White Eagle: Jim Colling Adventure Series IV

White Eagle

Copyright © 2009 Robert McCurdy

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to the people of Poland

My thanks to my readers, who make it all worthwhile, and especially to my wife, Margie, for her advice and assistance.

Prologue

October, 1951

Poland

When Dr. Kownowski was first informed about the deaths of the young mother and her two small children, there was a sense of elation that it would provide the solution to the problem that had been on his mind for months.

Guilt, however, came quickly on the heels of his initial reaction. He reminded himself that no physician should find anything fortunate about the death of anyone, let alone those whose lives had ended so prematurely.

As district health officer, it was his responsibility to investigate the circumstances of the deaths, including taking custody of the bodies. This formed the essential element to fulfilling the promise the doctor had made to his friend in Warsaw at the beginning of the year.

Officer Banislaw had brought word of the tragedy. The policeman had arrived breathless, having pedaled his bicycle the fifteen kilometers to Wisnow, where the government clinic was located. He urged the doctor to fetch his own bicycle and accompany him back to the village. Kownowski declined, declaring instead that he would have to arrange for motor transport. He instructed the policeman to return to the scene and stand guard until his arrival.

Kownowski telephoned the district health office in Krakow, and after being shunted from office to office, was finally able to convince someone possessing the authority to do so, to permit him the use of a motor vehicle to remove three dead bodies to his office for autopsy.

Relying, despite his distrust of bureaucratic assurances, on the word of the official in Krakow that he would immediately arrange for the Wisnow authorities to provide motor transport, Kownowski walked the five blocks from the clinic to the magistrate’s office in the center of town.

He was amazed when the female receptionist shoved a clipboard over the counter, and asked for his signature. Kownowski scribbled his name on the form, which prompted the sullen clerk to toss a key ring in his direction. She informed him that the government panel truck parked at the side of the building was his until the following morning.

The country roads made his drive a challenge, but a half-hour later, Kownowski climbed from the cab of the little vehicle into the rutted and muddy wide spot that served as the main street of his destination. The unfamiliar sound of the truck’s engine that signaled his arrival caused a stir among the inhabitants, a dozen or so of whom came on the heels of Officer Banislaw, who had come running from one of the log houses at the end of the street.

Kownowski assumed an authoritative air, directing Banislaw to take him to the bodies. While striding along behind the policeman, Kownowski reminded himself that there might be higher-ups in Krakow scrutinizing how he handled this matter, even though it involved the deaths of three insignificant peasants. He would have to exercise care to make sure that every protocol was met.

A second policeman was in front of the door of the house to which Kownowski was led. He stood aside at the sight of the doctor’s white coat, but raised his hand to halt the group tagging along behind.

Kownowski’s first impression on entering the low-ceilinged main room was of smoke and stale air. The woman and her two children, a boy and a girl, were stretched out together on the rough wooden-framed bed set against one wall. When he pulled back the table cloth that had been thrown over their faces, Kownowski was relieved to see that their features were not contorted. The boy was about ten years of age, and the girl perhaps five or six.

The beet-red of the skin of all three informed Kownowski of the cause of their deaths. He voiced his diagnosis in the form of a question to Banislaw, Killed by a faulty stove flue, neh?

Not so, Your Honor, replied the policeman, It appears that she...the woman, pushed a blanket into the vent.

Who is she? asked Kownowski.

Katarina Wasilieski, Your Honor. Her husband was killed in a logging accident a couple of months ago. You may recall it.

Yes, admitted Kownowski, A tree fell on him. Very sad.

It appeared that the young woman, left with no means of support, must have taken her own life. An ironic circumstance in the new socialist Poland, mused the doctor. With that thought in mind, Kownowski asked, Surely the State would provide her with support?

Not so, Your Honor, said Branislaw, Her husband’s family own their land, and could see to her welfare themselves.

Something occurred to Kownowski, and he asked, Show me the vent where the blanket was found.

The constable led him outside and to the rear of the house. A ladder rested against the edge of the roof, near the stove pipe that projected from it.

Who placed the ladder? asked Kownowski.

It was here when I arrived. The father of her husband had sent for me at my house, and I came immediately. The old man had found them dead. I saw that the place was full of smoke. I came around here to see what the reason might be, and saw the blanket in the vent.

And you removed it?

Yes, Your Honor. I then sent for Officer Kaworski, and then I rode to fetch you. First, of course, we opened the doors and windows to air out the place.

Kownowski was pondering the meaning of what the officer had related to him as he followed the policeman to the front of the house. The crowd of villagers was still waiting expectantly, as if the doctor would make some grand announcement. He ignored them and went back inside.

Kownowski was surprised to find Father Józef, the parish priest, together with an older man whom the doctor took to be the children’s grandfather, standing beside the bed.

Ah, Doctor, said the priest, This is Panowie Wasilieski.

Yes, said Kownowski, extending his hand, The grandfather of these boys.

The old man mumbled something in response, and Kownowski had the impression that it was due to nervousness at being in the presence of both a doctor and a priest.

Father Józef asked, Doctor, this appears to be a suicide, does it not?

The facts would seem to make it so.

I have explained to Panowie Wasilieski that if that is the case, that it is impossible to bury the woman in consecrated ground. The children are another matter, of course.

That is not of immediate concern, Father, replied Kownowski, The law requires that I remove the bodies for investigation and autopsy. After that is completed, the matter of interment can be sorted out.

The elder Wasilieski raised his hand, an expression of agitation on his face, But, Your Honors, the bodies must be buried without delay. It is the custom. For their eternal souls.

A little delay will be of no concern, said Kownowski, The law must be followed. Only then can burial take place.

The old man continued to protest, despite Father Józef’s attempts to calm him, as Kownowski advised Branislaw that the two policemen would have to assist him in loading the bodies into the van. Kownowski directed that the corpses be swathed in the bedclothes in which they had died, after which he helped the policemen gently place them in the rear of the little truck.

Kownowski gave instructions to Branislaw to nail shut the doors and windows to the house where the deaths had occurred, and drop by every day to make sure that no one had entered the place. He promised that he would send instructions in about a week if the house could be opened. As Kownowski climbed behind the wheel of the van, he asked Father Józef if he wished to ride with him. At first, the priest demurred, but when the doctor told him that there was rope to tie the priest’s bicycle on the van’s roof, his offer was accepted.

They had returned to the main road when Kownowski asked, How does old man Wasilieski get along with his daugher-in-law?

Well enough, I suppose, said the priest, He was not pleased when Tómaz, his son, took to logging instead of helping him with the farm.

But he has other sons, does he not?

Three others, and all married themselves. The old man’s wife rules the roost. They all live on the farm, and she makes the lives of the other women miserable. Katarina was the one who convinced Tómaz to move out and take up other work.

When Kownowski did not comment, Father Józef said, Why is it you ask?

It is nothing, said Kownowski, Only curiosity.

Kownowski dropped the priest and his bicycle at the church, and promised that he would be able to relinquish the bodies for burial within a few days. He added that it would be most useful if it were possible for the coffins to be made and sent over to the clinic.

The district medical facility was housed in a new, rectangular concrete-block building. So far, no one at Party headquarters had been able to find paint for its exterior, leaving the place looking like it might have been lifted out of one of the Nazi extermination camps.

Kownowski pulled the van to the clinic’s rear. Kozar, one of the two male orderlies the Party had assigned to his staff, was leaning next to the door. He quickly extinguished his cigarette when he saw the doctor. Kownowski ordered him to bring the clinic’s wheeled stretcher to move the bodies. As soon as the orderly returned with the stretcher, Kownowski had him fetch two folding cots from the clinic storage room.

The corpses were to be brought into the windowless room used by Kownowski to conduct post-mortem examinations. The doctor instructed Kozar to set the cots up against one wall.

Kownowski carried the boy’s body in his arms from the van, while the orderly followed with the little girl’s, where they were placed on the cots. The woman was heavier, and it took the two of them to remove her remains from the truck onto the wheeled stretcher and then lift her onto the white enameled dissecting table.

As expected, Kozar made no protest when Kownowski ordered him out of the room. The orderly had no medical training or experience, and had never hidden his lack of stomach for the sights and smells associated with the practice of medicine.

The cause of death was without a doubt carbon monoxide poisoning, but Kownowski wanted to see if the woman’s body bore any signs that she had struggled or been subdued. There were no bruises or lacerations on her head and scalp, and her wrists and hands exhibited no indication that anyone had gripped them violently, or that she had been tied. A similar examination of the children’s bodies yielded the same results.

Kownowski found it difficult to believe that Katarina Wasilieski had left her sleeping children, climbed onto the roof of her house to stuff a blanket into the stovepipe, and then returned to lie down with them to die. He had suspected that she might have been knocked unconscious or bound while the perpetrator had blocked the stove vent, but that theory had been disproved.

If she had not arranged the suffocation of herself and her children, then she must have slept while someone else saw to it. Kownowski accepted the fact that there was no way to prove anything one way or the other.

He went to his office and brought back the official forms that he was expected to complete, and began filling in the required information. He was tempted to state that the cause of death was accidental suffocation by carbon monoxide, a common-enough event in a country where wood fires were the norm, but it was already known to the police that the vent had been deliberately obstructed.

He reluctantly reported that Katarina Wasilieski had committed suicide, in the course of which, her two minor children had also died. He could not bring himself to state that she had killed them.

By the time Kownowski finished the hand-written version of the paperwork, and carried it to the clinic’s reception area to be typed and carbon copies made, he noticed that it was dark outside. The secretary and both orderlies were gone for the day, and only Jana, one of the nurses, was on duty.

Kownowski dropped the forms into the wire tray for the secretary to find in the morning, and told Jana he would be cleaning up in the storage room, adding that he did not want to be disturbed.

Kownowski’s attention now returned to the promise he had made to his friend in Warsaw, and the part that the unfortunate Katarina Wasilieski and her children would play in it.

Even though the clinic lacked modern refrigeration facilities for bodies consigned for autopsy, there was a more primitive method of cold storage available. A wooded ravine about fifty meters to one side of the clinic contained an old ice cave dug into one of its sides, originally intended for keeping meat and other perishables.

When Kownowski had learned of its existence, he commandeered the cave as a place for preserving dead bodies. There were some complaints by the townspeople when it was no longer available for the storage of foodstuffs, until a second, larger and better insulated cave had been dug out some hundred meters further down the ravine.

During the winter, Kownowski used clinic funds to pay to have the place stacked with blocks of ice cut from nearby ponds. Now, in October, most of the ice had melted, but the doctor was confident that the temperature inside the cave was still cool enough to sufficiently slow the process of decomposition.

The bodies had to be preserved for another ten days, at least, to suit Kownowski’s purposes. All that remained was for him to move them from the clinic to the ice cave.

Kownowski was forced to make the transfer on his own, and the wheeled stretcher was useless over the rough ground that would have to be traversed. He settled on using a wheelbarrow that was kept beside the clinic for use in the staff vegetable garden.

Transporting the two youngsters was reasonably easy, if one was willing to overlook the indignity inherent in using a wheelbarrow to do so. Katarina’s body was another matter, and Kownowski was near exhaustion when he was able to drop her swathed remains next to those of her son and daughter.

The three recent corpses, together with that of the old farmer who had died of a heart attack earlier in the week, completed the quartet of dead bodies that were necessary to the task that he had been given. Now time was his primary concern.

Before leaving the ravine, Kownowski secured the heavy padlock on the cave’s stout wooden door and made sure that the Danger sign with the skull and crossbones was in place before returning to the clinic.

Tired as he was, Kownowski debated whether to use the van to drive home, but decided that the sound of the engine would waken and alarm his wife. When he had finished making sure that nothing in the autopsy room appeared out of the ordinary, he said good night to Jana, and walked home. His wife was snoring softly when he slipped between the covers.

He overslept, and much to his wife’s displeasure, had to rush through his breakfast. She asked him what had happened, and between sips of black coffee and mouthfuls of bread, he told her that it was another case of accidental asphyxiation due to a faulty chimney in a peasant hut. She shook her head when he mentioned the children, and sadly murmured a prayer for their little souls.

The clinic was open when he arrived. The waiting room was full, as usual, and Paula, the day nurse, was with a patient. Mikel, the second clinic orderly, was mopping the floor in the corridor outside.

Kownowski made it a point to first visit the autopsy room, intending to also check the ice cave to make sure that it remained locked and undisturbed. He discovered that the back door to the clinic was wide open. When he stepped outside, he discovered Kozar, leaning on the fender of the van, smoking a cigarette. Despite the man’s grumbling, Kownowski ordered him to get back inside and perform whatever chores Nurse Paula might have for him. When the man had departed, Kownowski walked to the ravine and confirmed that its door was still securely padlocked.

Kownowski returned to the clinic waiting area, where he was forced to listen to Paula express her displeasure when he informed her that he was required to return the borrowed truck, after which he must travel to Krakow for a meeting.

On his informing her that she would be left on her own for the remainder of the day, she immediately let him know that she was still overworked from the previous day, when he had gone off to drive about the countryside. He listened patiently until she finished, refraining from reminding her that her position as a nurse was far preferable to any other employment in the area, short of becoming a Party official.

When she seemed to read his mind, asserting she could always move to Krakow or Warsaw, and work in a hospital, he smiled and said that it was unlikely the Public Health Office would approve.

Fortunately, his being called to a meeting in Krakow was a fact, so that there was no need for Kownowski to invent a reason to do so. After returning the truck to the magistrate’s office, he had only to walk another two blocks to the railway station to board the morning train to the city.

The meeting to which he had been summoned had to do with the availability of penicillin through the coming winter months. The lecture room in the Public Health Office building was filled with doctors from the surrounding districts.

As Kownowski listened to the well-dressed Party functionary, whose lapel sported a button with a bright red star superimposed on a hammer and sickle, ramble on with a mixture of excuses regarding shortages, and threats regarding the penalty for diversion of scarce medications, his mind wandered. His thoughts were on the man whom he had to contact before returning to Wisnow, and he was anxious to do so and still have time to catch the afternoon train.

The sound of chairs being pushed back roused him, and he realized that the meeting had come to an end. Two of his colleagues invited him to join them for the midday meal, but Kownowski declined, saying that he had to visit one of his patients who had moved to the city. After he was out of sight of the Public Health office building, he glanced over his shoulder more than once to make sure that he was not being followed.

Kownowski had to wait at the entrance to the main railway station for over a half-hour before the taxicab that he was seeking pulled up at one of the designated parking spaces. Almost as soon as it pulled to a stop, the doctor had clambered into the back seat.

Good to see you again, Peter, said Kownowski.

The driver turned to get a good look at his passenger, Ah, my friend, Casimir. Greetings to you.

Drive, if you please, so we can talk, said Kownowski, gesturing with his hand.

When they had pulled into traffic, Kownowski asked, You are still waiting to hear about your emigration papers?

Unfortunately, it is so. My sister in Chicago wonders why I have not already arrived in America.

You will, and soon, my friend, replied Kownowski, The time is at hand.

You have heard from your contacts in the government?

It is now Tuesday. By Friday you will have your papers, as well as the two thousand American dollars that you were promised. In return, you will sign over this wonderful automobile to a new owner. On Saturday, you will use the railroad ticket to Gdansk that you will be provided. By Sunday, you will board a Swedish ship that will take you to Stockholm. There, you will seek out a man, whose name I will also give you, and he will deliver to you a ticket on an American airplane that will fly you to Chicago, USA.

All this is true? asked the driver, his voice shaking.

Yes, my friend, all true. I will return on Friday so that we may conclude our business. You may drop me at the post office near the railway station. I will walk the rest of the way.

As Kownowski exited the taxi, he reached across the seat with the fare, and said, I will see you at the hour of 10 on Friday morning, at the main railway station.

Kownowski watched the taxi drive away before turning on his heel and entering the post office. He went first to the counter, where he exchanged some zloty notes for tokens. He selected one of the vacant booths from those lining one wall, and asked the operator to connect him to a number in Warsaw that he had memorized.

The distant telephone rang three times before a man’s voice answered.

Kownowski said, This is the Hotel Marika, sir. I wish to confirm that we have received your reservation for next week. We have arranged for a taxi to meet you at the main railway station in Krakow. It will transport you to the hotel.

The voice on the other end replied, That sounds satisfactory. Unfortunately, I am detained here in Warsaw, but my wife and children will arrive as scheduled. It is next Wednesday, is it not?

Exactly, sir. We will look forward to your presence as our guests.

And we shall look forward to our two weeks with you.

Yes, sir. Is there anything else I may do to serve you?

Thank you, nothing. May I inquire as to your name?

Casimir, sir.

I shall tell my wife to ask for you by name, Casimir.

Yes, sir. Good day, sir.

And to you, Casimir, replied the voice, followed by a click as the call ended.

Now that the wheels of the enterprise had been put in motion, an unexpected sense of calm overtook Kownowski. He recognized it as something that he had often experienced during the war. In 1939, as a doctor in the Polish army, he had shed his uniform to avoid becoming a prisoner of war.

After almost two years maintaining a low profile as a lowly laboratory assistant, he was recruited to provide medical care to a band of partisans operating in the mountains southeast of Krakow.

His duties were not confined to caring for the sick and wounded, and more than once, he had participated in raids against the Germans. On those occasions, he had been on edge when the operation was being planned, but as soon as he was on the march with his comrades, all his nervousness disappeared. Kownowski felt a certain self-satisfaction at the return of the familiar sensation.

Three days later, Kownowski used the excuse of having a dental appointment to explain another journey to Krakow. The rendezvous with the taxi driver was held in the courtyard of a deserted warehouse several blocks from the city’s railway station.

The exchange took only a few minutes, and proceeded without incident. There was a brief period of instruction regarding how to operate the automobile, an old American Reo touring car that had somehow survived both the German and Russian occupations.

The driver assured Kownowski that the cab was currently in good working order, but then provided him with the name and address of a mechanic who seemed to have a knack for adapting or manufacturing replacement parts for the American vehicle

Kownowski handed over the driver’s emigration papers, which had arrived anonymously at the clinic several weeks previously, shortly after the doctor had been able to provide the driver’s name and other information to his contact in Warsaw. All that Kownowski had had to do was to rubber stamp a current date in the appropriate boxes on the forms.

The driver had a notarized bill of sale for the automobile, as well as the transfer documents for his taxi license. They were made out, as Kownowski had instructed, to a non-existent new owner. In return, Kownowski gave him an envelope containing $2000, train tickets to Gdansk, and the boarding documents for the freighter Swansholm, which would sail on Sunday night.

Kownowski shook the taxi driver’s hand and bid him good luck. As a final matter, the driver removed his leather cap with its taximan’s badge and gave it to Kownowski, who settled it on his own head with a grin. The taxi driver smiled, nodded a farewell, and walked off towards toward the railway station. When the driver was gone, Kownowski unlocked a set of double doors to the warehouse and drove the car inside. After closing and re-locking the doors, he made his own way to the station. He had left the driver’s cap on the front seat of the Reo.

Kownowski made it a point to complain for the next few days about still having a toothache, so that when he announced that he must re-visit the dentist in Krakow, there was little comment, other than Paula’s usual complaints regarding being overworked due to his absence.

When he boarded the train to Krakow, Kownowski was wearing older clothing from the back of his wardrobe that he thought suitable to a taxi driver. When he retrieved the taxicab from its hiding place in the warehouse, the leather cap added the finishing touch to his appearance.

His arrival at the railway terminal was timed to coincide with that of the train from Warsaw. To assure that his passengers would select the right cab, Kownowski had placed a hand-lettered sign saying Hotel Marika on the dashboard.

A woman with two children in tow, a boy of about eight or nine, and a girl three or four years younger, headed for the Reo as soon as the woman spotted the sign. Kownowski jumped