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Chapter 9 - BIZARRE EPISODE
IN ROME
During
the long flight to Rome,
Paszkowski somehow felt
like he was leaving Canada
for good; it made him nostalgic.
The lump in his throat grew
as he reminisced about his
20 months in Canada. He
felt safe and comfortable
here, and now it was all
being left behind him. When
the plane landed at Fiumicino
airport near the Italian
capital, the hot air hit
him with full force after
a rather cool morning left
behind in Edmonton. He managed
to get into a car that looked
one short step from the
wrecking yard and was passing
as a taxi. Arriving at the
Hotel Canada, he immediately
telephoned Dr. Di Marco,
his Italian intelligence
contact provided by CSIS.
Di Marco soon appeared with
an interpreter. The three
talked briefly about the
mission and Di Marco was
insistent that Paszkowski
provide full assurance to
him that he would keep to
himself the top international
secrets he would learn.
They had dinner together
that evening during which
little of substance was
said. Afterwards, Di Marco
handed Paszkowski a scrap
of paper on which was scribbled
a Rome address and a password
which would gain him access.
The
following morning at ten
o'clock, Paszkowski paused
outside an old, run-down
building. This was the address
Di Marco had given him.
He climbed to the third
floor and knocked on a door
with peeling paint. A man
answered and upon hearing
the password let him in.
He was greeted in English,
heavily-accented with German,
and led into a larger room
where a number of men were
already seated and smoking.
There were two Sikhs wearing
traditional turbans, another
pair who looked Italian,
Paszkowski and the German.
The latter chaired the meeting
and greeted them in English
as all of them spoke the
language with differing
levels of fluency. The German
spoke of the need for international
co-operation and how important
the mission was for each
of their respective governments.
He stressed that the group
must work closely together.
"Some of the tasks," he
said, "might appear strange
or even incomprehensible
to you. Don't worry about
that. Let it be the concern
of those who sent you here.
Your role is to carry out
orders to the letter without
asking questions." Everyone
sat quietly and listened
intently. "The job at hand
is with the use of explosives
to blow up an Air-India
plane in Europe. Lives will
be lost but we must not
think about that. There
are more important matters
involved. You will stay
in your hotels and wait
for further details, which
are presently being worked
on. Each of you will be
supplied with documents
allowing you to move freely
in Europe, weapons, explosives,
money, and detailed instructions.
I will meet with each of
you personally to supply
you with all of these. Wait
for me and be prepared for
action at any time."
The
German finished and asked
if there were any questions.
Nobody asked anything, so
the host declared the meeting
over and let them out one
by one a few minutes apart.
As
Paszkowski was returning
to his hotel, his mind was
full of what he had just
heard. He was to blow up
a plane and cause people
to die. He started to pull
all the threads together.
He remembered Maduck stressing
the government of Canada's
troubles with its Sikh community
and that it would be useful
to discredit Canadian Sikhs
generally. The Air India
catastrophe off Ireland,
which had killed more than
300 passengers, mostly Canadians,
had occurred the previous
year. Would this simultaneously
do a large favour for the
government of India and
subdue the Canadian Sikh
community as the prime suspects
in the Air India crash?
It seemed very clear that
high-ranking people in these
countries and probably others
were involved.
The
governments of Canada, India,
and Italy, or perhaps rogue
branches of each, acting
in concert, had decided
on this preposterous mission
and recruited agents like
himself to help carry it
out. There was no concern
for human life; only political
objectives mattered. There
were two Sikhs in the group,
but who knew their real
identity or from which side
they really came? There
were many other unknown
factors to know about the
mission, but Paszkowski
was certain he wanted none
of it.
He
wondered if Maduck or Beech
had known more about this
mission. Was it only the
Secretary of State, Joe
Clark, and high ranking
officials at CSIS who knew
the full details? It didn't
matter now. Paszkowski was
attempting in his mind to
find a way out of the situation
without jeopardizing his
personal safety. On one
hand, he had the SB after
him for becoming an agent
for CSIS; on the other,
he might well fetch a bullet
in the head by an unknown
assassin in Rome if he decided
to walk out on the whole
mission. He already knew
too much. If either of those
groups failed to stop him,
Interpol was always present
in the background to return
him to prison in West Germany.
That, he concluded quickly,
could also be his salvation.
He decided the safest place
for him in the bizarre circumstances
would be in a German jail
completing the sentence
for hijacking. But he had
to act promptly. The next
morning, after a sleepless
night, he found a public
payphone and called Rome
police headquarters. In
a muffled voice, he said,
"Ryszard Paszkowski, wanted
by Interpol, is staying
at the Canada Hotel, Room
252 in Rome, using the name
Robert Fisher. He is wanted
for hijacking a plane."
Knowing the slow moving
Italian police quite well,
he added the final thought
to give real urgency to
the matter.
He
returned to his hotel room
and waited. In the meantime,
Di Marco with his interpreter
came to check how he was
after the meeting a day
earlier. Paszkowski assured
him he was ready for the
mission. As they were talking
and sipping coffee in the
lobby, three men in plain
clothes rushed into the
hotel followed by several
uniformed policemen with
machine guns. After an exchange
with the receptionist, the
three approached Paszkowski
and Di Marco. One of them
asked Paszkowski, "Are you
Robert Fisher?" When Paszkowski
nodded, he produced a copy
of Paszkowski's photograph
and the arrest warrant issued
by Interpol. "You're not
Robert Fisher, you are Ryszard
Paszkowski who escaped from
a German prison and is now
being sought by Interpol."
Di Marco looked astounded.
Paszkowski attempted to
look devastated by this
disclosure, but was actually
delighted that he was about
to be arrested. Di Marco
tried to negotiate and produced
his own documents seeking
to avoid Paszkowski's arrest.
Fortunately, the others
weren't moved and the exchange
became heated. Eventually,
Paszkowski was handcuffed
and taken away by the police.
He was pleased for two reasons.
First, he was now safe.
Second, because of the well-known
principle of spy work, if
one of the participants
in a mission is apprehended,
the entire enterprise must
be cancelled because there
was no guarantee the person
wouldn't talk. Paszkowski
thought that in this case
lives might be saved. He
was ready for another chapter
in his life, finishing his
jail sentence in Germany.
However, he wasn't quite
ready for his immediate
future in the Italian jail.
I've never seen a jail like
this in my life. I could
keep my own clothes as other
inmates did, and I was allowed
to have all my luggage with
me. They assigned me to
a three-person cell. All
the cells were open throughout
the day and only locked
up at night. Every cell
had a bedroom, kitchen and
a bathroom. There was a
television set in the bedroom
and inmates could watch
T.V. all day and night if
they wished. We could buy
our own food and prepare
meals in our own kitchens.
We could also buy a litre
of wine and two cans of
beer daily. Not bad for
a prison!
Drugs
were easy to obtain. Even
in this prison, there was
a flourishing black market.
Yet, despite the conveniences
and privileges, the Rome
jail was a tough place ruled
by unwritten laws and jail-house
ethics. Frequently, the
body of some inmate was
taken out on a stretcher.
When I asked the Italian
inmates what happened, they
told me that another squealer
had been murdered.
By
the time the Italian bureaucracy
sorted out my extradition
papers to West Germany,
two months had passed. I
lived quite comfortably
in the Rome jail and even
made some friends among
the inmates. I made it a
point to keep my nose clean
and stay out of their business,
not wanting to leave the
place feet first.
A
month into my stay, I was
called to the administration
office where I was shown
into a private room. There
were several people already
there: Di Marco with an
interpreter, two men I hadn't
seen before, and the older
woman from the Canadian
embassy who had translated
all my conversations when
I first went there two years
previously. The interpreter
introduced the two men I
didn't know as CSIS employees.
Di Marco started to explain
something when one of the
men interrupted him and
said, "Have you talked to
anyone about your trip to
Rome from Canada?"
"No,
I haven't," I responded.
"Good.
We're sorry you ended up
in jail, Mr. Paszkowski.
The Italian police have
already informed West Germany
about your arrest and there
is nothing we can do to
get you out of jail now."
He told me to keep quiet
about the trip and why I
was in Rome. He assured
me that once I finished
doing my time in West Germany,
CSIS would do everything
they could to help me return
to Canada.
"You
really want to go back to
Canada, don't you?" he asked.
"Of
course, I do!"
"Then
keep your mouth shut and
don't talk to anybody about
the trip and we'll arrange
your return to Canada, most
likely with a new identity
and to a different part
of the country. Is it a
deal?"
"A
deal," I answered and turned
to leave the room. Di Marco
tried to stop me to explain
something, but I ignored
him. I didn't want to have
anything further to do with
him. I decided then to put
the Rome episode behind
me. I would never understand
why the Canadian government
would want to be involved
in a terrorist attack which
would certainly cost human
lives. It didn't sit well
with what I thought and
knew about Canadians. However,
I also knew the `brains'
at CSIS in Ottawa were the
architects of this latest
botched plan, and that explained
quite a bit.
I
wondered what Canadian politicians
who condemned terrorist
attacks worldwide would
say if they found out their
own security service was
planning to participate
in one. Anyway, it was over
now. I was pleased the Canadians
planned to get me back to
Canada eventually, and I
wasn't going to be left
to fend for myself.
How
little he knew!
The
same day Paszkowski was
arrested in Rom, August
18, 1986, Immigration headquarters
in Hull, Operations Branch,
sent a telex to the RCMP
Headquarters referring to
Robert Fisher and stating
that: "It has now been learned
that his real name is Ryszard
Paszkowski, born in Poland
on March 4, 1955." The note
asks for the RCMP's assistance
with furnishing documentary
evidence to the Passport
Office proving that fraudulent
means were used to obtain
his Canadian Certificate
of Identity so that the
document could be cancelled,
thus closing the door on
the possibility of Paszkowski's
return to Canada.
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