Kane & Abel (1979) (63 page)

William recovered his vigour and sense of well-being rapidly over the following months, and the scars on his face and chest began to fade. At night Kate would still sit up with him until he fell asleep. The terrible headaches and periods of amnesia were now things of the past, and the strength had finally returned to his right arm.

Kate did not allow him to return to work until they had taken a long cruise in the Caribbean, on which William was able to relax more than at any time since his and Kate’s month together in England. Kate revelled in the fact that there were no banks on board for him to do business with, although she feared that if the cruise lasted another week he would acquire the ship on behalf of Lester’s, reorganizing the crew, routes and timings. By the time they docked in New York harbour, she could not dissuade him from returning to the bank the following morning.

Several more coffee stains appeared on Abel’s Persian rug during the next few months, some caused by compliant waitresses, others by non-paying hotel guests, as he and Zaphia grew further apart.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that his wife would hire a private detective to check on him, and would then sue for divorce. Divorce was almost unknown in Abel’s circle of Polish friends. He tried to talk her out of continuing with the action, aware that it would only harm his standing in the Polish community, but worse, it would be a setback to any social or political ambitions he had started to nurture. But Zaphia was determined to carry on with the proceedings. Abel was surprised to find that the woman who had been so unsophisticated in his triumph was, to use George’s words, a little vixen in her revenge.

When Abel consulted his lawyer, he found out just how many waitresses and non-paying guests he had entertained during the past year. He gave in. The only thing he fought for was custody of Florentyna, now almost thirteen, and the most important person in his life.

After a long struggle, Zaphia agreed to his demands, accepting a settlement of $500,000, the deeds to the house in Chicago and the right to see Florentyna on the last weekend of every month.

Abel moved his headquarters and permanent home to New York. George dubbed him ‘The Baron-in-Exile’ as he roamed America north and south building new hotels, only returning to Chicago when he needed to consult Curtis Fenton.

When the first report came in from Thaddeus Cohen, William was left in no doubt that Rosnovski was actively looking for stock in Lester’s Bank; he had approached all the other beneficiaries of Charles Lester’s will, but only one transaction had been concluded. Susan Lester had refused to see Cohen, so he was unable to find out why she had sold her 6 per cent. All he could ascertain was that she had had no financial reason to do so.

The report was admirably comprehensive. Henry Osborne, it seemed, had been appointed a director of the Baron Group in May 1946, with special responsibility for securing Lester shares. Susan’s stock had been acquired in such a way that it was impossible to trace the acquisition back through either Rosnovski or Osborne. Cohen was certain that Rosnovski was willing to pay at least $750,000 to secure Peter Parfitt’s 2 per cent. William didn’t need to be reminded of the havoc Rosnovski could create once he was in possession of 8 per cent of Lester’s stock, and could invoke Article Seven. One problem for William was that Lester’s growth compared unfavourably with that of the Baron Group, which was already catching up with its main rivals, the Hilton and Sheraton groups.

He wondered again if he should brief his board of directors on this latest information, and even whether he ought to contact Rosnovski direct. After several sleepless nights, he turned to Kate for advice.

‘Do nothing,’ she said, ‘until you can be absolutely certain his intentions are as disruptive as you fear. The whole affair may turn out to be a storm in a teacup.’

‘With Henry Osborne involved, you can be certain the storm will spill over into the saucer and I can’t afford to sit around and wait to find out what he’s planning to do next.’

‘He might have mellowed, William. It’s more than twenty years since you’ve had any personal dealings with the man.’

William relaxed for a few days, until he read Thaddeus Cohen’s next report.

P
RESIDENT
T
RUMAN
won a surprise victory for a second term in the White House, despite headlines in the
Chicago Tribune
informing the world that Thomas E. Dewey was the next President of the United States. William knew very little about the haberdasher from Missouri, except what he read in the newspapers, and as a staunch Republican, he hoped that his party would find the right man to lead them into the 1952 campaign.

The Baron Group profited greatly from the post-war explosion in the American economy. Not since the twenties had it been so easy to make so much money so quickly - and by the early fifties, people were beginning to believe that this time it was going to last.

Abel was not content with financial success alone; as he grew older, he began to worry about Poland’s future, and to feel that he could no longer remain an onlooker. What had Pawel Zaleski, the Polish Consul in Turkey, said? ‘Perhaps in your lifetime you will see Poland rise again.’

Abel felt, as he watched one puppet communist government after another come into power, that he had risked his life at Remagen for nothing. He began to do everything he could to persuade the United States Congress to take a more militant attitude towards Russian control of its Eastern European satellites. He lobbied politicians, briefed journalists and organized dinners in Chicago, New York and other centres of the Polish-American community, until the Polish cause itself became synonymous with ‘The Chicago Baron’.

Dr Teodor Szymanowski, formerly professor of history at the University of Cracow, wrote a glowing editorial about Abel’s role in Poland’s ‘Fight to Be Recognized’ in the journal
Freedom
, which prompted Abel to get in contact with him. Aware only of the vigour of the professor’s opinions, when he was ushered into his study at Princeton Abel was surprised by his physical frailty.

Szymanowski greeted Abel warmly, and poured him a Danzig vodka without asking what he would like. ‘Baron Rosnovski,’ he said, handing him the glass. ‘I have long admired you, and your work for our cause. Although we make such little headway, you never seem to lose faith.’

‘Why should I? I’ve always believed anything is possible in America.’

‘But I fear, Baron, that the very men you are now trying to influence are the same ones who have allowed these atrocities to take place, and they will not admit that in the cold light of day.’

‘I don’t understand what you mean, Professor. Why won’t they assist us? After all, in the long run it must be in their interests.’

The professor leaned back in his chair. ‘You are surely aware, Baron, that the American armies were given specific orders in 1944 to slow down their eastward advance and allow the Russians to take control of as much of central Europe as they could lay their hands on. Patton could have marched into Berlin long before the Russians, but Eisenhower ordered him to hold back. It was our leaders in Washington - the same men you are trying to persuade to put American guns and troops back in Europe - who gave Eisenhower those orders.’

‘But they couldn’t have known how large an empire the USSR would become,’ said Abel. ‘The Russians had been our allies. I accept that we were too conciliatory towards them at the end of the war, but it surely can’t have been the Americans who betrayed the Polish people.’

Before Szymanowski spoke, he closed his eyes wearily.

‘I wish you could have known my brother, Baron. I heard only last week that he died six months ago in a Soviet camp not unlike the one from which you escaped.’

Abel was about to offer his sympathy, but Szymanowski raised a hand.

‘No, don’t say anything. You have known the camps yourself. You would be the first to realize that sympathy is not a solution. We must try to change the world while others sleep.’ Szymanowski paused. ‘My brother was sent to Russia by the Americans.’

Abel stared at him in disbelief.

‘By the Americans? How is that possible? If he was captured in Poland by Russian troops—’

‘My brother was not taken prisoner in Poland. He was liberated from a German prisoner of war camp near Frankfurt. The Americans kept him in a DP camp for a month and then handed him over to the Russians.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘The Russians wanted all Slavs repatriated. Repatriated so they could then be exterminated or enslaved. The ones Hitler didn’t kill, Stalin did. And I can prove that my brother was in the American Sector for over a month.’

‘But,’ said Abel, ‘was he an exception, or were there others like him?’

‘There were hundreds of thousands,’ said Szymanowski without apparent emotion. ‘Perhaps as many as a million. I doubt if we will ever know the true figure. The whole evil affair was known as Operation Kee Chanl.’

‘But surely if people knew that the Americans had been sending liberated prisoners back to die in Russia, they’d be horrified.’

‘There is no proof, no official documentation. Mark Clark, like Nelson, turned a blind eye, allowing a few of the prisoners warned by sympathetic GIs to escape before the Americans could send them to the camps. One of the lucky ones was with my brother.’ The professor paused. ‘Anyway, it’s too late to do anything now.’

‘But the American people should be told. I’ll form a committee, print pamphlets, make speeches. Surely Congress will listen to us if the evidence is overwhelming.’

‘Baron Rosnovski, I think this one is too big even for you. You must understand the mentality of world leaders. The Americans agreed to hand over those poor devils because Stalin demanded it as part of an overall package. I am sure they never thought there would be trials, labour camps and executions to follow. And no one is going to admit to being indirectly responsible for the extermination of thousands of innocent people. I had rather hoped the conclusion you might come to was that you must play a more direct role in politics.’

‘I have no desire to stand for election,’ said Abel. ‘For that job you need to be a cross between Babe Ruth and Henry Fonda, and I’m more like Hopalong Cassidy. But that won’t stop me from making my voice heard, and I think I know exactly the right man to contact because he hates the communists even more than I do.’

The moment Abel was back in New York, he went straight to his office, picked up a telephone and asked his secretary to locate a man who was beginning to make a name for himself for not being afraid to sit in judgement on anybody.

Joseph McCarthy’s secretary came on the line and asked who wanted to speak to the senator. ‘I’ll see if he’s free,’ she said when she learned who it was.

‘Mr Rosenevski,’ said the unmistakable voice of the senator. Abel wondered if McCarthy had mangled his name on purpose, or if it was just a bad connection. What is this matter of grave importance you wanted to discuss with me?’ Abel hesitated. Your secrets are safe with me,’ he heard the senator say.

‘Of course,’ said Abel, collecting his thoughts. ‘You, Senator, have been a forthright spokesman for those of us who would like to see the Eastern European nations freed from the yoke of communism.’

‘I’m glad you appreciate my efforts, Rosenevski.’

This time Abel was sure McCarthy had mispronounced his name on purpose, but decided not to comment on it.