He’s the only one who does.”
Forty-Two
WHEN THE TELEPHONE RANG in Adam’s room at the Hotel Polonia he had been awake for a long time, worrying about his uncle. He snatched the receiver off the hook on the second ring.
It was Natalia. “The service is at nine o’clock,” she said. “Bring some flowers.”
“Christ, it’s been—” The line went dead.
Adam placed the receiver back on the hook and stared out the window at the street below, watching the city slowly come to life. He wondered if they could survive this.
At five minutes to nine Adam left the hotel. He paused on the sidewalk. The sun was bright, and there was a warm breeze. It would be hot again today. He spotted the flower stand just a few meters down the street. Natalia leaned against the wall of the adjacent building, reading a newspaper. Ignoring her, Adam walked up to the stand and picked out a bouquet of daisies. As he paid for the flowers, Natalia walked away.