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By Jack King


An Excerpt

Stan Penskie occupied a table at the rear in a somewhat isolated café. He was thinking about his family when a figure appeared at the narrow entrance foyer. The man scrutinized the room, visibly out of breath as if he had run a long distance before entering the café. He scanned the room once more and weaved his way between the tables to where Stan sat.

"Thought I might find you here." The man spoke in a low voice.

"Robert!" The sudden appearance startled Penskie. He was at a loss for words and was gazing at his friend, speechless.

Water dripping down his nylon coat, his wet mane straight and flush against his forehead, Robert Sito took the seat across the table. Barely visible light gray steam rose off his shoulders; the café was notoriously overheated. He unbuttoned the coat, withdrew a folded newspaper from the inside pocket and placed it on the table.

Cold December rain intensified and was streaming down the window, like a filter distorting the view and making patrons unaware of the life outside the café. Had the rain been lighter, Penskie probably would have noticed a dark SUV pull to the curb directly across the street. He would have perhaps realized the car had stopped at an illegal place, right at an intersection, and perhaps noticed the peculiar interest with which the men had scanned the Ujazdów Café. Still, he would have disregarded it as an ordinary occurrence—thousands of cars parked illegally on the streets of Warsaw every day. The number of cars had outgrown the number of available parking spaces.

"Unit One to Control." The driver spoke in Polish to a microphone attached to a headset, a trace of a Russian accent in his voice. The second man, who occupied the backseat, controlled a portable electronic surveillance unit resting on a small tripod mounted to the window and directed at the café. The man adjusted the controls and apparently satisfied, signaled the driver.

"We're in position. The subject has made contact with . . ." The driver paused uncomfortably.

"Repeat that, Unit One."

"The subject has made contact with... the FBI man."

There was a brief silence before the voice responded. It was quiet but firm.

"Continue surveillance and stand by for further instructions, Unit One."

The driver and his companion exchanged disconcerted looks.

Robert Sito was very anxious as he leaned over the table and murmured, "I'm in deep trouble, Stan. I mean... I don't know what to make of this anymore."

He quickly looked around and pushed the newspaper across the table.

Stan opened the paper, still surprised by the coincidence of his friend's arrival, and gasped. There was a light brown folder inside the newspaper. Large print on the cover read: Tajne Specjalnego Znaczenia, Urz_d Ochrony Pa_stwa's seal underneath.

"What the hell is this?"

"It means 'Top Secret'..."

"I know what it means, Rob." Penskie nervously scanned the room, his voice at a hissing whisper: "We can both end up in crap even at the suspicion of me ever being in the proximity of something like this!"

"Believe me, we already are in it so deep we can only hope we're not going to drown!"

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