Authors: Don Tompkins
Leaning forward, Barry raised his voice.
“Driver, this meeting won’t take long. Wait close by. When I finish
here I’ll need you to take me to my office at the White House.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said. ”I’ll be right
out front.”
I minus 53
Krakow
As they were walking down the street, Garcia
asked, “How do you propose to contact Koslowski?”
“Well, this might sound old fashioned, but
as I said earlier, I’m going to use the same mark at the same place
I did in the old days. If he still lives close by and still walks
to market every day, he’ll see it. Hopefully, he’ll show up at the
meeting place. My fear is that after all this time, he’ll think
it’s a trap and we’ll never see him. So, I intend to get to the
spot early and stay late. You won’t be able to be with me on this
part—he’d get too suspicious. I want him to walk by and clearly see
it’s me. Only me. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.” Garcia let out a small
laugh. “Actually, even though I joked about it earlier, it’s not
that old fashioned,” Garcia assented. “I was just giving you a hard
time. In some parts of the world, we use pretty much the same
system today.”
Grant stopped walking, turned to face Garcia
and said, “Okay, here we are. See if you can sorta shield me while
I bend down and mark the curb with white chalk. It’ll only take a
sec.”
“I know the drill,” Garcia said.
While Garcia looked around, Thurmond made a
quick inverted V mark on the curb, quickly rose and said, “Let’s
get outta here.”
They walked back to the
café, caught a cab to the hotel and then, later, met at the
restaurant for a late lunch. After stuffing themselves on
Kotlet
schabowy
,
Kłopsiki
, and
Placki
kartoflane,
they finished up with
Makowiec
, a sweet, cake-like
poppy-seed roll most popular around Christmastime, for dessert.
After splitting the check, they went to their rooms to catch up on
sleep.
The next morning, after an American-style
breakfast of pancakes, sausages and eggs, Thurmond left for the
meeting place. His station was the corner table nearest the street
in the outside dining area of the same café he and Garcia had
visited the day before. A place where any passerby on the street
could easily see him. It was the classic ‘hide in plain sight’
plan. The more obvious he was, the less likely it was that anyone
would give him a second look.
Man, it was a lot easier these days, he
thought. In the past, the waiting time grated on his nerves; always
worrying about being stopped by a Soviet officer to check his
papers. Today, with nothing really to fear, he enjoyed the time
outside. Cold enough for a warm coat, but not too bad for November.
At least there was no snow.
He ordered coffee, which
he sipped slowly as he watched the steam rise from the
glass.
The Poles make their coffee very
strong. First, they place a large spoonful of grounds in a flat
bottomed glass. Then boiling water is poured over the coffee and,
depending on personal taste, sugar is added. This coffee is
affectionately called "spit-coffee" by drinkers because of the
reaction of anyone who unwisely gets to the sludge at the
bottom.
After his second cup, enough time had passed
that Thurmond decided Koslowski wasn’t going to show, so he went
back to his hotel to meet with Garcia.
“How’d it go?” Garcia asked as he approached
Thurmond.
“Nada. A no show,” shrugged Thurmond.
“So what now?”
“We wait ‘til tomorrow and do it again.”
Grant repeated the process the next day,
still with no success.
The third morning, as Thurmond sat at the
cafe, he watched as an older gentleman approached and leaned over
the low metal fence. The man asked Thurmond if he had a match.
Koslowski.
After lighting his cigarette with shaky
fingers, the old man handed the matches back to Thurmond, said
“thank you” and strolled on down the street. Thurmond watched him
walk away for a few seconds, and then laid some bills on the table.
Unhurriedly he left the café, but when he rounded the corner he
walked quickly down the street in the same direction as Koslowski.
He caught up with him by the end of the block.
As they stood facing each
other on the curb, Thurmond said with a broad smile,
“
Graba
, my old
friend.”
Koslowski, also
smiling, replied “
Graba
!” They shook
hands.
“It’s been a long
time. I heard you retired,” said Koslowski, putting his hands back
into his coat pockets to shield them from the cold.
“Yes, it has been a
long time and yes, I did retire. However, some urgent business came
up and I’m back for a while.” Grant answered, also putting his
hands in his pockets.
Koslowski nodded.
“Well, whatever the reason you’re here, it’s good to see
you.”
“And, you. You’re
looking well.” Thurmond said with genuine
affection.
“Oh, I have some aches
and pains . . . but, all in all, I do well. But, what do you want
with me? I can’t believe you came all this way just to inquire into
an old man’s health. And . . .” he shrugged, “we don’t have the
Soviets to spy on anymore.” Koslowski smiled.
“So I’ve discovered. I
would like to say it’s a social visit, but, unfortunately, we have
a serious matter to discuss.” To make sure no one could overhear,
Thurmond looked around them and found the sidewalks empty. He
quickly explained the situation.
Koslowski was quiet
until Grant finished, then said, “My, my. Yes, that is a serious
problem. Of course, I know the names of all of the people who were
in my network. After all, I worked with most of them for over
twenty years. They were all loyal to the cause and the information
they provided was always correct and extremely valuable. I can give
you those names, but,” he paused. “you must guard it with your
life. If the Russians found out who they were, I’m afraid they
wouldn’t last a month. Many of them remain in sensitive positions,
some even in Russia.” Koslowski stared at him with his serious pale
blue eyes.
“I’ll be extremely
guarded with the list. I realize how important it is that these
brave people not be compromised,” Thurmond said
seriously.
“I do not have the
list written down. I would ask that of you also. You must memorize
the names and meeting locations, as I have done. We will walk now
while I tell you about each person.” Koslowski turned and starting
walking slowly.
It was over an hour
later when Thurmond finally had it all committed to
memory.
As Thurmond turned to
leave, he said “Thank you for your help. This information is
extremely valuable and will help save other lives. I will protect
it with my life. I also want to thank you for your work with us in
the past. You gave us valuable information which allowed us to
counter Soviet activities in many parts of the world. These counter
thrusts, I fully believe, contributed significantly to the collapse
of the USSR. You and your people are true patriots.
Do widzenia
.”
Thurmond clasped the right hand of the old man with both of
his.
“
Do
widzenia
,” replied Koslowski, who
turned and walked away without looking back.
***
Thurmond had to walk about ten blocks before
he came to a main street and could find a taxi. He arrived back at
his hotel less than four hours after he left. Garcia was waiting in
the lobby.
“
Come on, let’s get lunch
and a beer,” Garcia said, getting to his feet. “I need a complete
update. I contacted CIA headquarters while you were gone and gave
them an update on our activities. They were very interested in
whether or not you found Koslowski and, if so, whether you had
gotten the list.”
“You did what? Garcia, you dumb shit. You
told them about Koslowski and the list? On an unsecure phone? What
were you thinking, man? You know we have to keep this extremely
close. The person killing all these people will take out Koslowski
if he learns his name. There are moles everywhere, especially in
CIA headquarters!”
“Well, buddy, I’m afraid you have no choice.
If you don’t give the list to me, the DDI will simply go over your
head to the DNI and get it.”
Thurmond frowned,“First of all, I am not
your ‘buddy’. You don’t mean shit to me and neither does the CIA. I
don’t report up that chain of command and I owe you nothing. And,
secondly, there is no list.”
“What? You didn’t find Koslowski?” Garcia
exclaimed. He couldn’t believe it.
“Oh, I found him all right. He’s a
blabbering old man with no memory of the past. He didn’t even know
me or what I was talking about. He passed right by me without a
trace of recognition. I had to run down the street to catch him.
Even after reminding him that we used to work together, he had no
memory of it. He never even saw the mark I left. He was simply on
his way to the market when he passed by the café. Just dumb luck
that I saw him at all. He’s a dead end.” Thurmond really sounded
discouraged.
Showing his frustration by holding his hands
up, Garcia said, “Damn, all this for nothing? What do we do
now?”
“We go home and start over.” Thurmond said
with a shrug and a flip of his hands.
There was no flight out that evening, so they left
for home late the next morning. They arrived back in Washington
around ten that night and both went straight home. Thurmond got to
his apartment by eleven and immediately went to bed. He couldn’t
get his mind to quiet down, so as he lay there he thought over and
over about Koslowski and the list of names. He finally fell asleep
a little after two. When he got up the next morning it was nearly
nine. Sam’s door was open and her room was empty. He figured,
correctly, that she had already gone to the office. He knew he had
to update General Wheeler immediately, so he got dressed and headed
down the road to the Pentagon.
I minus 52
Washington
Sitting at his desk Bill Barry picked up the
secure phone and called the head of the Secret Service detail
covering the President-elect.
“Carlisle.”
Barry got right to the point. “David, I need
to alert you to a potential problem. We have indications that the
President-elect may be facing a threat on Inauguration day. No
action is required now, but for planning purposes, I thought you
should know.”
“Sir, may I ask the nature of the threat?”
asked David Carlisle. Carlisle, age 47, was a career Secret Service
agent who had been on Presidential Detail for several years. He was
the overwhelming choice when selected to lead the detail protecting
the President-elect. After the oath of office, he would be heading
the elite and prestigious Presidential Secret Service Unit, a
promotion earned by years of outstanding service as a member of the
detail protecting the past two Presidents.
“I can only tell you that we’ve received
unsubstantiated information that someone may be trying to
assassinate the President-elect and we think the attempt will be
made sometime on or before inauguration day. I’m sorry, but the
details of our intelligence investigation must remain tightly held
for now. Any kind of leak would lead to deaths throughout the
intelligence community and potentially to your new boss. I promise
to keep you up to date on anything we find that would be of value
to you in protecting the President-elect.”
“You’re taking this threat very seriously,
then?” Carlisle asked.
Barry leaned back in his chair, “Yes we are.
However, I don’t believe there’s any immediate danger. Just in case
though, stay vigilant and advise your detail to be especially
alert.”
“Yes, sir. Please let me know if the threat
level either increases or decreases.”
“You got it.” He put his feet on his desk
and thought about next steps for a full half hour.
It had been a long day, so the DNI then
headed home, oblivious to the large truck with furniture store
markings on the side which followed his Town Car at a discreet
distance. His driver didn’t notice anything either, so he delivered
Barry to his residence in McLean and headed back to drop off the
car at the government garage in the District. At the garage, the
car would be cleaned and filled with fuel for the next day. The
driver would pick up the car early the next morning, drive to the
DNI’s house, pick him up and drive him wherever he wanted to go.
Because of the extremely sensitive nature of the DNI’s job, it was
assumed that he could become a kidnapping or assassination target.
Therefore, all routine routes were varied each day, even if it was
just to and from his office. Also, Because of the secrecy
surrounding the DNI’s schedule, no one would know where he was
going until his driver picked him up.
As the driver drove in the dark down the
Washington Parkway, he paid little attention to the large truck
speeding behind him. As the truck moved alongside and overtook the
Town Car, it swerved suddenly to the right, pushing the Town Car
off the side of the road into an embankment, crashing violently
into a tree. It was late and there was no one around. The truck
stopped quickly, the driver got out, went back to check the
condition of the Town Car driver and, satisfied that he was dead,
he gave a quick jerk on the badge the driver had pinned to his
shirt and put the badge in his pocket.