Daring me to say no.
“Eighth Air Force doors, you mean.”
“What a grand idea, Lieutenant! Glad to have you with us.”
“I’ll try. It might have to wait a few days, until my boss gets here. A colonel will make more of an impression.”
“Captain Egorov is in no hurry. Anything else you need to know?”
“Yes. Did you search the boys who found him?”
“Search them? What for? I told you Egorov still had his valuables.”
“From the point of view of a thief. What about from the point of view of a young boy who thinks he found a dead Nazi?” Flack was quiet, and I could see his mind turning the idea over. I had a hunch that a killing like this, an execution, had to come with a message. I wasn’t certain, but if there had been one, it could be hidden in some kid’s sock drawer, if he’d thought it was a souvenir swiped from a dead Kraut.
“All right, Lieutenant Boyle. That’s not a bad idea. I’ll talk to the parents while you talk with your air force chaps. Anything else?”
“Yeah. A couple of things,” I said. Scutt and Flack had responded to me no differently than my dad would have to any outsider back at the Boston PD. They were suspicious, and I couldn’t blame them. So I thought it wouldn’t hurt to tell them what Harding had told me, to show them I had something more to offer than half-baked ideas. “It’s likely that Captain Gennady Egorov was not really an air force officer. My information is that he was NKVD. Secret police.”
“If that’s true, it answers something that’s been bothering me. The Russians don’t let their people go out alone; they’re always in groups. He must have been one of their watchers.”
“So who was he watching?”
“Someone who found the workers’ paradise lacking in some way?”
“That would be my bet,” I said. Flack nodded in agreement as he removed a pack of Gold Flake cigarettes from his pocket. He offered me one and I declined. As he lit up, I wondered why I didn’t tell him about Colonel Harding’s other suspicion, that this might have something to do with the Poles. And with the Katyn Forest. I didn’t even want to think about Kaz’s pistol, his. 32-caliber pocket automatic.
CHAPTER FOUR
I took Birdcage Walk, the leafless trees lining the road, stark and bare against the sky. Big Ben tolled at my back, and ahead of me was Buckingham Palace, with its white facade gleaming even in the dull, gray light. These were grand sights, but all they did was reinforce what my gut was telling me-that an empire doesn’t back down from tough decisions. If the Poles threatened the coalition, that would threaten victory, and if I knew anything about the Brits, they didn’t like losing. Not that their American cousins liked it much either.
So maybe Kaz was right about General Sikorski, maybe it hadn’t been an accident. Maybe it was the Russians, or the British, or both working together to solve a common problem. But that was pure conjecture on his part. Me, I needed proof, and some link to the dead Russian. Otherwise, it wasn’t any of my business.
Or was it? Had Kaz gone off the deep end and started killing Russians? It was too fantastic to be true. First, he wouldn’t have known Egorov was NKVD. And even if he had, Kaz was too smart to carry around a pistol that matched a slug found in Egorov’s skull. No, it didn’t make sense. Best to forget about it, and not mention the coincidence to anyone. But I did need to talk to Kaz and tell him what I was up to. I was meeting him for lunch at the Rubens Hotel, and it would be the perfect time. I turned left at the palace as the wind gusted, swirling leaves around my feet, pushing me toward the hotel.
I signed in at a desk manned by a sergeant wearing Poland’s red shoulder patch on his British Army uniform. He made a call, then sent me up to the third floor. At the head of the stairs were a couple of guards, both with Sten guns hung from their shoulders. I gave them my name and they looked me over like bodyguards while I wondered what a couple of bursts from those Sten guns would do to the woodwork.
“Billy, come in,” Kaz said from an open set of double doors. “ On jest z mna,” he said to the guards.
“ Tak, pan,” one of the guards said as he patted me down before letting me proceed.
“Kaz, you’ve been watching too many gangster movies.”
“Standard precautions, Billy. No exceptions.”
He led me into a sitting room with a table for four laid out. It was a pretty fancy room-high ceilings, big fireplace, and a soft, deep carpet. Two guys in British Army dress uniforms. Severe creases in their tailored trousers. Red shoulder patches with Poland emblazoned across them. Big smiles. I looked at Kaz, but he avoided my gaze. Instead, he took my arm and guided me toward the two officers.
“Billy, allow me to introduce Major Stefan Horak. He is my superior. And his aide, Captain Valerian Radecki.”
“Welcome, Lieutenant Boyle,” Horak said, shaking my hand. Radecki made a little bow. “How is your uncle?”
“Fine, sir. How is yours?”
“I pray he is well, but I have no idea,” Horak said, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. He looked at Kaz, then back at me. “Your uncle is somewhat more famous, is he not?” Horak spoke near-perfect English, with only a slight accent, but I could tell he was unsure of the conversation, which suited me fine. I wasn’t sure I liked it either.
“Not really, not outside of Boston, anyway.” Horak and Radecki stared at each other, then at me, then at Kaz, doubt gaining over cordiality.
“Billy,” Kaz said, his voice hissing between clenched teeth. “Major Horak is not inquiring after your uncle Daniel. He means your other uncle.”
“Oh, him! Sure, he’s fine. Well, nice to meet you both,” I said, nodding to the two officers. “We won’t keep you from your lunch. Ready, Kaz?”
“Billy, don’t do this,” Kaz whispered.
“Lieutenant Boyle,” Captain Radecki said, limping between Kaz and me, grasping the edge of a table to steady himself. “Let me apologize. When the baron told us he was lunching with you today, we prevailed upon him to include us. The least we could do was to provide the meal.” He gestured to the table, which was set with polished silver, bone china, and cut crystal. His nails were manicured, his jet black hair slicked back, and he sported a neatly trimmed pencil mustache. He oozed self-confidence in spite of his limp, and I thought it might be bad for Kaz if I didn’t play along. Guys like that liked to get their way. I wasn’t feeling too charitable toward Kaz for setting me up, but I wasn’t quite ready to throw him to the wolves.
“Sure, Captain. I don’t mind.” Major Horak lost his worried look, and we all sat.
“General Eisenhower will be in London soon, we understand?” Horak said nonchalantly as he unfolded his cloth napkin. I did the same and thought it was big enough for a flag of surrender.
“I saw him a couple of days ago, in Naples,” I said, avoiding the question. “Who told you he’d be here?”
“One hears things,” Horak said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand as he made a point of not looking at Kaz. He had a broad, expressive face, unlike Radecki, who would have been a much better poker player. Horak was forty or so, his brown hair falling untidily over his forehead. He played with his knife, turning it over in his hand as he spoke. “London runs on gossip and spies. Not German spies, mind you, but we all spy on each other. The British, French, Poles, Russians, Belgians, everyone except you Americans, I think. You are too direct for spying and gossip, yes?”
“One hears things,” I answered. “And sometimes one does not, even from his friends.” It was my turn not to look at Kaz.
“Everyone is saying General Eisenhower is to command the invasion,” Radecki said, lighting a cigarette as he held his bad leg straight. “We thought it would be your General Marshall.”
“Was that the gossip?” I asked, watching Radecki do a French inhale, his eyelids flickering against the smoke. He ignored me.
“Almost a certainty, we were told,” Horak said. “But then again, some of our sources were English, and they thought it should be Montgomery. But it had to be an American, don’t you think? It has become an American war, with all the troops, ships, planes, and armor coming from America.”
