The Children's War (144 page)

“You will and that’s my final word. I want both of you out of my house by the end of the week. Aunt Zosia and Stefi will see to you in Szaflary.”

“Dad! Ma needs us! You can’t make us go.”

Ryszard lit another cigarette and contemplated his son. Joanna’s voice as she spoke her last words played through his mind, and though he shook his head, he could not shake the image of her murder that he had seen reflected in Peter’s eyes. “You’re going,” he said, and walked out of the room.

11

I
T MAY ONLY HAVE BEEN COINCIDENCE,
but a few days later Peter was called again before the assembled Council. Zosia was there this time—they looked at each other across the short distance and he gave her a brief smile. She smiled back and then hurriedly looked down to rifle through some papers sitting in front of her. They had not talked much since the funeral—she had immersed herself in her work, and on the rare occasions they had spent together, he had been unable to find the right words to say. He for his part had lost himself in learning yet another branch of obscure and quite probably useless mathematics. It was maddening—the progress in the world of cryptanalysis was such that he had no real hope of keeping pace from his isolated location. The published information seemed deliberately obfuscatory—often published more in the interest of tenure than of promoting knowledge—while genuine progress was well guarded and inaccessible.

His position was becoming increasingly untenable: he could offer little more than routine translations of well-known codes and keywords, something that both Barbara and Olek could do with equal facility. He did not have the computing power, the human resources, or the knowledge to attack the genuinely secret information that now and then found its way into his office. More and more often, he was forced to forward their findings to the team in Warszawa, and he suspected, more and more often, they sent the codes on to the NAU. Politically it was disastrous, for if, after the risk of numerous lives, a code ended up in the NAU and was broken there, the powers-that-be were all too likely to decide that the information was too sensitive to share with their allies back in Reich territory. Thus, critical, perhaps lifesaving, information moldered in secret diplomatic files or in the hands of an inept and risk-averse American secret service, and the great price paid for its discovery was completely wasted.

“Captain Halifax,” Katerina began, “thank you for attending our meeting. Before we begin, let me express the gratitude of the entire Council for the work you and your staff have done on decoding and correlating the data for our propaganda efforts in the various NAU elections.”

Peter nodded, waiting for her to get to the point of his being there.

“As you know, prior to the bombing in town which has so disrupted our lives, we were intending to address the issue of your position here. We understand the problems you have encountered and your complaints since your return from the NAU. As your translations of the Hamburg data are completed, it has become increasingly apparent that the current system is unworkable.

“Therefore, we have decided to scale back our operations here and to coordinate more closely with the Warszawa Council on the interpretation of seized data. Whatever cannot be routinely and immediately translated will be immediately forwarded to them—they will in turn attempt to establish a larger center using analysts who will be seconded from the NAU.”

Peter nodded. Clearly there was little place for Olek and Barbara in the office anymore. He would become a glorified clerk and they would be reassigned. Or worse yet, he thought with a sudden horror, they would want him to go to Göringstadt and work in the newly coordinated operation.

Katerina continued, “Olek will be handling the routine work here. Do you think he can manage without your help?”

“Yes, he’ll do fine.”

“Good. Now as for you.” Katerina paused, glancing at the Council members, her eyes settling on Zosia as if to check on whether she should proceed. Zosia continued to study the papers in front of her, biting her thumbnail. Katerina sighed slightly. “We would like you to go to London to work as our liaison there.”

“London?” Peter asked, stunned.

“Yes, of course you’ll be perfect since you know the city and the language, and you’ll be trusted by their, or I guess,
your
people there. We’ve asked the British to send out an explicit clearance of Yardley, so there won’t be any problem if any of
your old comrades recognize you.” Katerina pursed her lips. “Though I don’t think they plan to tell anyone you’re alive, so you might get one or two shocked looks. Anyway, there’s no longer any reason to avoid the place.”

“No,” he replied, distracted by Zosia’s complete lack of response,“no, none at all.”

“Congratulations, Peter, you get to go home,” Marysia said.

His eyes darted from Zosia to Marysia. Was it sarcasm? A position that would use none of his talents or skills—as rare as they were, as hard as they had been to acquire! A job usually reserved for eager young recruits with no experience! Congratulations?

“It is a position of great trust,” Konrad said. “We know that was what you wanted.”

Konrad, too. Peter glanced at each of their faces in turn. They were laughing at him—they were throwing him out and they were laughing at him about it! He dropped his head, preferring to stare at the ground rather than to look at them.

“You will be given a new identity with a young wife,” Katerina informed him.

He glanced up sharply. What?

“She will serve as an aide and bodyguard.”

What?

“Barbara has requested the position and we have acceded to her request.”

What?

“It will be excellent experience for her to leave Szaflary. She has learned a great deal of English since your arrival and she is very skilled with weapons. You’ll be well protected,” Katerina assured him.

“Zosia?” he finally managed to ask.

“Colonel Król has too many commitments here. She has no authority to act in that arena and would be wasted if she were to accompany you,” Katerina answered coldly.

“Zosia?” he stammered, hoping to get her to look up.

She finally did. “It will be good for you to get away from here, Peter. You have personally offended the Führer, they know you are here: this region is too dangerous for you now—they’ll never be looking for you back in London.”

“London?” he repeated helplessly.

“Your presence here endangers us,” Katerina explained. “You are a challenge to them, one which we cannot afford to make at this time. They have recognized that you must have met Alex’s daughter in America and that she is, in some manner, connected with this region, but they have not firmly linked
you
with
us,
so it is better that you go before they do.”

“You’re not coming with me?” he asked Zosia, ignoring Katerina.

“You get to go home, Peter,” Zosia replied evenly.

“Home?”
He could not say more in front of the entire Council. Certainly she understood what they were doing!

“It will be a great experience for you, and we’ve recognized you’re unhappy here,” she added as if in explanation.

We.
She had declared her loyalty and it was with them. His wife, the woman who had said she loved him. He dropped his head again, tried not to let them see how deeply they had cut him. “What about our child?” he finally asked.

“Our Zosia will be well looked after,” Marysia answered.

“Better than she is now,” Tadek muttered. There was a quiet titter from those around him.

Peter realized he was shaking with suppressed anger. In the back of his mind he heard a young voice from the distant past:
Sorry, kid, bloody unfair. Now off with you
. He looked for support among the faces, but even those who had befriended him upon his arrival showed no particular concern. “How long am I to be assigned there?” he asked, resigned.

“That’s indefinite.”

“And if I refuse to go?”

There was a momentary silence. Finally Katerina asked, “Why would you do that?”

“If I refuse?”

“It’s an order. You have no option of refusal,” Katerina replied brusquely. Then her tone changed and she asked gently, “Why be difficult with us? You do want to contribute to our effort, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied bitterly, “I just wanted to know where I stood.”

They spent some time discussing the details and asking his opinion on certain things. He answered their questions, commented when asked, but he did not really listen. His eyes kept straying to the woods, expecting to see Joanna jump out from behind a rock and say “Boo!” His ears kept expecting to hear her giggle as she ran around and around a tree. The movement of a sentry, the twitter of a bird, all of it caught his attention and made him scan instinctively for his little girl, but she wasn’t there and would never be there again. His heart ached, and he turned his attention to Zosia to see if she would look at him, but she kept herself busy as a member of the Council, picking through the papers in front of her, offering suggestions now and then. Finally he gave up and disengaged himself from his feelings, from any emotion whatsoever. The important thing was not to let them see how he felt, and the easiest way to do that was to feel nothing.

“Would you at least answer the question?” he said with exaggerated patience as he poured himself a cup of coffee. It was the second and last cup of the day— the supply had gotten noticeably more erratic recently and the rationing had intensified accordingly.

“What question?” Zosia asked.

He controlled his anger, did not say, The question I’ve asked you ever since you finally decided to come home last night. He had waited up, had greeted her as she stumbled in, and had tried to discuss the Council meeting with her, but she was too tired. Carefully enunciating each word, he asked for the fourth time that morning, “Do you
want
me to go?”

“We need a replacement for our liaison there.”

He decided not to be distracted this time. “But do you want
me
to go?”

“The Council thinks you’ll be perfect for the job.”

“But do
you
want me to go?”

“And it’s a great opportunity.”

“But do you want me
to go?”
he almost yelled.

“You have your orders,” she answered without emotion. “There is no question to answer.”

“Then let me try another one,” he said, barely containing his ire. “Do you want me to come back?”

There was a pause that was almost sufficient to answer this last query, but then Zosia said, “Of course I do—you are the father of my child.”

“Is that all?” he asked, while another part of his mind wondered, Am I?

“No.” She drew the word out slowly. He waited but she did not embellish her answer.

“I’ll miss you. Will you miss me?”

“Of course I will. Now can we stop with this interrogation?” she answered impatiently. “There are a million details to sort out.” She bustled about and handed him a set of papers. “Here’s your life, learn it. We’ve dropped six years from your age and added five to Barbara’s so you’re not so mismatched. You’ll both be German—sorry about that, but there’s less hassle that way, better rations, and since Barbara’s English isn’t that good, well . . . Anyway, you won’t have to be military—a veteran though, Africa, wounded in a bomb blast, that will explain everything nicely. We’ll have a special light cast to wrap your arm—part of an old injury, of course. It’s removable, just use it out of doors.” Her voice dropped off as she said to herself, “I guess we should have done that ages ago.”

He remained in stunned silence.

She resumed her businesslike attitude. “We’ll dye your hair”—she picked up one of the dark strands that ran through his blond hair—“this color. Bits of your hair are quite dark—it will look natural. And we’ll give you brown eyes . . .”