20“He got it from me,” Harry said. “I let it slip to Stefan you were headed for Lublin.”
It was two o’clock on Friday morning. Harry, Jerzy and I stood in the cheerless living room of the one-bedroom apartment in which the embassy housed low-level official visitors. The convenient transient accommodations were inside the embassy compound.
When we’d reached Warsaw a half hour earlier, I directed Jerzy straight to the chancery. He waited in the car with my father’s body while I persuaded the Marine security guard to summon Harry. Our fifteen minutes outside the gates were made less nerve-wracking by the company of two Polish soldiers patrolling the sidewalk. The Poles had upgraded security for all foreign missions in Warsaw after the terrorist bombings of two U.S. embassies in Africa. Thes
