A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (6 page)

A
smaller office
would not have been able to hold Minister Kuhl. Given the energy and speed with which Kuhl moved about the room, Adam was sure he would have broken down the walls of any tighter space. Or perhaps he already had, and this room was the result. For it was the size of two offices, at least.

A large conference table filled one part of the room. Farther from the windows, silk-upholstered armchairs gathered around a coffee table that Adam was sure was a true antique. Kuhl’s red cherry desk covered the back wall, and from the leather chair behind it, he gazed out at his domain like a tensed leopard ready to pounce.

Minister Kuhl, Sylvia had explained to them, was one of the four hundred and sixty ministers who were elected to represent Poland in the
Sejm
every four years. Each minister was elected from a region of the country based on a system of proportional representation.

Minister Kuhl was a member of
Prawo i Sprawiedliwość
, PiS, the second most powerful party in the legislature, a party formed by a number of the leaders of the Solidarity movement. As a leading figure within the party, he was offered the prime post of Chair of the Committee for Environmental Protection.

“This was a good position for me,” Kuhl explained to the group seated before him. “Yes, it makes sense. We have much farmland in Poland — most in all of Europe — and this is very sensitive. We are facing much pressure from the European Union right now on how we manage our farmlands. And our subsidies. They want certain changes from us, but we shall see.” He nodded, giving the appearance of a bobblehead doll rather than the sage look he was probably going for.

“So you are responsible for deciding how the farmland is managed?” Ray asked.

“Yes… yes… with the committee, of course.” Kuhl could sit still no longer. He jumped up and started pacing between the conference table and the seating area as he answered their questions. The team followed his movements with their heads, giving a fair imitation of a crowd at a tennis match.

“I understand that before you entered politics, sir, you were a truck driver. What prepared you for this position?” Angela leaned forward as she asked, her eyes on Kuhl.

Adam glanced at Angela, surprised she knew so much about Kuhl’s background. Clearly, she had done her homework before joining this delegation.

Kuhl did not seem surprised by the question. “Oh yes, yes. I was prepared, this was not a problem. This was a very good position for me. I was a truck driver, as you say. Before the change in regimes. Ah, what a change, I can tell you!” He smiled broadly at the group, then resumed his pacing.

Adam and Angela exchanged glances, but didn’t smile.

Kuhl smiled enough for all of them, waving his arms as he spoke. “What a dream. A dream come true. Imagine this. We — we, the people of Poland — we brought down that communist regime. Those socialists. Yes. We did this. And it is much better now.”

He paused and looked back at the group. “It is so important that you are here, of course. We did not do this alone. Oh no” — he resumed his pacing — “we had such great support from the United States. From the great Ronald Reagan —” Here, Kuhl spread his arms wide as if thanking the heavens for Reagan. “And the President George Bush. Yes, these were great men. Great men.” His smiled broadened as he spoke, as if laughing at a joke only he could hear.

Tired of watching Kuhl move back and forth, Adam turned to look around the office. Framed paintings and photographs dotted the walls. The oil paintings were all modern in style and didn’t catch Adam’s interest. The photographs did.

The artistic shots captured images from around the country. A farm laborer paused in the field, caught on film leaning against his hoe. A truck driver, maybe Kuhl as a young man, stepping up into the cab of an 18-wheeler. A woman in a drab blue suit smiling into the camera in front of a gray-looking department store. The people of Poland that Kuhl was so proud of, Adam assumed. The people he now represented.

Adam looked back at the man with a little more respect. At least he seemed to be exactly who he said he was: a truck driver who was so excited about the change in politics that he stepped up and took on the responsibility of leadership. Yet Adam couldn’t help but smile again as the man almost knocked one of his paintings off the wall as he gestured with exuberance.

“And who else will you meet with while you are here?” Kuhl was asking Sylvia.

“We have a meeting arranged with Minister Kapral next,” Sylvia answered, checking the schedule in her datebook.

“Good, good.” Kuhl nodded vigorously, resuming his seat behind his massive desk. “Good, Kapral is a good man. A good leader. He will be very helpful for you.” Kuhl looked over the group assembled before him as he spoke. “You must listen to him. He has some powerful ideas for Poland and her future. Me, people like me, we are part of Poland’s past. A good part” — he held up a finger — “an important part, no doubt. But Kapral, he looks only to the future. To what may be. To what else may be,” Kuhl corrected himself.

“And then we will see a committee meeting…” Sylvia continued.

Kuhl nodded energetically.

“Oh, and before that we will meet with Minister Novosad.”

Kuhl’s head stopped and he sat still. Adam realized that was the first time he had been still since the group had entered his office. Kuhl frowned. “Novosad… hmm… You must meet with him?”

Sylvia looked up at Kuhl with surprise. “Well, he was kind enough to make time for us.” She frowned. “And of course we are interested in meeting with as many ministers as we can while we are here. We have only the one afternoon for these visits. The group will also meet with representatives from schools, from local businesses, from museums…” Sylvia’s words trailed off and she shrugged, still looking questioningly at Kuhl.

“Yes, yes, of course.” His head resumed its bobbing. “Yes, I’m sorry. My reaction was bad. Very bad.” He waved both his hands over his desk and looked down. “But, you see,” he added, looking up again, “he was part of
Sojusz Lewicy Demokratycznej
, SLD, you know, before he joined his current party. SLD is the post-communist party. They prefer many of the old ways, they do not support the economic changes we have been making to move closer to the rest of Europe.”

“He switched parties?” Adam asked, interested.

“Oh yes, yes. And quite a drastic shift, you see. From one extreme to another. He didn’t even join PiS, my party. No, he went straight to
Platforma Obywatelska
, the Civic Platform.”

“Doesn’t your party work closely with them?” Adam pressed.

“Of course, yes. But they are very Western, very European in their approach. Maybe too much so. This is still Poland, you see. We may have changed our government, but we have not changed our people. We are still Poles, we must not forget that.”

“So why are you not happy with Novosad?” Ray asked.

“Oh… well… Perhaps I should not have said anything. He has changed, I’m sure, I’m sure. People can change, no?”

“No.” Angela and Ray spoke in unison, then smiled at each other.

“No?” Kuhl shrugged. “No, perhaps not. Perhaps that is why I spoke. He is Russian, too, you know?” Kuhl added, jumping up once again. Adam figured the man had a ten minute time limit on sitting still.

“He’s in the Polish government, surely he must be a Polish citizen?” Jared asked.

“Well, of course, yes,” Kuhl waved away the concern. “Yes, he is Polish. He was born in Białystok. But his family is from Russia, just the previous generation. Is he Polish?” Kuhl stopped and looked closely at the group. “Or is he still a Russian at heart?”

F
ollowing
the rest
of his team down the plush hallway, Adam watched as Sylvia spoke excitedly to Chris, Ray, Jared and Angela. The graceful motion of her hands, the glint in her eyes, all spoke to her love for her country. Or perhaps her love for politics. Her enthusiasm was contagious and the others were nodding and occasionally laughing at Sylvia’s remarks.

As they approached the stairs to Minister Kapral’s office, a man stopped the group. His silk suit tagged him as someone of importance in the building, but something about him, maybe the bend of his shoulders or the way his eyes narrowed when he saw the group approaching, gave Adam the impression more of a bureaucrat than a politician. Adam thought he saw a trace of Mongolian ancestry in the man’s features, but it vanished as his smile widened, transforming his face.

“Ah, Sylvia, what perfect timing.” He spoke to Sylvia, and them all, in English. “I have a quick request for you, if I may pull you away for a moment?” He smiled around at the group gathered on the small landing.

“Of course, Mr. Malak,” Chris answered for the group. “I had been hoping a meeting with you was also on our schedule.”

Chris turned to the rest of the group. “Mr. Tomek Malak is the Director of Government Affairs for the city of Warsaw. He is responsible for serving as a liaison between the city government and the national legislature, since they must work so closely together.” He paused and smiled at Sylvia. “And he is also the person generous enough to let us take Sylvia away from him this week to show us around.”

“Aha, your boss, huh, Sylvia?” Ray asked, pumping Sylvia on the back.

She coughed and stepped forward slightly. “Yes, that’s right. Tomek, I am glad we ran into you. Perhaps we can take a moment of your time before we meet with Minister Kapral?”

That was all the group understood of what she said, as this statement was followed by a quick exchange between the two in Polish.

“Yes, yes.” Sylvia nodded as she finished her brief conversation with her boss. “Tomek and I have some very short business to take care of,” she finally said to the group. “Can you all please follow me?”

With these words, Sylvia led the way up the narrow stairs that provided private access to the smaller offices on the higher floors. Malak waited until they had each passed him, then followed them up the stairs, his shadow following them last of all as he passed under the bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling.

Sylvia took the group up two flights to a small office on the third floor. A utilitarian wooden desk stood near the window, filing cabinets lined one wall. News clippings and posters plastered the opposite wall, some in frames, others simply stuck to the wall with tape. This was clearly a well-used working space, but it was clean and organized and even held a slight odor of disinfectant.

As Sylvia and Malak leaned over his desk, conducting their business in Polish, Adam walked slowly along the wall, reviewing the materials posted there. Most he couldn’t read, but some were in English, and in others he could pick out enough words to get a feel for the message they communicated.

Sylvia kept up her conversation with Malak, speaking far too quickly for Adam to follow, as Malak handed her a sheaf of papers. She walked them over to the far corner and Adam heard the familiar grind of a small shredder. He kept his attention on the news cuttings in front of him.

One section of the wall in particular seemed to focus on recognitions Malak had achieved in his work for the city. Clippings showed images of Malak standing with smiling crowds of people, shaking hands, cutting ribbons and even, in one, placing his hand on the head of a crying baby.

Angela came up next to Adam and joined him in examining these posts, adjusting her glasses as she stepped closer. “He seems like a well-liked politician,” she commented, nodding her head toward an English-language article that summarized Malak’s success in encouraging new, Western businesses to open up in Warsaw. Another posted next to it praised Malak’s role in creating a scholarship to send students abroad.

“He does.” Adam nodded and looked down at Angela. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. “It looks like his interests are broad and generous.” Adam gestured toward the clippings on the walls. “Helping businesses… helping students…”

Angela glanced up at him sideways, a smile playing at her lips. “That’s important to you, isn’t it?” she asked under her breath.

“What?”

She gestured at a photo of a student receiving an award. “His support for students. For young people.”

Adam shrugged. “I guess. Isn’t it for everyone?”

Angela frowned and put her head on one side, stepping closer to peer at the image. Lines appeared on her forehead, then disappeared just as quickly. “We all have our own priorities.” She looked back at Adam. “And our own guilt to manage.”

Adam was still considering how to respond to this when Chris approached them.

“You haven’t heard of Mr. Malak?” he asked them. “He’s pretty well known for all the things he’s done for Warsaw. He’s even been covered in the New York Times because of his pro-Western stance and creative ideas for encouraging economic growth.”

Adam admitted, with more than a little shame, that he had not heard of him before today. “I’m impressed that you know so much about him,” he added.

“It’s my job, Adam,” Chris smiled at him. “Don’t feel bad you’re not familiar with him. This is what I do. We follow the news in every country we work with as sister cities.” Chris shrugged. “I love this kind of stuff. Particularly the good stories, and Malak’s is definitely a success story.”

“Oh?” Angela smiled to encourage Chris.

“The citizens love him. It’s not just that he brings in new business now, he has a respectable history within the Solidarity movement. He was young at the time, it’s true, but he was always one of the good guys, supporting freedom, supporting justice. In fact, everyone believes his party has tapped him to be their next candidate for president. He hasn’t run for office before, only served as a political appointee, but everything I’ve heard is that he’s already agreed and is planning his strategy.”

“Ahem.” Malak’s cough brought Chris up short.

Chris started turning an entertaining shade of red, but Malak spoke almost immediately. “I appreciate the kind words, I really do. And I am proud of my history and of my accomplishments. My position is not political, I am appointed by the mayor, but I believe I serve at the will of the people. If I ever find that the people of Warsaw no longer support my vision or my methods, it will be time for me to move on to the next stage of my life.” He paused and smiled at the group. “Until then, who knows what the future holds?”

“Your accomplishments are very impressive, Mr. Malak,” Jared chimed in.

“Thank you, sir. As I said, I am proud of what I have done. And I believe there is still more I can do for the city of Warsaw.” He walked over to one of the clippings Adam had not been able to read and tapped it as he spoke. “Minister Kapral, now there is a man who has the interests of the nation in the front of his mind.”

Malak turned back to the group. “I don’t want to keep you from your meeting with him, but I must ask Sylvia to do one quick task for me. Why don’t I accompany you to his office? I always enjoy a conversation with Kapral.”

Angela tilted her head to the side as she spoke to Malak. “He’s a strong leader in the government, isn’t he?”

When Malak nodded, Angela continued, “And you’re considering a run for president. So that makes him your competition, doesn’t it?” She smiled to take the edge off the words, but her eyes were sharp.

Malak simply smiled. “Not at all, not at all. In fact, Nelek Kapral and I make a good team. We share many ideas, but we also differ in certain fundamental ways. In this way, we complement each other. We will both achieve more if we work together.”

Angela looked skeptical, but said nothing more.

“Minister Kapral will achieve great things, oh, yes, I’m sure of it.” Malak nodded as he spoke, glancing back at the news cutting taped to the wall. “He has some original ideas and the strength of will to carry them through. Mark my words, he will lead this country into the future.”

“
I
t was not
necessary for you to join me,
Pan
Kaminski. This errand will not take long.”

“I know.” Adam shrugged. “To be honest, it seemed more interesting to visit a local printer than to sit through another meeting with another politician.”

Sylvia’s smile grew wide and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I keep putting my foot in my mouth. I know, this is your job. I’m sure you love it.”

She shrugged. “I do, yes. I look forward to the future as well, where I might go.”

“I guess I do, too. I’m not sure how far I can get. I have a feeling my past will always catch up with me.”

He followed her as she turned down a narrow cobblestoned alley, a street heavy with the echoed footfalls of generations of Poles. Small storefronts lined the path, shops selling paper goods or offering copy services. Modern stores that seemed out of place in this picturesque setting.

Sylvia looked at Adam and slowed her pace. “In America, you feel that the past ‘catches up with you,’ as you say?”

Adam nodded and slowed to match her stride.

“Yes, we have a similar experience here. That’s too bad. I wouldn’t mind going to a place where there is no history. Where everyone lives only in today.”

“Now why would you say that?” Adam asked with a frown. “Surely Poles must derive great value from your nation’s long history?”

“Of course, of course, I didn’t speak correctly.” Sylvia waved her hands as if to wave away the words she had spoken. “It’s just
lustracja
, that’s all.”

“Ah, lustration. I get it.” He did. He’d read about the law, which had been updated again five years ago. Anyone who worked in politics was required to submit statements in which they declared any cooperation they had with the communist-era secret police. The law applied to all politicians, as many people who worked in politics now were also part of the previous regime. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.

“
Lustracja
,” Sylvia repeated. “These are good people. They were good at their jobs under the previous regime, and they are still good. But they were communists, and that must come out.” She ran a hand through her hair as she spoke, her eyes focused on the pavement ahead of them. “Now the law is being challenged in courts, and who knows… the uncertainty of what may happen is sometimes worse than what the law requires.”

“And would this law apply to you, too?”

Sylvia frowned and considered the question. “I work for the city of Warsaw, not the national government, but the law still applies.” She glanced at Adam, then looked back at the cobblestones below their feet. “I submitted a form, as did others.”

Adam’s curiosity was piqued, but he kept his questions about Sylvia’s past to himself. If she, or anyone, had collaborated with the previous regime and admitted it in her lustration form, she would be free from any repercussions. On the other hand, if there were any doubt about a politician’s denial of collaboration, his statement would be evaluated by the Institute of National Remembrance and the Lustration Court. After reviewing the evidence, the court would decide if the lustration statement was accurate or not. Anyone who lied about his involvement with the secret police would lose his job and be banned from holding another government position for at least ten years.

They had reached the printer’s, and Adam pulled the door open for Sylvia as he spoke, placing his hand lightly on the small of her back to guide her through the door. “Surely this law is a good thing, right? You want to know who these people are who are running your country?”

“Sure.” Sylvia nodded, looking back at him. “But sometimes the past is best left in the past. Sometimes we just need to move forward. Some people — some important and powerful people — are not happy with the way this is going.” She glanced at the shopkeeper coming toward them. “And we will all suffer the consequences.”