Czajkowski had known from the start that his options were limited. The Polish constitution provided no directly elected presidential line of succession. If the president died or resigned, then the marshal of Parliament became acting president for sixty days until elections were called. The current marshal was a weak and ineffective man, the type of leader Poland spawned all too often, ones who sought far too much outside help to make themselves strong. That had never worked before, and would not now. If a resignation was forced, his immediate successor would do exactly what Fox wanted, no question. Once done, it would be hard to undo. So anyone who came after that might continue to placate Washington. That meant he had to deal with the problem here and now.
But his past stood in the way.
“How do you know Malone will still steal the spear?”
“Because of Stephanie Nelle. He’s loyal to her. He’ll do whatever is necessary to protect her. That’s his nature. Like he said, he’s here to help a friend.”
“You sound like you admire him.”
“I do. Men like that are a rarity.”
“Should I be insulted?”
“Not at all. You’re at the head of that rare list. Poland is fortunate to have you as its president. We need to keep you there.” She paused. “Whatever it takes.”
He smiled at her confidence. “What will you do?”
“Our Russian associates were forthcoming in Bruges to get my help with Cotton. But they’ve told me little since. They don’t want us anywhere near that auction.”
“But we need to be there.”
“And Cotton is our way in. So I’ll be there, tonight. Waiting for him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jonty could not decide if Eli was being serious or working him. His competitor had the resources to learn whatever he wanted, definitely comparable to his own, along with the nerve to explore dark corners where others might hesitate to tread. Eli being here, in Slovakia, was proof positive of that. But was this offer simply more drama?
“What are you talking about, Eli? What kind of gifts do you have?”
“The Spiżarnia. I learned about it from my friends in the German government. It was a precautionary measure, taken by Moscow, in the 1990s, when Soviet rule ended and the Polish republic reemerged.”
“A precautionary measure against what?”
“Hypocrisy, I’m told.”
An odd reply. But he could see that Eli was enjoying himself.
“Jonty, you have incriminating information on one man. The current president of Poland. Information that relates back to his time as a young Solidarity worker. It clearly has blackmail value. But imagine if you had that same kind of information on other people, many of whom, like Czajkowski, have risen to positions of influence. Some in government. Some in private industry. How much would the Americans pay for that? Or the Russians? How much would the people involved pay for it to stay secret? The Pantry offers us an opportunity to find out.”
Now he was curious. “What is it?”
“Not so fast. I came here to make a deal. And contrary to what you might think, I actually want to make a fair deal.”
He doubted that, but he was listening.
“You have something you want to auction,” Reinhardt said. “Do it. Keep whatever you derive from the sale. Then auction off what I have, and I keep whatever is derived from that. A two-in-one event, so to speak. I just want the opportunity for your buyers to bid on what I have.”
“I conduct both sales?”
“Absolutely. No need to interject any element of confusion. I’m sure you’ve invited ready, willing, and able buyers. All governments, I assume. Now you have an additional item to sell. Lucky for us, these buyers have unlimited resources.”
As much as he hated to admit it, the proposal sounded reasonable. But he still wanted to know “What is it you have?”
“Let’s be candid, Jonty. I could ruin your entire sale. The whole thing depends on secrecy. I wonder, were the Poles invited? I wouldn’t think so. I would not have, if I were in your shoes. So I wonder what a call to Warsaw would accomplish?”
He kept his face stoic. But the threat worked. “Okay, Eli. I understand. You can wreck the whole thing, and that potential gives your presence here value. So I’m listening.”
“And if you are thinking about secreting me away with Art Munoz, know that if I don’t call in every three hours, contact will be made to Warsaw by some associates I’ve employed.”
He doubted that was a bluff. A wise precaution. One he himself would have taken, if the roles were reversed. “Okay, we have a deal. What’s your gift?”
Reinhardt smiled at his success. “Toward the end of Soviet domination, around 1991 is the best guess, the Służba Bezpieczeństwa hid away a huge cache of documents. By then the SB had amassed thousands of informants, many of whom had risen to high positions within Solidarity and the emerging political parties of the time. Some of them volunteered to be spies, others did it for money, others were coerced or blackmailed. Many had no idea they’d been classified as informants—their information came to SB headquarters via a friend, colleague, or family member who’d turned collaborator and sold them out. As insurance, perhaps something to be used in the future, the SB hid away documents relative to those informants. The place where they are stored is called the Spiżarnia.”
His mind raced.
He knew that Poland had, for years, dealt with the lingering pain of both Nazi and communist rule. The Institute of National Remembrance and the Commission for the Prosecution of Crimes Against the Polish Nation had been around for decades, amassing a huge archive of information that had been used in prosecutions. Most of that happened in the 1990s, in the years right after the Soviet collapse. Never, though, had any great stash of Soviet-era documents been discovered. Most of the revelations trickled in from old government warehouses, offices, and private stashes. He’d managed to stumble onto a stack of 147 pages that dealt with a young Solidarity activist named Janusz Czajkowski. A former SB major had kept a trove of documents from his time in government. That man was long dead, but his son had recently tried to find a buyer. A friend, whom Jonty had done business with before, learned of the effort and five hundred thousand zlotys had completed the sale. He’d originally planned to hold on to the information and explore ways to maximize its value. Then the United States announced a renewed effort to locate missiles in Poland.
Perfect.
Exactly what he’d needed.
The barely meaningful became vitally important.
Now this. A partner.
Something new to the mix.
“What does the Pantry contain?” he asked.
“My German friends speculate that the documents detail thousands of names of people who acted as Soviet informants. Probably reports, correspondence, affidavits, all sorts of information, stored away for safekeeping.”
“Has someone seen this cache?”
Eli shook his head. “The Germans never went after it, and it was largely forgotten until they received your invitation. Fortunately for me I was in the midst of another deal with them. Something of much greater importance, from their standpoint. So we modified the terms to include their invitation to your auction and this lost cache, both of which are now mine.”