Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks

by Rafael Grugman

  I watched Gulya with admiration: what more was needed? There she was, a queen! Gulya!

  The queen unexpectedly made an un-queenly announcement: «I don't think that Saddam Hussein was connected with Al Qaeda.»

  «What made you decide that?»

  «They're personal enemies. Back during Iraq's invasion of Kuwait, bin Laden suggested dispatching thousands of mujahedin into the area to rout out Hussein.»

  «And Iran?»

  «The Shiites are in power there. Iran can't shelter bin Laden either, since he supported the Sunni Taliban in the battle with the Shiite 'Northern Alliance.' The Taliban were the only ones he maintained contact with.»

  «In that case, bin Laden is closer to Sunni Iraq. But the events of ninety-one testify to one thing: in the Arab world, anything is possible. Alliances and agreements work for one night.»

  «Silly,» she hugged me, «haven't you decided yet who will be the next president of Zimbabwe?»

  I thought of a note I'd written to Clark a while back, and kept silent. That ship had sailed.

  Gulya cooed, «Didn't you miss me? Have you behaved yourself? That's enough about politics-let's go into the bedroom. To me, it seems like you've forgotten all about me.»

  Strange, that we didn't begin with that. But perhaps I'm getting older? «The first thing, the first thing, is airplanes. Well, but girls? But girls-afterwards!» At the age of twenty, as I recall, the words of that rollicking song sounded different.

  THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND GNAWS HER ELBOWS

  The week of Gulya's leave flew by like one day. The flight to Baghdad loomed on the third of May. How long the assignment would last, Gulya didn't know. The original time span-three months-had been extended to six, and she hoped that at that point, her mission would be complete. In the first days of June, Gulya hoped to return to New York. If not even sooner.

  The war was over. The final touch was to arrest Saddam Hussein and his sons. Their heads carried a ridiculous price-the question of when they would be delivered on a plate, seemed to be only a matter of time.

  …On the second day after her arrival, I started fishing for information.

  «What are you doing? Isn't your work these days accompanied by a risk to your life?»

  «Don't be a bore. I'm on vacation,» Gulya waved me away.

  I became insistent. «It's not an idle question. I want to sleep in peace, being sure that you're safe.»

  «Well, okay,» she yielded. «I'll give an interview to my radio journalist colleague.»

  I didn't react to her humorous jab, but let her tell everything.

  «I do short bits of reporting for Azerbaijani television. I meet interesting people. If there's any information worth the CIA's attention, I share it. And that's all.»

  «Have you been seeing Aliyev?»

  «What, are you jealous?» she started laughing. «I don't like early-balding men. If Ilhan decides he wants to see me, he can turn on his television once a week. Or go to the American Embassy. They probably have my photograph there.

  She sensed the anxiety flitting across my face and tried to reassure me: «Don't worry, dear. It's less dangerous for me to work in the guise of a journalist from a Muslim country.»

  «I want us to get married before you leave for Baghdad. I'm not used to throwing words around. The word 'love' is so threadbare and hackneyed, repeated on different occasions, appropriately or for no particular reason. But I can't find an equivalent to replace it. I need you. I think about you, I'm full of the thought that you're daily risking your life, and I'm afraid of losing you. I flinch every time the phone rings, thinking it's from you. If that's not love, what is it?»

  «Don't be in a hurry. Wait until I get back. I'm willing, but I must discuss this step with the kids-.» The offended look that passed over my face caused her to speak her conviction-«They're not going to object. But in respectable homes, it's customary to let the grown children know.»

  «What's keeping you from talking with them now? Before you leave.»

  «I don't want to do anything in a hurry. You didn't make up your mind to propose to me for such a long time, went back and forth…Be patient, dear, I'll be back soon, and then we'll have a celebration.

  I was forced to agree, with one stipulation: «Have it your way. I forgot the ring at home,» I lied, «but tomorrow…I want you to put it on and for everyone to know that you're engaged…»

  She didn't let me finish speaking. «See, you didn't even prepare, and already you're offering your hand and heart-.» But then, so as not to hurt my feelings, she corrected herself: «Of course I'll put it on. What woman refuses a ring?»

  Smiling, I took Gulya by the hand and, with a mischievous, «Well, how does it look on me?» I took Gulya's ring and started measuring it on my finger.

  «Do you even know the size?»

  «Now I know,» I admitted honestly. «Tomorrow you'll be convinced of that…»

  Gulya started planning. «Of course we'll invite Lloyd to the wedding. After all, it was him that predicted it. Remember? Right before our trip to Paris.»

  I didn't object. The decision had been made. The English Queen had missed her chance. Now, let her bite her elbows. All the rest was details.

  DOROSHENKO'S RETURN

  The surveillance at the post office in Oceanside where Sophia had reserved the box led to unexpected results. The person that Sophia trusted to pick up her mail turned out to be Grisha Doroshenko, who had long since disappeared from my field of view.

  A whole eternity had passed since the moment when we parted in August of ninety-eight. Or, not to be dramatic-about five years. When she received the inconceivable inheritance, the endlessly growing pie (eat all you want and there's not a dent in it), Sophia magnanimously proposed that Grisha join her at the table. She promised him about ten thousand to make a fictitious marriage with a US citizen, which would allow him to obtain legal status in America. Plus, the millionairess agreed to compensate Grisha for damage to his morale-the wreck of his great dream. And, instead of a mythical hoard, to shell out entirely real money for the purchase of a gas station.

  He refused all of it. He said that that was not what he'd come to America for. And he drove off to Missouri once again.

  He was not like an adventurer, carried away by the search for buried treasure. On the very first day when he appeared in my Odessa apartment and told the story of Mazepa's will, Grisha announced: not a penny of the treasure he was seeking belonged to him-the gold of the Zaporozhian Sich, hidden by the Cossack atamans from the Russian tsars, must form the base for the flourishing of an independent Ukrainian nation. His altruism attracted me-you don't often meet a man with a pure soul and pure intentions.

  From what Grisha said, Tsar Peter the Great was the first to demand their treasury from the Zaporozhian Cossacks. After Hetman Mazepa switched his allegiance to Charles XII, the King of Sweden, the enraged Peter put out an edict regarding the liquidation of the Zaporozhian Sich.

  But the military leaders, not trusting their northern neighbor, even before the Tsar's edict had divided the treasury into three parts. When Peter demanded the Zaporozhians' gold, in order to fool the Tsar, they decided to sacrifice one part of the treasury. The leaders hoped that the two remaining ones would allow the Zaporozhets freemen to preserve their economic independence and begin life anew in a new location.

  Chernigov Colonel Pavlo Polubotok, who had sworn a loyalty oath to the Tsar for appearances' sake, left with a string of golden carts for Saint Petersburg, but, before he reached the capital, he pulled a sneaky trick. He went to the Tsar with gifts-honey, raw vodka, and beer; meanwhile he sent his sons with a cask of gold to Arkhangelsk. With the very first ship, the treasury went to London. Orlyk, the hetmans' scribe and author of the first Ukrainian constitution, was already there. With his assistance, Yakov, Polubotok's eldest son, put the gold in the East India Company's bank for safe-keeping. Pavlo Polubotok died in the Tsar's torture chambers, but never gave up the secret.

  More than two cen
turies later, the name of Polubotok came up again. In 1991, the Verkhovna Rada of the Ukraine asked a pertinent question of Leonid Kravchuk, President of the Ukraine. The former Second Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Ukraine told the deputies what he knew.

  In the fifties, an inquiry about the heirs of Colonel Polubotok came to the State Archive of the USSR from London. From Moscow, the letter was sent on to Kiev; the Kiev archivists punted it to their Chernigov colleagues, who threw up their hands in surprise: «We do not have the data at our disposal.» The answer was sent back to Great Britain. Nobody in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs got curious as to how come they were interested in some tsarist colonel in England. In 1960, they caught on. They made inquiries. In London on an official visit, Nikita Khrushchev demanded of the Finance Minister: «When will you return our treasure?» The other returned, with a sly smile, «What are you talking about?» Khrushchev quieted down. His advisers explained: in Western countries, without legal documents, a lawsuit regarding an inheritance would be groundless.

  The story intrigued me, and I became curious: «And what happened with the other two parts?»

  Grisha answered, «There are two versions.»

  I pricked up my ears-the unknown pages of history pouring from Grisha's lips took hold of me and kept me in my chair. Having found a willing listener, Grisha took fire and, inspired, began his story. It felt as though he had recited it more than once: his speech was smooth, without a hitch, almost bookish.

  «The death of Peter the Great and the succession of Anna Petrovna postponed the end of the Sich. In 1734, the Empress permitted the Zaporozhians who had fled from the Tsar to the Crimea, and, with the Khan's permission, established the Aleshkovskaya Sich, to return to their old lands; and, within eight versts of the ruined Chortomlytskaya Sich, to bring forth a new one, the Podpilenskaya. It lasted only briefly. After the crushing of the Crimean Khanate, the necessity for defense of the Empire's southern borders ceased to be. The fate of the Sich was sealed. And at that point, Catherine the Great, frightened by the Pugachev rebellion, decided to finally, Once and for all, liquidate Cossack self-rule. On August 5, 1755, she signed an edict for the liquidation of the Zaporozhian Host and the conversion of its members into peaceful peasants. The tsarist generals enforced it with fire and sword.»

  He narrowed his eyes craftily.

  «But not all the Zaporozhians wanted to bow their heads and renounce their status as freemen. The un-subjugated detachments divided into three groups. The three caravans went in different directions. To the South, where patrols had been set up, went the false load. As was expected, it was seized and sent to Saint Petersburg. In the presence of Catherine the Great, the tarred casks were opened. The Empress flew into a rage-what was presented to her gaze were rocks and sand from the Island of Khortytsia. Time had been gained. The second group safely broke through the cordon and escaped to Turkey. At the mouth of the Danube, they established the Danube Sich. The second part of the treasury had made it across the border.»

  Grisha broke into a proud smile.

  «And then?» I demanded a continuation.

  «The Danube Sich existed all the way up to the Russo-Turkish war of 1828. When the war began, a segment of the Zaporozhians decided to return to Russian citizenship. Out of them were composed the Danube and Azov Cossack Host. But the most uncompromising moved on farther. They thought to move to America, where, at that time, there was lots of free land. For the creation of the Missouri Sich, money was needed. To that end, the Cossacks carried along a treasury. The one we're looking for now.»

  «But you spoke of three groups,» I reminded him. «What happened to the third one?»

  «The third group headed East. The Cossacks planned to move across the Don to the Caspian, and from there to Persia; and on to new lands, to Australia or New Zealand; and, thanks to the treasury they had, found a new Sich.»

  Grisha sighed heavily.

  «Alas, their plans were not destined to come to pass. The Don Cossacks, yesterday's allies to the Zaporozhians, had, after the cruel suppression of the Pugachev rebellion, become loyal servants of the Empress. They captured the Zaporozhians and gave them into the hands of Catherine's generals. The caravan could go no farther. The Zaporozhians buried the casks in a dense tract of forest in the flood-lands of the River Temernik, and dispersed. Only a few hid themselves nearby to wait for better times. One of them was the young Cossack Simon. When the Armenians who were settled locally decided to build a church, he offered them his services. With Simon participating-he headed a brigade of church builders-the Armenian Surb-Hach Monastery was built. Right up until his death, Simon served there as a simple monk; and it was only when he died that the monks noticed a tattooed map on his back. They scrupulously copied it: not long before his end, Simon had made an urgent confession that he knew the secret of treasure beyond counting. They didn't have a chance to make use of the map-they became the victims of robbers who poured into the monastery. One generation was replaced by another. Thrill-seekers, bandits and adventurers-who didn't get fired up over the treasure hunt? At the beginning of the twentieth century, a shareholders' society was even formed in Rostov-on-the-Don, to carry on the search; but the Revolutionary whirlwinds carried both the shareholders and their map away into nonexistence. It's surprising-in spite of all the horrible tortures the captured Cossacks were submitted to, regardless of the fact that many atamans were tempted with treaties and went into the tsars' service, the secret of the Zaporozhian Sich's gold remained undiscovered. Not one part of the treasure fell into the hands of the tsar.»

  He pronounced the last words in a voice quivering with emotion. Tears glistened in his eyes. He didn't hide them, and gazed steadily at me-so, I imagined, might a cherub look at a confession. His sincerity disarmed me. I had no desire to argue, nor to object-I silently relived the tragic story with him – just a little embellished with time, but still not become romantic.

  I wanted to believe him, but doubts remained-for all its sincerity, the version about the Missouri Sich looked unconvincing. When it seemed to me that he had calmed down, I made an attempt to get him to change his mind.

  «Grisha, I won't argue,» I began cautiously, «Maybe the treasure exists even now, but I have doubts about the advisability of searching for it in America. Most likely it's hidden in the Ukraine. You yourself talked about the Island of Khortytsia and the Surb-Hach Monastery. Probably there are other places where it could be buried, too. For example, Baturyn, Mazepa's former capital. I won't insist, but remember your own words: 'Before Mazepa's departure to the Swedish king's camp, it was there that the hetmans' 'skarbnitsa' was kept. Then the treasury was moved to Velikie Budishchi, Charles the Twelfth's main headquarters. There it remained right up to the beginning of the Battle of Poltava.'»

  Grisha was silent and I took heart.

  «Maybe, all the same, Baturyn is the right place to look? It was not for nothing that, when Catherine revived the Hetmanship for Kirill Razumovsky, he settled in Baturyn and built a palace not far from the ruined hetman's fort, where he lived to the age of seventy-five. It was not for nothing that he chose Baturyn. Not for nothing.»

  Grisha grew thoughtful. I redoubled my efforts.

  «Yes, the hetmans' treasury existed. It's well known that even in exile, Mazepa loaned Charles two hundred thousand thalers. But forget about America…»

  Grisha flared up. The tears had vanished. With his former enthusiasm, he started gabbling: «This time, my presentiments will not deceive me. After the liquidation of the Danube Sich the Cossacks headed for America and carried the treasury of the Zaporozhians with them. The time has come to return it.»

  In the condition he was in, it was useless to disagree. I washed my hands of him-do what you will. Grisha made one more attempt to attract me to his cause, but once he was convinced that neither Sophia nor I would become his companion, in August of ninety-eight, he left for Missouri.

  Five years went by. There was no news of him, and, in spi
te of my former sympathy, I wasn't interested in him. He had behaved indecently: making use of my hospitality, he had made eyes-and, to all appearances, successfully-at my wife. That was enough to make me want to sever all memories of him.

  In life, anything can happen. Inseparable friends in high school and college. Settled down as married men-and a black cat has crossed their path. A love triangle, in which one of the angles is obtuse-it's painful to believe in betrayal-with its sharp ends stabs yesterday's friends in the throat, forever tearing asunder a heartfelt friendship. Treachery is unpredictable: before it, all are defenseless.

  And so it became clear that for all those years, they had been in contact. Not a pleasant discovery. Sophia, like a partisan, had kept mum, and had not once brought up his name during our meetings.

  Okay, what to do in the present situation? Interrogate Grisha? He would insist that he was taking care of Sophia's mail. What was illegal about that? I didn't want to speak with him myself-at such a moment, I would barely be able to control my fists.

  I shared my problem with Lloyd. He grinned, called in Sandy, and entrusted him with the task of studying Grigory Doroshenko's contacts.

  First off, Sandy decided to look into his computer. The intelligent machine instantly spat out a result: honest American taxpayer Grigory Doroshenko had filed a tax form for 2002 and indicated a Brooklyn address. He was the possessor of a driver's license-the main document used for identification-and an eight-cylinder 1997 Buick. What pretensions might a person have to being a law-abiding taxpayer?

  To the question, «Why was he getting Sophia's mail?» Grisha had the right not to answer. There was nothing criminal in that, if the deed was carried out according to mutual agreement.

  An additional search, and the computer gave us new information. In the fall of 2001, Grisha had married a former Kievan, now a citizen of the USA. Apparently she had not gotten on too well in American life; otherwise, she would not have settled on Coney Island at 30th West, in an area of public high-rises, inhabited primarily by Afro-Americans and emigrants from the CIS, who did not have the means to set up on the other side of Coney Island. In the prestigious area adjoining Kingsborough Community College.