"Uris, Leon - QBVII" - читать интересную книгу автора (Uris Leon M)

'I have a warrant for your arrest, sir.'
'My arrest?'
'Yes, sir.'
'What is this all about? What kind of joke is this?'
Their sullen expressions denoted it was no joke.
'My arrest... for what?'
'You are to be detained at Brixton Prison pending extradition to Poland to stand charges as a war criminal.'
THREE
The setting was London but the room seemed something out of Warsaw. Angela sat in the anteroom of the Society of Free Poles where walls were adorned with enormous sterile paintings of Pilsudski, Smigly-Rydz, Paderewski, and a gallery of Polish heroes. It was in this place and others like it around London that the hundred thousand Poles fortunate enough to escape perpetuated the dream of Poland.
Angela's pregnancy now showed heavily. Zenon Myslenski comforted her as she wrung and knotted a handkerchief nervously. A tall door opened from an inner office and a secretary approached them.
Angela adjusted her dress and waddled in on Zenon's arm where Count Anatol Czerny came from behind his desk. He greeted Zenon as an old friend, kissed Angela's hand, and bade them be seated.
'I am afraid,' the dapper little aristocrat said, 'valuable time has been wasted by contacting the government-in-exile. England no longer recognizes them, and we were unable to get any information from the British Home Office.'
'What in the name of God is it all about? Someone has to tell us something,' Angela emoted.
'All we know is that about a fortnight ago a certain Nathan Goldmark arrived from Warsaw. He is a Jewish Communist and a special investigator for the Polish Secret Police. He has a number of sworn statements from ex-inmates of Jadwiga, all Polish Communists, making various allegations against your husband.' 'What kind of allegations?'
'I have not seen them and the Home Office is most secretive. The British position is this. If a foreign government with whom they have a mutual pact requests extradition and establishes a prima facie case, they treat the matter as routine.'
'But what possible charges could there be against Adam. You've read the testimony from the investigation in Monza. I was there myself,' Zenon said.
'Well, we both really know what is happening, don't we,' the count answered.
'No, I don't understand it at all,' Angela said. 'The Communists feel it necessary to keep up a constant parade of propaganda to justify their seizure of Poland. Dr. Kelno is intended as a sacrificial lamb. What better way than to prove a Nationalist was a war criminal.' 'What in the name of God can we do?' 'We will fight this thing, of course. We are not without resources. It will take a few weeks for the Home Office to review the matter. Our first tactic is to get a delay. Madame Kelno, I want the liberty of engaging a firm of solicitors who have been most helpful to us in these matters.'
'Yes, of course,' she whispered.
'Hobbins, Newton, and Smiddy.'
'Oh, my poor darling Adam.... Oh, dear God.'
'Angela, please.'
'Are you all right, Madame Kelno?'
'Yes.... I'm sorry.' She pressed her white folded knuckles to her lips and drew deep sighs.
'Come now,' Count Czerny said. 'We are in England. We are dealing with a decent, civilized people.'
The Austin taxi stopped in the centre of Pall Mall, found an opening in the opposite flow of traffic, and did a swift U-turn in a circle no larger than a halfpenny, stopping before the Reform Club.
Richard Smiddy jammed his bowler on tightly, tucked his umbrella under an arm, opened a tattered change purse and carefully doled out the exact fare.
'And a sixpence for you,' he said.
'Thank you, governor,' the cabbie said, putting on his for hire light and pulling away from the kerb. He shook his head as he pocketed the frail tip. Not that he wanted the war, mind you, but he wished the Yanks were back.
Richard Smiddy, son of George Smiddy and grandson of Harold Smiddy of that fine old law firm marched up the stairs to the entrance of the Reform Club. He was rather pleased about getting an appointment with Robert High-smith in less than a week. As protocol required. Smiddy's clerk wrote a hand-delivered note to Highsmith's clerk at Parliament and arranged the meeting. Smiddy did have his man denote that the matter had some urgency. For a passing moment Richard Smiddy had contemplated bypassing tradition and picking up the telephone but only the Americans did business that way.
He deposited his umbrella and bowler with the hall porter and made the usual remark about the foul weather.
'Mr. Highsmith is expecting you, sir.'
Smiddy trotted up the stairs to that place where Phileas Fogg began and ended his trip around the world in eighty days, then into the lounge off to the right. Robert High-smith, a heavily set fellow indifferently tailored, moved his largeness from a deep leather chair that was cracked with age. Highsmith was somewhat of a colourful character having bolted a family of landed gentry to be called to the bar. He was a dazzling barrister of extraordinary skill and, at the age of thirty-five, recently elected to the House of Commons. A zealous crusader by nature, Highsmith always seemed to have his finger in some pudding of injustice. As such he headed the British office of Sanctuary International, an organization devoted to the defence of political prisoners.
'Hello there, Smiddy, sit down, sit down.'
'Good of you to see me so soon.'
'Not soon enough. I had to put a lot of pressure on the Home Office to hold things off. You should have phoned me for an appointment with time so short.'
'Well yes, that did occur to me.'
Highsmith ordered a whisky neat and Richard Smiddy ordered tea and cakes.
'Well, I've got the gist of the charges,' Highsmith said. 'They want him for just about everything in the book.' He balanced his specs on the end of his nose, brushed back his dishevelled hair, and read from a single sheet of paper. 'Giving fatal shots of phenol to prisoners, collaboration with the Nazis, selecting prisoners for the gas chambers, participating in experimental surgery, taking an oath as an honorary German. And so forth, and so forth. Sounds like a bloody monster. What kind of a chap is he?'
'Decent enough sort. A bit blunt. Polish, you know.'
'What's your office got to say about all this?'
'We've gone over the matter very carefully, Mr. High-smith, and I'd wager my last quid that he's innocent.'
'Bastards. Well, we're not going to let them get away with it.'
Sanctuary International Raymond Buildings Gray's Inn London WC 1
The Under-Secretary of State Home Office Aliens Department 10 Old Bailey London EC 4
Dear Mr. Clayton-Hill,
I had advised you earlier of the interest of Sanctuary International in the matter of Dr. Adam Kelno, now being detained in H.M. Prison at Brixton. As a matter of procedure, our organization looks with suspicion on any demands for political prisoners being extradited to Communist states. Dr. Kelno is clearly a political victim.
On further scrutiny it is our belief that the charges against Dr. Kelno appear to be totally without foundation. The affidavits against him are either from Polish Communists or Communist-oriented persons.
In no event has anyone claimed to have personally witnessed any wrong-doing by Dr. Kelno. These affidavits are based on the loosest kind of hearsay that would be inadmissible evidence in any court of law in the Western world. Furthermore, the Polish government has been unable to produce a single victim of Dr. Kelno's alleged cruelty.
In our opinion Poland has absolutely failed to establish a prima facie case. Those persons who are able to testify to Dr. Kelno's magnificent behaviour in Jadwiga cannot go to Poland and under no circumstances will the man be given a fair trial. If this extradition is permitted it would be tantamount to a political murder.