Calder seemed dubious. “Why shouldn’t it just ... what if it just showed up in a box at the embassy?”
The response was a blunt warning. “Mr. Calder, the reappearance would trigger a manhunt of unprecedented proportions – and possibly disrupt a longstanding and delicately balanced relationship between the Russians and the other party.”
Calder blinked several times before he asked, “Wouldn’t they just be happy to have the damn thing back?”
Kirkland paused again in thought, wondering what a full explanation might lead to then decided to trust his new client implicitly. “Were it just that one piece, yes perhaps ... but as I said, it’s not.”
“Oh, shit ... I hadn’t thought of that,” Calder said in almost a whisper. “If one shows up that means somebody might know where the others are.”
“Exactly,” Kirkland said emphatically. “And ... it also indicates that someone else ... worse yet, an unknown someone may know about the copies.”
Calder groaned quietly and seemed to stare at the surface of his desk.
Kirkland’s suspicions were growing even as he decided to confide in the obviously troubled executive; clearly nothing in the man’s vast business experience had prepared him for what he was wrestling with. “Mr. Calder—”
A raised hand and a surprising smile were accompanied by a friendly suggestion. “Like the song says, ‘you can call me Al,’ please – nobody around here calls me Mister. And El’s the only one who calls me Alex and only when I’m in deep shit. And right now I think she’s going to be calling me Alex a lot.”
Kirkland grinned back. “Very well ... I’ll try to get used to that. So ... with the Russians it’s like dancing with elephants in a small room – one has to be vigilant and agile. It’s very political. Yeltsin just signed an agreement with NATO ... that was not considered appropriate by some in the power structure. So for you, for this, it very much depends on who knows the truth. A faction that suddenly recovers the real pendant might want to expose the conspiracy of another – if there was one ... one they can somehow prove exists. That unlocks a Pandora’s Box that may include not only political gamesmanship but more likely, achieving a position of considerable economic advantage.”
Calder didn’t react other than to turn his head toward the windows and look out into the gray sky over Houston. After a few moments he closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Shit,” he whispered again then said reflectively, “Past and to come seem best; things present worst.”
It took Kirkland a few seconds to interpret what he had heard then he began, “Shakespeare ... ah ... I can’t recall it.”
“Henry ... the fourth ... the second one ... things were not going well for the rebels,” Calder said almost distractedly, picking up a pen and twirling it through his fingers then clicking it a few times.
Instead of blatantly asking his client for the whole story, Kirkland expanded on the details of the Russian situation, finishing with what could only be construed as a warning: “In order to preserve your safety and the safety of those having anything to do with it coming into your possession, I can offer my services as an escrow agent to deal with those parties ... at arms’ length to you.”
Calder’s gaze turned from the window toward Kirkland and he squinted slightly. “They must really trust you.”
“They do. I wouldn’t be in business if they didn’t. The fact is I probably wouldn’t be alive.”
Calder cleared his throat and reached toward the cup of coffee on the desk and discovered it was cold. He scowled and set it back down and looked at his watch. “Whew ... I need something to drink ... you? Water? Coke? Anything?” he asked as he swiveled the chair and reached over to a cabinet that opened to reveal a small, well-stocked refrigerator. “What’s your poison?”
“Perrier, please,” Kirkland answered, gesturing at the familiar green bottles.
“Got it.”
“Perfect, thank you,” Kirkland said. “I don’t need a glass.”
Calder passed the bottle across then opened his own and gulped down nearly half of it. After taking a deep breath and letting it out he asked, “So, you deal in stolen artifacts?”
Kirkland sympathized with the flawed assessment. “Deal with, yes, rarely ... deal in, never,” he advised.
“No offense,” Calder said dejectedly. “This is new ground for me.”
“None taken,” Kirkland said then took a drink. “The public doesn’t realize it but many thefts are never reported, especially from private parties. Nor are recoveries.” He watched his client’s reaction and added, “There exists a very, very black market ... from which the authorities are excluded ... although they try to exert influence it has its own protocols and rules of engagement.”
The more Calder heard the more uncomfortable he became about the position his mother’s past had put them all in but he wasn’t prepared to delve into that facet of what could now be deemed a looming calamity. “So the bad guys get a pass if things are kept quiet?”
There was a pause while Kirkland held his breath as if he were going to say something but had changed his mind. After another moment he reluctantly agreed with Calder’s assessment. “Admittedly, that does happen. The actual market for authentic pieces such as that is incredibly small. In some respects it’s a self-policing business.”
When the look on Calder’s face shifted further toward unease Kirkland added, “There are such things as possessions with value beyond the understanding of people who do not own them. Call it pride ... fetishism, even xenophobia with certain historical items.”
After another drink Calder nodded. “As King Henry would also say, ‘men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is’.”
Kirkland smiled in agreement. “True. There is also the fact we are in a world with varying degrees of law enforcement efficacy ... not to mention judicial reach. Integrity is not a universally-held credo. And then there are people willing to steal something worth millions just to get a few thousand dollars from a prearranged transaction. Men like Myles Connor love art but get a thrill out of being a criminal. But, most of them steal to get money from the insurers.”
Calder leaned back in the chair again and his mind raced. Having dealt with the vagaries of justice on multiple continents in the intellectual property battles so common to the technology industry, he was beginning to develop a clearer view of the world Kirkland worked in and what he was alluding to. It didn’t make him any more comfortable to think there was a set of behind-the-scenes channels and operatives beyond the reach of the law and he felt as if he had been hijacked into an underworld that hadn’t yet been outed as part of popular culture. “We have our black hats and white hats in this business too,” he said.
“An apt analogy.”
Focusing now on his own family’s predicament with more thorough understanding of the risks, Calder decided to rely on Kirkland’s obvious expertise. “Barton holds you in very high regard,” he said, remembering what the attorney had told him: ‘Nobody’s going to challenge his opinions for very long’.
“I believe we are wearing the white hats,” Kirkland suggested.
“And the other party?”
Kirkland took another drink then scowled, tilted his head in thought then leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “Things have changed over the years. Ah, I guess you would say the U.S. government sees them as indispensible black hats. The Russians see them as both. How much do you know about the De Beers operation?”
After shrugging and frowning slightly Calder said, “Well ... Oppenheimer ... and I guess, diamonds.” He leaned forward, rested his forearms on the desk and picked at the paper label on the green bottle as he remembered something. “And an anti-trust case that will probably put GE’s lawyers’ kids through Harvard law ... that’s about it. Other than we’ve all paid way too much for diamonds over the years ... why would they be interested in it?”
CHAPTER 9
USSR, September, 1942
The overcast weath
er above the Smolnya aerodrome had become an advantage for the mission pilots rather than an impediment. To the west, the Luftwaffe was effectively blocked from sending their aircraft below the cloud layer that hovered low over Leningrad.
After being briefed privately by General Krylov, Major Kovpak took the packets of mission orders and personally conducted three separate and more detailed briefings with the other leads. They, in turn, would brief their element pilots but only in the minutes before launch, which would take place at almost any time the order came down.
None of the missions were operationally difficult, Kovpak realized. They appeared more tedious than dangerous as long as the leads navigated reasonably well and the pilots maintained rigorous monitoring of fuel consumption, which necessitated attention to not only power settings but the trim controls. The way he saw it, without mechanical or supply complications they would all be in Tehran in a matter of two or three days at most. Contact with the Luftwaffe or a radical change in the en route weather were the only risks and those he considered highly unlikely.
Element number three, led by Captain Yuri Kozhedub launched first at 0645 with the objective of reaching Kotlas, some 900 kilometers east. After refueling, he led them further east then turned southeast to Ufa on a leg of 1,100 kilometers. The flight from there to the remote aerodrome at Aqtobe was shorter, only 700 kilometers and they arrived without incident well before dark on the first day to an enthusiastic but small, secluded reception.
Captain Vladmir Bochkov’s element number two launched at 0715, flying 600 kilometers on a more northerly route to Plesty. Only minutes after their departure on the next nearly 1,100 kilometer leg southeast to Izhevsk, one of the escort pilots simply fell back without reporting any difficulty and returned to the field. Unable to reach the plane on the radio, Bochkov ordered a return to ascertain what had happened. After repairs to the stricken plane’s radio were completed they resumed the mission the following morning, arriving in Urgench late in the afternoon.
On the second day, Captain Boris Kuznetskov led his element number four out of Leningrad at 0700, flying 600 and fifty kilometers to Velsk where one of his wingmen arrived with a severely overheated engine that seized shortly after landing and was deemed unrepairable. The two remaining planes flew the 800 kilometers to Izhevsk and successfully continued to Aqtobe, where they were pleased to learn of the success of the previous two elements.
Kovpak next led element number one into the air at 0730 and arrived without incident in Veliky Ustyug. After some minor hydraulic repairs on one of the escorts, they departed no more than an hour late, heading due east then eventually turning south to the aerodrome near Ufa. But instead of being able to continue to Aqtobe, Kovpak’s aircraft developed a propeller problem while warming up that could not be resolved by the mechanic at the aerodrome. After consulting with the Bell Aircraft advisors in Moscow, a decision was made to remove the required propeller parts from the stranded plane in Velsk and have them flown to Ufa.
Finally, a full two days behind schedule, Kovpak and his two escorts left Ufa in perfectly clear weather on their way to Aqtobe, skirting the snow-covered western slopes of the Urals with Mount Yamantaw in full view to their left. By then, the other elements had already arrived at Tehran, minus one more escort that experienced generator problems and diverted to what was thought to be an aerodrome at Nukus.
Even before Kovpak leveled off at 3,300 meters he was already confident the mission objectives would be accomplished. Now all they had to do was ferry three airplanes to Tehran with two stops along the way.
- # -
The pilot of the long-range Messerschmitt bf-110 reconnaissance plane was paying close attention to the engine power settings and his range calculations. They were very close to the turn-around point of their photographic mission over the railroad marshalling yards near Ufa and he had no desire to wind up dealing with a fuel shortage while returning to the safety of Luftwaffe-dominated airspace.
Radio communication with the other two similar planes in the spread formation was forbidden. As mission commander it was his call on when to return and he had to balance his technical prowess with the egos of the other two under his command; turning back too early or too late had differing sets consequences – all of them bad.
The almost nonchalant alert came to him from his crewman, not from one of the other planes. “Three aircraft, Oberleutnant. Far below ... four o’clock, at least a kilometer south.”
“Altitude?” the pilot ordered, unable to see in that area because of the wing.
“I make them above three thousand meters. Heading appears to be one eight zero. It was just three very quick sun flashes then I could make them out against the snow.”
The aging bf-110 he was piloting had been relegated to reconnaissance missions in the war against the Soviets but those who had flown the type in combat were more than familiar with what it could accomplish, especially in a surprise attack.
“Just three?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Try to find them again,” he ordered, maintaining their heading to assure photographs of the mission objective some 5,000 meters below them would be obtained. “I doubt they’ve seen us.”
Less than a minute after passing the designated objective with the cameras running, the pilot pushed the throttles forward and banked the plane sharply to the right. “Are they following?” he asked over the increasing noise.
The crewman leaned into the motion and tried to see if the other two planes in their formation had seen the lead aircraft make the abrupt turn. “Yes, sir,” he answered.
“We can descend and gain on them without wasting fuel,” the Oberleutnant said somewhat arrogantly. “We can return with more than the mission film.” The difficulty of course was finding the three small planes his gunner had seen a flash of sunlight reflect off of. The winter conditions were to their advantage; apparently the planes were not camouflaged in white.
The crewman felt a sense of dread and he almost regretted reporting the sighting. Altitude was one of the things that had kept him and many other Luftwaffe crewmen and officers alive in the war thus far but questioning a superior officer’s decisions during a mission was an admission of cowardice. He swiveled to face forward and scanned the area ahead.
The leader of the recon formation felt confident that with the three of them and the element of surprise, downing at least one, perhaps even two of the Soviets would be simple and quick. This far to the east, the Russians were unlikely to be expecting an enemy and he doubted they would be experienced pilots. Probably a training mission, he considered.
As the Germans descended rapidly in the direction of their anticipated intercept point, one of Kovpak’s wingmen spotted the planes and reported by radio. Kovpak calmly clicked on the radio link twice, ordering them to execute their planned engagement tactics, gritting his teeth that his orders did not permit him to turn and join in the fight. Instead, he advanced the controls and entered a shallow dive to gain airspeed. Unbelievable! I’m running away from a fight!
Suddenly the scattered bf-110 pilots found themselves trying to regain their advantage of surprise as two planes they had never seen before had rounded wide but rapid horizontal turns that put them in ideal firing position to the sides of the bigger planes. The thumps of cannon fire startled the rear gunner of the lead plane and he saw bits and pieces of one of the bf-110s break away at about the same moment a thin stream of smoke appeared from one of the other plane’s engines. As he tried to bring his machine gun to bear on one of the planes flashing across his line of sight to the rear he heard heavy bullets slam into the canopy and bore somewhere into the fuselage ahead of him.
The would-be dogfight did not last long and like many aerial engagements it ended before anyone was actually destroyed. The Luftwaffe Oberleutnant understood not only their fuel situation but the importance of the film in the cameras his planes carried; as long as they returned, his failed attempt to gain another score against the enemy would be
heralded as a valiant effort. With one of his aircraft experiencing engine trouble and another with part of a rudder shot away and carrying bullets somewhere in his own plane they continued the shallow dive to maintain momentum and veered west at maximum speed. To his surprise and relief, the two unidentifiable Soviet fighters didn’t follow; what he couldn’t have known was they had been ordered not to pursue enemy planes if the attack was broken off.
Kovpak was about to succumb to his fighter pilot instincts and join his men but the voice he recognized over the radio stopped him. “They have turned west,” he heard and he immediately slowed significantly to let the two escorts overtake him. He searched the sky to his rear to see if he could find them and after a couple of minutes became alarmed to see a stream of what looked like glycol vapor trailing behind one of his wingmen. The voice in his headset from the pilot sounded surprisingly calm. “I must have taken a hit in the propeller. The vibration is severe above nineteen hundred RPM.”
Kovpak did some quick estimation and made a decision to save the pilot and the plane – after all it was quite likely three of the element leaders were already in Tehran. He consulted his chart and scanned the bright, snow-covered terrain to determine their location. “Can you return to base?” Kovpak asked. After a moment or two the affirmative answer sounded confident enough that Kovpak calmly said, “You are also leaking coolant. Return at once. And good luck to you, Vasili.” He swiveled his gaze to find the other plane. “Number two, your status?” he called.
“Overtaking you. One kilometer directly behind and approximately five hundred meters above. No damage to report. We made only one pass. We both had hits. They ran away like kicked dogs.”
That must have been quite a surprise, Kovpak mused.
The other plane pulled gradually into formation next to him and slightly behind then followed closely as Kovpak began a turn eastward. The encounter with the Nazi’s this far to the east had alarmed him – he wanted additional space and fortunately, the number two pilot had made the mistake of not dropping his external fuel tank and they both could afford the slight extra distance.
Iron Dogs and Caesar's Ruby Page 12