The Polish Problem

May of 1992.

Sanok, Poland.

I made my first trip to Poland in May of 1992, my third mission without another spook to keep me in line, and the second time I had been called in to liaison for a Navy SEAL.

Sam was waiting for me at the airport in Warsaw. He gave me a hearty slap on the shoulder and took my suitcase. "Nice tan. Where have you been?" He dragged me toward a side exit, where a sleek black car was waiting for us. It even had a driver. "Welcome to Poland, by the way," he slapped me again, probably leaving a mark this time.

We rode south from Warsaw.

"Was there an airport closer to this place?" I complained, peeking out the window as the first hour rolled to a close.

Sam was busy discussing local politics with the driver, who disagreed with him about the death penalty. "Hold on, Mike," he said, putting up his hand and addressing the driver, "You mean to tell me you think justice means doing the same thing to them that they did to those people? Buddy, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

I groaned, "Poland will abolish the death penalty soon."

"Kowalski has promised-" the driver began.

"Who is this guy? International sway has been toward abolishing it for years." I had discussed this point to death with Larry. "Not to mention Polish crime rates are a joke. No one has been executed in this country in the last, what, three years? Four years? And no one ever will be again."

He huffed and focused on the road, which was a somewhat blank stretch of blacktop.

Sam smiled to himself like he had won something. "What was it you said earlier, Mike?"

"I said there had to be a closer airport."

"Well, there was. But your guys insisted you come in via Warsaw. You know how it is."

Poland was beautiful. It was an almost unbroken plain from north to south, from the Baltic Sea to the Carpathian Mountains. Our destination was in the shadow of those mountains, in the southeast, in a town with barely thirty thousand people. It would be another four hours before we arrived. Plenty of time to get appraised on the mission.

"Garret here is with the Embassy, so he can hear this," Sam said before he began. "But real quick before I start, where were you? I just want some tanning advice, man."

I smiled. I had been in Portugal hunting a rogue asset – cornering him in an alley, painting the walls with his insides, and framing it as some kind of suicide. It had only been four days since I sat in my bathtub in a shitty border down, purged of every good thing Sam had made me feel. But his carefree tone made me smile, and that was enough.

"Someplace sunny."

"Just like you, taking vacations when there's work to be done," he laughed. "I asked for you personally, you know."

"I was told." I had not seen him since Bolivia and had not expected him to follow through on our talk about working together again. But here we were, like only a day had passed and not months. "I heard there was a kidnapping."

"Well, yes and no. Kidnapping attempt with injury." He took a folder from a briefcase on the floor and handed it over. "Here. Harrison Belcher, US diplomat to Switzerland, of all places. He was in Poland vacationing with his family – his Swiss wife, Elena, his sixteen-year-old son, er, Luca, and their five-year-old daughter Mia."

I flipped through the folder, finding a few photos of a happy family, and then some grim shots of a badly beaten woman. "Is this the wife?"

Sam nodded grimly. "Some goons attacked their hotel room and left Elena in critical condition. She's in the hospital now under armed guard. The family is at a safe house nearby pending transportation to the US embassy."

I stared at the photo, a bit shocked by the brutality. "No chance this was random?"

"What do you think? Belcher doesn't have a lot of money, not much prestige. His position is barely even important. But this… how could it not be targeted? Some shady people have been clocked around the hospital these last few hours."

"So, extract him," I said.

"Yeah, well, problem is, the boys in the suits wanna know what brought this on. Belcher may be low on the totem pole, but he still has access to some serious intel."

"You think he's a traitor?"

Sam shrugged, his dark eyes going past me out the window. "I wanna know who put that nice lady in the hospital, and give them a piece of my mind."

"I thought you were against the death penalty, Sam."

"I am." He took the folder back and closed it, stowing it carefully back in his briefcase. "I am, trust me on that. But I believe in justice – justice for that poor woman, and for her family, who had to watch that happen. I want to see him put in prison."

I appreciated his simple approach to justice.

"Well, that I can help with," I said.

"That's the spirit. I could do it alone, of course, but you know how they always want a spook on for all this diplomatic stuff. I thought it might as well be one we already trust."

He smiled, and I smiled, letting myself forget the last few months. I was not a shadow in the streets of Portugal anymore. I could pretend we had only just left Bolivia, that I had been here the whole time, being this better person that Sam thought I was. It was a welcome break from the real world, the cruel world, the world that Larry had made for me.

We arrived midday at a safehouse near the middle of town. It looked innocuous from the outside, just another fabulously built structure in a town that seemed as old as all of Europe, but there were obvious signs of occupation on the inside. First, the staff was gone. Donald was seated at the reception desk, spinning in his chair. He came to attention when we walked in.

"Watch it Sam, you picked up a spook."

Sam smiled, but it was a grim sort of expression. "How is everyone?"

"Same. Quiet up there. No news?"

"No. We're gonna go up and talk to them, see if Mike gets anything out of it."

Donald saluted us halfheartedly, going back to spinning, "Good luck."

It was dull and quiet upstairs, where the family had been hidden away. Harrison Belcher was an average man all around, but he was so nervous he was wringing his hands together. His son seemed distracted. His daughter sat at the table, coloring, but when we arrived, she crawled into her brother's lap. I hated scenes like this, scenes of loss, the faces of grief.

"Mr. Axe, please-" Belcher began.

"Call me Sam," Sam interrupted. "And I already told you, it's not safe for you out there. Elena is being looked after. She's safe."

Belcher threw up his arms, frustrated, "I don't understand why this is happening. We were supposed to be on vacation. Can you send us home now?"

"Not until we know why you were targeted," I cut in.

Harrison Belcher glared at me, finally noticing me standing there, "And who are you?"

"I'm here to help keep your family safe," I responded dryly, not bothered by his tone. He had probably never experienced fear or helplessness like this before, and he was doing his best to retain his strength. "Can you sit down?"

He considered the chair, and then groaned and sank into it like it was a tall order.

I sat across from him on the couch, ignoring the curious kids staring at me. "Mr. Belcher, I have to ask you a few things. Sam might have already gone over this, but I have to hear it for myself." I waited. He seemed ready to listen. "Do you know of anyone who might have a reason to hurt you or your family?"

"No. Why would they?"

"No enemies?"

"Enemies," he scoffed. "Who has enemies?"

I smiled, "Lots of people. What does your wife do?"

"She's a stay at home mom, to Mia," Belcher said, with a reflexive look at his daughter.

"Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?"

"No!"

I looked at the kids, Luca, who stared back at me curiously, and Mia, who looked carefully away. "Do you guys know why someone would want to hurt your parents?"

Luca shook his head immediately, "N-No."

Mia said nothing.

"This is ridiculous." Belcher stood, wringing his hands again. If he kept it up, he was going to give himself wrinkles.

It didn't seem like any of them knew why this had happened to them, or they were all very good liars. I pulled Sam into the other room.

"We should go talk to the wife."

"I'll call and see if she's up."

The hospital was not far, but they took several strange routes to shake any potential tails. Elena was under armed guard, lying in a bed with half her face beaten in. Her eye turned to them when they entered, but she seemed unwilling to move the rest of her body.

"Elena," Sam said, in his gentlest voice. He went to her good side and put his hand on hers, "Remember me? Sam? I brought my friend Mike with me. We just want to ask you a few questions. Do you think maybe you can talk now?"

I went over to stand by him, finding that the photos of this beating did not do it justice. Someone had taken their fury out on this poor woman.

I asked her all the standard questions, tried to wring any useful details out of her story, but most of what she remembered was pain and fear. She asked about her kids, about her husband. Sam comforted her while I hung out in the doorway, looking up and down the halls, wondering if the person who had done this to her was lurking nearby.

"See what I mean? Someone really had it out for them," Sam said, joining me.

"There has to be a reason." I took the lead as we left. "Tell me the story again."

"Elena opens the door, asks who they are, and gets the first hit. Belcher came in, saw what was going on, called for help. They tried to take him out of the room but he resisted. Luckily the police were downstairs for some kind of parking dispute and they spooked them off."

"So, Belcher knew he was about to be taken?"

"That's what he says."

"Not very professional." We loaded into the car, and took a few more laps around the city. "The family was vulnerable. They could have taken Belcher any number of ways, in any number of places. Why the hotel? Why did they attack the wife?"

Sam shrugged. "Are those questions rhetorical?"

"Anger, Sam. This was rage. What they did to her was unnecessary and a waste of time. So maybe we're looking for amateurs."

"Amateurs who came to Poland to kidnap the US ambassador to Switzerland?"

I pulled into the parking lot of the safe house, staying in the car a moment after it was off. Sam was right. It seemed like all we had to go on were a few disjointed pieces. If they were smart, whoever did this would be out of the country by now, making a new plan. We had no hope of catching them. But something was bugging me. Something seemed off, and so I wasn't willing to give up on this mission yet.

"I see that brain of yours working," Sam said, cocking one of his eyebrows, "You in the mood to share?"

"You'll know when I come up with something. Let's sit on the family until that happens."