"Sidetracked" - A New Book by Billy Mays

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SIDETRACKED - One Polish Town’s Unusual Secret to Success

     The Nazi’s, swinging their clubs and shooting anyone who resisted them had even taken a shot at Kazek as he tried to squeeze his way through the crowd to hug his father one last time. Kazek last saw his father waving his arms frantically with tears streaming from his face as he tried to find him and his wife in the crowd of women and children packed desperately close to the train to get last instructions from their men and say a final “I love you” to brothers, fathers, and husbands that would never be seen again.

…They had been caught hiding in the forest not long after the invasion in 1939 and had been branded as part of the underground resistance movement. Now they were gone. Kazek was the only boy left and last year his mother had died leaving him completely alone in Florynka.

* * * * *



     The railroad tracks where Kazek had last seen his father and brothers met the road about a mile out of town. At that point, there was a sidetrack about 500 meters long that paralleled the main track. Trains heading east would pull over to allow the westbound rail traffic by after having picked up speed on the curving decline coming into the Florynka Valley. The eastbound trains might arrive around 5 pm and hold their position on the sidetrack until 8 or 9 pm when the westbound freight trains or the occasionally re-routed passenger train from Kiev to Krakow would come through.

     Kazek knew the schedule well and had gotten used to seeing the freight trains sitting on the siding. Lately he had noticed a lot more Soviet locomotives and freight cars on the tracks. He could always tell the difference between the Polish and USSR trains by the elaborate Soviet red banners and hammer and sickle adorning the gleaming, shiny, black locomotives. They usually sat with steam drifting up from a dozen points on the undercarriage of the sinister-looking locomotive. The tall smoke stack in the front, also shiny black, would belch both smoke and soot in mushroom shaped clouds as the train would pull away from the sidetrack having waited for hours for the westbound train to pass.

     This train and locomotive were especially ornate. It reminded him of the newsreels he had seen of May Day in Moscow on Red Square as missiles and the mighty Soviet war machines, draped in red banners with all of the favorite socialist slogans, passed in front of the camera with waving crowds of people cheering and sometimes crying. There were no locks on the doors, and no conductors guarding whatever treasures were inside. Kazek could see that only a sleepy assistant engineer sat looking out of the rear of the crow’s nest high in the locomotive towards the back of the train.

     Tonight he sat in the dark watching the train and the assistant engineer nodding off in his perch.

     On this evening, though, he was not thinking about his father and brothers’ last goodbye, but about what he was about to do and how to do it without being seen.

The Spy at Majdanek

Excerpt from The Rare Earth Series, Volume One: On the Job Training - Berlin to Vladivostok    

     The soldier began getting louder repeating, “NO FOTO…NO FOTO…NO FOTO!!!!”

     He pointed at a large sign that had a camera crossed out and the word “NIE!” written above it. The soldier then motioned for Jim to step out of the car and pointed at the camera waving his arm and the AK-47 to get it and go with him. Gary and I started to get out of the car not sure if we were all supposed to go with them. The soldiers angrily motioned for us to stay in the car. Jim looked a little sick and told us that if he wasn’t back in a couple of hours to try to get a message to the American Consulate or Embassy. He also muttered that he hoped they would take the film and let him go. He was escorted off through the trees across the road and disappeared behind them.


     Gary and I nervously waited for several hours. I told him that I had heard the automatic shutter going wildly as he panned across the view of the soldiers and the road.

     Gary kept saying, “I knew something wasn’t right with him.”

     We tried to get out of the car several times to get a bit of a breeze to cool off but the soldiers stopped us every time.

     “Under fucking military arrest in martial law Poland…just wunnerful!” Gary lamented.

     After what had been about two hours, a group of four soldiers carrying their rifles came out from behind the trees across the street marching double-time in unison. They formally surrounded the car and opened the door yelling at us to follow them…and to do so immediately without delay. We were taken across the road to a small building with all sorts of red and white painted metal signs emblazoned on the side.



     Gary kept saying, “I love you, Mom! Whatever they say I did…I didn’t do it!”



     I remembered Gary’s line from the old Flip Wilson skit, “The Gorilla in the Cage” but wasn’t laughing about the situation we now found ourselves in.

The Rare Earth Series, Volume Three: Cash in Advance - CIA...My Life Among Spies and Black Marketeers

The author expands on the adventures of being an unwitting spy as well as the role he played in carrying out specific surveillance and courier operations. He details the collection of data by himself and other operatives and describes the publication of numerous papers for Radio Free Europe that became classified CIA documents.

The Rare Earth Series, Volume Two: Trading Dangerously - Import/Export and a Little Thievery

The Soviet-Bloc era black market economy is described by the author, a direct participant in numerous underground transactions. This tell-all tale depicts a ravaged Eastern European reality both before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the economic and political upheavals that rocked Central Europe in 1989-90. Two secret expeditions deep into Russian Siberia to recover strategic materials for the US Government highlight this tale of international intrigue.

The Rare Earth Series, Volume One: On the Job Training - Berlin to Vladivostok

This is the first volume of a four volume series documenting Billy Mays’ twenty years, 1983-2003, living in Central & Eastern Europe. A student turned unwitting spy through his work for Radio Free Europe, Billy’s adventures both before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall are described in a career that spans two decades from Soviet-bloc martial law Poland through the Klondike-like era following the Soviet Union’s collapse.


In the course of an amazingly successful career as a director for several multinational firms (including FEDEX) and as a corporate real estate executive, the author befriends world leaders, becomes engaged in spy networks, is immersed in black market trading, and has numerous brushes with death along the way.

This is a true account of unusual events as they occurred in Central Europe when both political and economic upheaval changed the region from Soviet control to European Union membership. The author’s sometimes unexpected role and participation in that transformation of the “New Europe” provides an entertaining backdrop as he personally pursues a career…quite literally…getting his training while on the job.

Running Through the (Mined) Forest

 An Excerpt from On the Job Training - Berlin to Vladivostok (Volume One of The Rare Earth Series)    

      There are silly memories from childhood that come to mind when I tell this story. I remember scenes from WWII movies of soldiers crawling through mine fields or gingerly snaking their way across enemy lines through mine infested areas. The images of carefully raked sand in the no-man's land of Berlin's Check-Point Charlie or in the forests somewhere in Nazi occupied Europe come to mind as this story plays out in the forests of Western Poland north of Poznan...somewhere near Pila.

      July 22nd, 1983 was the official end of martial law in Poland. Imposed by the regime of General Wojciech Jaruzelski, historians mostly agree that martial law may have been the better of evils when compared with a possible invasion by the Soviet Union in response to the wave of protests and open defiance of authority by the Solidarity trade union in Poland. My first trip to Poland came during this event. I was with a group of Economists and other academics being hauled around the country for lectures, meetings, and debates on Economic Reforms in the country.

...As I got closer, I realized that there were some rather large dark bulky shapes at the edge of the tree line and some smoke coming up from one of them. I thought it might be a small farm house or shack. As I focused on these bulky shapes, I suddenly realized in a panic that they were tanks. There were also soldiers standing around them and I was close enough to begin hearing their voices. Russian was being spoken. I slowed to a jog and stopped behind a tree but made a loud cracking noise as I stepped on and broke a larger dried branch during my abrupt stop.

     A group of about five of the soldiers stood up and looked in my direction. I decided it was best not to hide. I exposed myself and raised my hands to them. Their surprise was evident. Some were standing with their mouth open looking at me. One of the guys started asking me questions quickly in Russian. Obviously upset that I was there, he seemed to be trying to figure out what the hell I was doing. He noticed my colorful Nike running shoes, shorts and tank top and the whole group laughed as he said to them something related to me being an athlete or related to sport. He gestured at my shoes and clothing. I had not said a word yet and waited for instructions from them.

     They waved me to come closer to them. At that point I said, “Do you speak English? I don’t speak Russian.” That caught them a bit off guard and one fellow radioed something to another location…obviously telling someone that they had found me. The one Russian that seemed in charge told me to stay put. He spoke in a mix of Russian and Polish using words that I understood like, “Stay”, “Stay here”, “Don’t move”, “Wait”.

...A Russian jeep came across the field bouncing across fallow rows of former corn, rye or wheat, and pulled up alongside of us. I was now standing with the soldiers, surrounded on all sides. They were talking about my clothing and asking if I had any documents with me. I had taken no ID with me and did not feel good at all about my situation. The arriving group stepped out of the “jeep” and asked “where is this foreigner you have found”. He walked up to me within a few feet and started laughing under his breath then asked if I spoke German or English. I said only a little German and English better. He seemed relieved. After taking a few drags off of a short cigarette, he coughs "What the bloody hell are you doing running through a mine field?!" almost in a yell at me.

My legs started to shake.

Getting Stabbed in Helsinki

Excerpt from On the Job Training - Berlin to Vladivostok (Volume One of The Rare Earth Series)


     The delegation from RR Donnelley, six of us invited from Poland to Finland in 1994 by the Myllykoski paper company, were being treated to a grand Mexican-style dinner at the Zetor Restaurant in Helsinki. We had already been treated royally for a couple of days by our immensely hospitable hosts and executives of the company. Juha's fun-loving, boisterous, and almost child-like play had us in stitches all night. His hilarious imitation of what he called a "Stukka Pilot" came out more than a dozen times as the flaming tequilas and vodka poured alongside our bottomless Corona buckets delivered to the table.
    
    
     Jussi, a bit more reserved and making an effort to balance Juha's wrecklessness, steered the discussion from time to time back to business. Jacek, the Manufacturing Manager from RRD, equally entertaining in his ability to keep a crowd in stitches, contributed to the growing energy level with his innate joke telling abilities, his singing, and his almost competitive zeal to drive the atmosphere to a frenzy. This table of 12 young Polish and Finnish business people had pretty much taken over the crowded restaurant in central Helsinki and the festive atmosphere had pulled in other folks from other tables in the crowd.


     ...It was loud in the restaurant and the Donnelley fiesta was still in full swing. What this guy had said to me took a few seconds to sink in and crowds of people had begun to form behind us and around the table. Surveying the situation, and not knowing if what I had heard really reflected his intentions or the danger he said I was in, a sense of helplessness came over me....     At that moment, he grabbed my arm with his free hand, stood up, almost lifting me along with him, smiled to everyone else at the table, and said, "Your friend and I are going to see what's going on at the disco!" The way he was holding his other hand in the coat pocket, I guessed that he had some kind of weapon he was planning on using. I assumed a knife.

    
     He powerfully pulled me through the crowd toward the pulsating music of the disco one floor below. Some of the Donnelley folks were following us. Juha was doing his Stukka Pilot imitation and I wished I could get Juha closer to us. His near two meter height and imposing frame, I thought, might discourage this guy from acting out his plan. The Donnelley folks veered off and I was left with this guy in the crowd.


     I started seeing white, afraid I was going to die in a pool of blood here in a Helsinki disco.

Speaking of the CIA, whatever happened to...?

Excerpt from Volume One of The Rare Earth Series:  On the Job Training - Berlin to Vladivostok


     The Blue Moon Tavern in Seattle was a frequent watering hole of mine in the years leading up to my departure for Poland in 1983 and before I left for good in 1985. Working at the College Inn Pub in 1982-83, the Blue Moon was on the way home and always made sense for an after work brew. It is a bit of a dirty, hippie era wanna be, throw-back to the Sixties' search for anarchy and a place to find other mad people that know none of the dreams will ever come true. Having said that, some of the brightest minds at the University of Washington called it home and there were even graduate seminars and colloquia held over endless pints of ale and Pabst Blue Ribbon. The Classics Department often met there in the evenings and "Deus nobis haec otia fecit" was practiced regularly. The tenured professors, mad Grad Students, a few talented undergrads, and other colorful characters - some homeless and some just homely - mixed for spirited conversation, all welcome at the Blue Moon.

     One such larger than life character was a Russian fellow by the name of Ross Lavroff. Whenever he was in, Ross always sat at the bar in the early and late afternoons holding court with whomever might be in that day. We was mostly friendly, had lots of stories to tell, was quite big, dark, and always wore a dark yachting cap. My interest in Ross grew one day as I heard him tell someone that he had been the Russian - English translator for the capsule communicator in Houston during the 1975 Apollo Soyuz mission. He started to show interest in me when he found out that I was traveling behind the Iron Curtain to Poland and seemingly doing this with ease. He was also interested in finding out if my Polish was good enough to look at some translations he was doing. The fact that this Russian was doing Polish-English translations got me interested in finding out more.

     What I found out and what he showed me on his house boat down on Portage Bay one evening was my first contact with the workings of the CIA.

Satellite Dish Antennas from the Ukraine -

Excerpt from: The Rare Earth Series, Volume Two: Trading Dangerously - Import-Export and a Little Thievery


     Some of my dealings in the grey market and black market of the pre and post Berlin Wall Fall era in Eastern Europe have already been described in some detail. This story describes my last trip to the former Soviet Union to do a deal.

     In what should have been a simple transaction between a small Polish trading company and a Ukrainian state satellite dish manufacturer in 1993, my trip to the Ukraine to carry out the purchase gets complicated. Sexual escapades in the train(not my own but I was strangely involved, nonetheless), a near diplomatic row with Ukrainian border guards, missing my contact in Ternopol, and a drunken factory director made this business trip quite memorable. It ends with a hospital stay in Przemysl as I barely make it back to Poland alive, poisoned by methyl alcohol during a party to celebrate inking the transaction. Other parts of this story include a near kidnapping, a rape, and garlic mashed potatoes - the only food I ate for ten days.

     The goods to be bought and sold in the West, six foot diameter satellite dish antennas used to monitor Western television transmissions from countries surrounding the vast Soviet Union, looked more like huge woks made for a big chinese stir fry party. What we found in the factory and what happened during our visit will also be described.

The Russian Trains Leaving Berlin for Moscow

An American businessman in Central Europe during the 1990's would have never trusted his ex-pat salary to the banks of the post-Soviet Bloc era countries. In fact, most were having their money deposited in so-called offshore accounts in Switzerland, Luxembourg, Cypress, the Cayman Islands and other tax havens that were, at the time, untouchable by the IRS and other tax authorities. The idea of "going offshore" and trusting money to an island country or a place where I didn't speak the language scared me enough that I decided to open a Deutsche Bank account in Berlin and deal with money affairs in a place that was more familiar to me. I made monthly trips to Berlin from Krakow and Warsaw to deal with banking affairs and shop for goods unavailable in Poland during both my FEDEX days and while working for RR Donnelley. Such trips were never without incident and provide an almost surrealistic vision of what the fall of Communism created in Central Europe.

Warsaw...the Akwarium

Excerpt from The Rare Earth Series, Volume One:  On the Job Training - Berlin to Vladivostok



     Reportedly owned and operated by a policeman but, more likely, by a member of the Polish National Security, the KGB basically, information about everything that was happening in Warsaw could be gotten and everything could be arranged at the Akwarium...especially if you made the right friends from the crowd that frequented it. The Akwarium was literally in the parking lot and across the street from the Palace of Culture, and was such a hotbed of information ranging from where the latest shipment of Western washing machines would be coming in to where the next Solidarity protest was going to be held.

     The Akwarium was one of those scary places that couldn't be categorized alone as a place where the militiamen hung out but also had their arch enemies and cohorts in crime hanging out planning their next "numer stulecia". Unable at the time to understand that they were all in it together - the anarchic mix of Solidarity, anti-Solidarity, economic and political strife ridden landscape, with a little bit of the Klondike and Old West thrown in for good measure - I generally steered myself clear of places like the Akwarium except to enjoy one of those great shish kabobs, a salad, fries, and few beers when it was available. I saw my environs and world in a very black and white way.  There were good Solidarity Freedom Fighters and victims of Eastern European Soviet hegemony waging war against General Jaruzelski and his gang. There were KGB, SB, and UB agents waging a cultural and political war against the West and western influences in the country. And there were students and thought leaders fighting for free thought and education against the forces that were holding on to an already antiquated way of thinking coming from the East.


     The Akwarium welcomed all.

    
     One other secret during the martial law years and afterward that I found out much later, around the time of the Kennedy Family visit, was that Marines assigned to guarding the American Embassy considered the Akwarium their own and would frequent it in plain clothes garb together with the CIA staff at the Embassy. (This was one reason why I took the Kennedy Family to the Akwarium frequently during their visit.)