A Secret Life by Benjamin Weiser Read Free Book Online Page B

just 100 miles to the north, but he could sense it. Now, as he returned from his first meetings with the Americans, he was convinced that his voyage would be his bridge to the West, and even though the Americans had not agreed to his organizing a conspiracy, it was a first step. One night the wind puffed gently in the Legia ’s sails. Suddenly his crew began shouting for him. A freighter was heading straight for them. Kuklinski grabbed the wheel, started the engine, and turned quickly to the right, the law of the sea. The freighter also should have turned right, allowing each boat to pass safely, but instead it turned left, and the vessels almost collided. With the freighter a dozen feet away, Kuklinski spun the wheel and swerved the Legia out of danger.
     
    Although Kuklinski joined in his crew’s cheers and nervous relief, the incident seemed like an omen; he knew his life had irreversibly changed and that it would be far more dangerous. But he was convinced he had made the right decision: Emotionally, he had crossed the line years before.
     
    At forty-two, Kuklinski was already a decorated officer and could expect further promotions in the years ahead. Hardy and compactly built, he had competed as a runner in school and in the military. He was bright, serious, modest, and a tireless worker. He had won the confidence of his superiors for his intellect and calm competence and had earned the loyalty of his staff for his courteousness. But as he rose in the army and joined the inner circle of the Polish military leadership, he said later, “I started to enter this world of secrets, and I gradually discovered the most tragic plans for humanity.”
     
    For as long as Kuklinski could remember, Poland had existed under the control of outside powers. He had only the sketchiest memory of a different time. He had lived with his parents in a modest one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a five-story brick building at 13 Tlomackie Street in the center of Warsaw, next to the Great Synagogue, a majestic center of Jewish life that dated to 1878. A short distance away were the national theater and the city hall. Kuklinski’s father, Stanislaw, held a series of jobs. He worked in a machine factory that produced tanks and tools and as a waiter at one of Warsaw’s finest restaurants at the time, U Lija. Kuklinski remembers him as a gentle man who loved to row on weekends on the Vistula River and instilled in his son a love for the sea. Kuklinski’s mother, Anna, was confident and strong-willed and had also worked at U Lija before she and Stanislaw married. Roman Barszcz, Kuklinski’s closest childhood friend, remembers Anna as “beautiful, very intelligent, and also very tolerant” and said there was never a shortage of bread, jam, or herring in the family household. Kuklinski’s parents guided him toward an understanding of his heritage and a sense of pride and obligation. “They breathed the air of patriotism,” Barszcz recalled.
     
    In the summertime Kuklinski’s parents took him to a village called Niedabyl, about seventy kilometers south of Warsaw, where Kuklinski’s uncle had a farm. Kuklinski and his cousins rode horses and played in the forest with their friends. Here Kuklinski and Barszcz became known for their practical jokes. Local farmers would haul in hay from the fields and at times fell asleep on top of their carts. Kuklinski and Barszcz once crept up behind a cart and, with the farmer still napping, rolled it into a pond. The enraged farmer waded out of the water, shouting at the boys as they ran away. Another time, they took apart a cart and rebuilt it on top of a barn, where it sat for days.
     
    At the time, young Polish boys aspired to be military officers, priests, or engineers. For Kuklinski, there was never any question that he wanted to be an officer. But on September 1, 1939, as he was walking to school on Elektoralna Street, he was startled by the wail of a siren. The skies began to darken as