The spies of warsaw (25 page)

virtual dictator. Anti-Semitic measures began immediately, and the

Czechs had reinforced border units at Sighet, where refugees were trying to get out of the country.

In Vienna, the trial of twenty-seven Austrian Nazis, accused of

antigovernment activities, was now under way. German diplomats had

tried to stop it, which led to a speech by the Austrian chancellor

Schuschnigg, saying in effect that Austria wished to retain its independence as a nation. "He is holding firm," Jourdain said. "But we'll

see how long that lasts." In Spain, Republican forces had taken the city

of Teruel, but fascist forces were expected to counterattack, as soon as

frontline units could be resupplied. In the USSR, the purges continued; longtime Bolsheviks arrested, interrogated, and shot. There was

to be a new public trial, of Bukharin, Rykov, and Yagoda, the former

head of the NKVD. "I expect they'll admit to their guilt, on the witness stand," Jourdain said dryly, and added that their own Jean-Paul

Sartre had recommended suppression of public statements about the

trial, since that might discourage the French proletariat. "Certainly

discourages the Russians," the naval attache said.

"And next, you'll recall Hitler's statement in December that Germany would never rejoin the League of Nations. However, Germany

and Poland
have
reaffirmed their commitment to protect the rights

of Poles and Germans living in each other's countries. Meanwhile,

the League will be holding a conference in Belgrade, on the twentieth of this month, on the protection of ethnic minority rights in all

European states, and on the progress of legal claims. It's an important

Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 157

T H E B L A C K F RO N T * 1 5 7

conference--no laughing, gentlemen--the ambassador is invited, the

charge d'affaires will attend."

So,
Mercier thought,
legal claims.
That meant the lawyers would

be there, and
that
meant Anna Szarbek would be there.

Did he dare? The memory of Gabrielle, urging him on to pursuit, said

he should. When the meeting ended, he had a look at his calendar--

the twentieth fell on a Saturday, the League people would have a weekend in Belgrade, then begin talking on Monday. He walked from the

chancery over to the public part of the embassy and climbed to the

third floor, where the ambassador had installed a water cooler, just

outside Madame Dupin's office. Mercier always took a cup of water

when he happened to find himself there, not caring so very much for

water, but liking, despite his forty-six years, the bubble that floated to

the top and made a noise.

He liked also, that morning, the fact that Madame Dupin never

closed her door; her office was open to the world. "Jean-Francois?

Come and say hello!"

First, in the gravest and most observed of French traditions:
what

did you do on the holidays?
She'd been to Switzerland, she said, at a

ski lodge. Cheese fondue! Villagers in costume! Folk dancing!
And
,

Mercier thought, his attentive smile firmly in place,
God knows what

else.
When his turn came, he dutifully reported on his visit to Boutillon.

And then, attacked.

"I'm told there's a League of Nations conference in Belgrade, in

two weeks."

Madame Dupin shuffled through some papers, then said, "Yes,

there is, a conference on legal rights, and ethnic minorities. Of interest to you?" She seemed skeptical.

"Perhaps. I understand the charge is going."

This time she rummaged in her out box. Along with her duties as

Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 158

1 5 8 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW

deputy director of protocol, Madame Dupin also managed embassy

travel arrangements. "Here he is. Taking the night express on Friday--

it only runs twice a week." She looked up, slightly puzzled at his question, then not. "Oh, of course!
Now
I see, Jean-Francois! You are,

well, more than interested, aren't you." Her eyes glittered with conspiracy.

"I'd suppose your friend Anna will be there," he said, smiling.

"I presume she will be, as a League lawyer. Perhaps I should ask

her."

"No, please don't. I just thought . . ."

"Shall I book your ticket?"

"I'll do it. The embassy shouldn't pay."

"Such an honorable fellow, our Jean-Francois." Her sly grin

meant:
you devil!

9 January. Slowly, the social wheels of diplomatic Warsaw began to

grind once more. A cocktail party at the Dutch embassy, at six, to

meet the new commercial attache, Mynheer de Vries. Mercier pinned

on his medals and trudged downstairs, where Marek and the Biook

awaited him. They crept along the icy streets, high banks of shoveled

snow on either side, a rather dispirited Mercier smoking his Mewa in

the backseat. He'd booked a first-class room on the night express to

Belgrade, expensive enough, and likely pointless. Anna Szarbek had

made a decision that evening in the carriage, and now he was going to

make a great fool of himself. Why had he allowed Gabrielle to provoke

him into this? There were other women in Warsaw, among the restless

wives of the diplomatic community, and the social set that fished in

the same waters.
Merde,
he thought.
I'm too old for this.

The cocktail party wasn't as grim as he'd feared. He avoided the

Dutch gin, held a glass of champagne in his hand, and sampled the

smoked salmon and pickled herring. Touring the room, he looked for

Anna Szarbek, but she wasn't there, nor was Maxim. He did find

Colonel Vyborg, standing alone, and he and the Polish intelligence

Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 159

T H E B L A C K F RO N T * 1 5 9

officer exchanged news of their holidays. When Mercier mentioned

his discoveries about German tank formations in the
Wehrmacht
journals, Vyborg just frowned and shook his head. "A bad dream," he said.

"They write books and articles about what they intend to do, but

nobody seems to notice, or care."

Then Mercier spent a few minutes with Julien Travas, the Pathe

News manager, who had a luscious girl by his side. "A full house

tonight," Mercier said. "All the usual characters, including us."

Travas shrugged. "They seem to ask me, I seem to go, and so they

ask me again--they must have bodies to fill the room. And Kamila

here has never been to one of these things. Enjoying it, dear?"

"I think it is very interesting," Kamila said. "Mynheer de Vries has

met Greta Garbo."

"And thinks you look just like her. Am I right?" Travas said.

"Well, yes, he
did
say that. Exactly that."

"Colonel Mercier is a war hero," Travas said.

"Oh yes? You must tell me your story, colonel."

"Someday," Mercier said. "At the next party."

Oh no!
Here came the Rozens, everybody's favorite Russian spies,

the sweet old couple bearing down on him like feeding sharks. "I think

you're in demand," Travas said, steering his prize away. "
A bientot,
"

he said with a grin.

"So here you are!" Malka Rozen said, patting his cheek. "I
told

Viktor you'd be here, didn't I, Viktor."

Viktor Rozen looked up at her from his permanent stoop and said,

"You did. It's true. Here he is."

"Now see here, my French comrade," Malka said. "Don't you like

us? The most delicious dinner awaits you at our apartment, and you

must eat sooner or later, no? You can't live on canapes."

"I've been very busy, Madame Rozen. The holidays--"

"Naturally," Viktor said. "But now it's January, the long freeze,

time to visit friends, have a drink, a nice chicken--is that so bad?"

"Not at all," Mercier said, charmed in spite of himself. "Tell me,"

he said, "how are things back in the motherland?"
That ought to do it.

Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 160

1 6 0 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW

A shadow crossed Viktor's well-lined face. Was he actually, Mercier

wondered, going to
say
something?

"The trials--"

"The trials of
winter
." Malka cut him off, and gave him a look.

"That's it," Viktor said. "Always difficult, our winter, but we seem

to survive."

"Did you go home for the holidays?" Mercier said.

"No." Viktor's voice was excessively sharp. "I mean no, it's such a

long train ride. To Moscow. Maybe in the spring, we'll go back."

Malka changed the subject. "You know what I think, Viktor? I

think that Colonel Mercier won't come to dinner unless he gets an

invitation. A written invitation."

"You're right," Viktor said. "That's what we should do. Send him

a letter."

"You needn't do that," a puzzled Mercier said. "Of course I am so

very busy, this time of year--"

"But it will make a difference," Malka said. "I'm sure it will."

Mercier looked around the room. Had Anna Szarbek arrived? No,

but Colonel de Vezenyi, the Hungarian military attache, caught his

eye and waved him over, so Mercier excused himself. And, oddly, the

Rozens seemed happy enough to let him go.

For the next half hour, he circulated, visiting briefly with the usual

people, saying nothing important, hearing nothing interesting, then

thanked his hosts, told Mynheer de Vries they'd see each other soon,

and gratefully headed out the door into a cold, clear evening.

The gleaming diplomatic cars stood in a long line outside the

embassy; he found the Buick, and Marek held the door for him. As he

slid into the back, he saw an edge of yellow paper on the floor, tucked

beneath the driver's seat. As Marek pulled out of line and drove down

the street, Mercier bent over and retrieved the paper--a square envelope. "Marek?" he said.

"Yes, colonel?"

"Did you stay in the car, while I was inside?"

Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 161

T H E B L A C K F RO N T * 1 6 1

"No, sir. I joined some friends, other drivers, and we sat in one of

the cars and had a smoke."

Mercier turned the envelope over, then back. It was cheaply made,

of rough paper, not a kind he remembered seeing. The flap was sealed,

and there was no writing to be seen. "Is this yours?" Mercier said.

Marek turned halfway around, glanced at the envelope, and said,

"No, colonel."

"Did you lock the doors, Marek? When you joined your friends?"

"
Always,
colonel. I don't fail to do that, not ever."

Carefully, Mercier inserted an index finger beneath the flap and

opened the envelope. The paper inside had been torn from a schoolchild's copybook, grayish paper with blue lines. The writing was

block-printed, with a pencil, in French. There was no salutation.

We are in great difficulty, recalled home, and we cannot go

there, because we will be arrested, and executed. Please help us

leave this city and go somewhere safe. If you agree, visit the

main post office on Warecki square, at 5:30 tomorrow. You

won't see us, but we will know you agree. Then we will contact

you again.

Please help us

Mercier read it once more, then said, "Change of plans, Marek."

"Not going home?"

"No. To the embassy."

The ambassador's residence was in the embassy, and he appeared at

the chancery, in velvet smoking jacket over formal shirt and trousers, almost immediately after Mercier telephoned. Jourdain took

longer, arriving by taxi a few minutes later. When he entered Mercier's

office, the letter sat alone on a black-topped table. "Have a look,"

Mercier said.

Jourdain read the letter and said, "Well, well, a defection. And I

Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 162

1 6 2 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW

thought it was going to be a boring winter. Cleverly managed, isn't it,

not a clue to be found, unless you know which country's shooting people when they go home. Who wrote it, Jean-Francois, any theories?"

"The Rozens," Mercier said.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. They told me to expect it, at the Dutch cocktail party."

"I'm not surprised," Jourdain said. "Stalin's killing all the Old

Bolsheviks now, cleaning house, installing his Georgian pals."

"How important are they?" the ambassador asked, reading over

the letter once again.

"They're believed to be GRU officers," Jourdain said. "Soviet military intelligence. We don't know their ranks, but I'd suspect they're

senior, just below the military attache."

"Not NKVD?" the ambassador said.

"No, not the real thugs. Of course they could be anything. Viktor

Rozen could be a minor official, and Malka simply his wife."

"I would doubt that," Mercier said. "They work together--the

invitation to dinner turns into a request for information, something

very minor, then they'll try to give you money."

"Well, now
they'll
take the money," the ambassador said. "Or at

least safety, their lives. And the information comes next. Not a provocation, colonel, is it?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Devious people, the Russians," the ambassador said. "They see