Near the tiny town of Tolparovo, some fifty kilometers east of their planned route, he gradually swung southward again and they settled into the routine of scanning the sky for other planes. With the twisting White River below them, Kovpak suddenly noticed Lt. Mikhail Vitolkin’s plane losing speed and falling behind. “Your status, number two?” he radioed. The message that came back was alarming to say the least.
“It stalled! I had to switch fuel tanks. I must have been hit!”
Kovpak cursed and dropped airspeed and altitude to observe. From below he could see the damage to the wing area and the streak the exiting fuel had left on the underside. Knowing the airplane’s systems configuration in detail he realized a bullet must have found a fuel line and he quickly determined that with only half the normal fuel available his remaining escort was about to be forced out of the mission. Again he consulted his chart but decided to wait until the pilot of the other plane had things fully under control before asking him any questions.
Vitolkin’s plane soon picked up speed as the engine regained power and Kovpak radioed, “The nearest field is Salavat. Ninety kilometers due west. Ufa is one hundred and sixty kilometers. I leave it to you to choose but I recommend Ufa if fuel allows. You can have repairs made and I will arrange for charts to be sent.” After a few moments he added, “You and Vasili can join me at your earliest opportunity.”
“What is the heading to Ufa?” Vitolkin responded quickly.
Kovpak had already calculated it for him. “One five seven. Good luck to you, Mikhail.”
As the plane banked away sharply Kovpak heard, “To you as well, Major.”
Now just over an hour from Aqtobe, Kovpak again settled into the routine. Krylov must be pleased, he thought to himself. Even Stalin must be pleased. He began to consider what his career would be like in the future: A Colonel’s station in an elite training command. The opportunity to instruct appealed to him even though he knew he would have few hours to be personally involved in honing the fighter pilots’ skills from a cockpit.
As this mission was now drawing to a close he reminded himself of how fortunate he had been to have General Krylov as a mentor, but as he was dwelling on what life was going to be like, he suddenly became all-too-close to losing his own.
CHAPTER 10
Houston, Texas, Thursday, May 22, 1997
Kirkland took a deep breath as he pondered how his new client might react to what he was about to reveal about the De Beers cartel and Russian history. “Under the present circumstances you need to know more than I would ordinarily reveal ... and, bear with me, some of this will run contrary to what you may know of history,” he warned.
“Somehow I’m beginning to doubt a lot of things,” Calder said dolefully.
“Well, you obviously know something of World War Two,” he began, gesturing toward the huge aircraft models hanging above them and some of the pictures on the walls that showed Calder in the cockpit of several fighter planes from the ‘40s, “so, this may interest you more than it would the average antique jewelry collector.”
Calder huffed slightly as he shook his head then offered a correction. “Jewelry? The only things I collect nowadays are parts for old planes. Know anybody with a set of drums and brakes for a Curtiss P‑40?” he asked sarcastically. “I can make you a helluva trade for some Allison connecting rods.”
A bewildered Kirkland shook his head. “That’s not a market I know anything about.”
“It’s not like you can go down to the auto parts store,” Calder said instructively.
Kirkland nodded in understanding. “Ah, I would imagine ... scarcity is an inherent factor in value.”
With a knowing nod Calder agreed. “With people, too. Just ask my HR folks and my CFO ... I’ve got twenty-somethings around here driving Beemers.”
“Highly specialized knowledge I assume.”
“Very,” Calder said grudgingly.
“Speaking of specialization ... do you know anything about diamond mining?”
It was Calder’s turn to look bewildered. “Uh uh. Not much ... from what I hear it’s not a job I’d want.”
Kirkland set his drink on a coaster on the table between the chairs. “Very highly specialized geologic science,” he said then relaxed in the chair somewhat and began to relate the secrets of the Soviets dealings with the De Beers cartel.
Contrary to the commonly accepted Soviet version of the 1955 Siberian discoveries, very early in 1941 the cartel’s contracted experts had identified a handful of prospective areas among those the Soviet geologists had suspected were similar in structure to parts of South Africa. They were confident those locations would be viable for further exploration – exactly how viable and exactly where was a secret they kept as they bargained with the Kremlin. De Beers was even willing to pay the Soviets to let them bring their expertise and technology to bear on finding and mining diamonds and then moving the gem-quality ones to market on an exclusive basis.
Stalin and his ministry officers knew having the cartel’s expertise and involvement would shorten the time not only to the realization of massive revenues but to meet the growing demand for industrial diamonds by several years if not decades. To maintain secrecy as well as control of the diamond market was crucial – he saw the diamond industry as a way to secretly fund the creation of even larger armies. With Japan menacing China and with the Nazis on the move in Europe, time was of the essence; the Soviet Union needed to quickly establish sources of new, state-controlled and especially fungible assets as well as diamonds for industrial purposes while there was still time.
Negotiations had been underway for several months when Hitler invaded and the situation in the Soviet Union deteriorated rapidly. The Nazi’s rapid advances and the obvious Russian military failures alarmed the cartel – they were rightfully concerned the Soviets might lose the war and they’d wind up abandoning everything in Russia to Hitler.
Given the Oppenheimer family’s Jewish background and sympathies, for the cartel to be faced with seeing the Nazis become aware of diamond mines in Russia was unthinkable.
In September of 1941, the senior cartel representative warned the Soviet Minister of Finance that the De Beers operation would not put up the required £100 million in gold and currency for the production and marketing rights while facing the risk of seeing that investment and the diamond resources it would secure simply fall into the hands of Adolph Hitler. They demanded a delay until the outcome of the war could be better ascertained.
Stalin was furious but could do nothing. Then in January of 1942, even more desperate for war materiel, he proposed a solution to the stalemate. In order to preserve the arrangement and as a guarantee that the Soviet Union would prevail, he offered a portion of the Romanov treasure to be delivered to and held by the cartel as £100 million in collateral that would be recovered over time once diamond production got underway. The cartel soon agreed as long as the collateral included only gemstones and jewelry; they were not interested in artwork or other historical artifacts.
Stalin and his Minister of Finance conceived an elaborate subterfuge to produce replacement duplicates of the historic pieces to conceal that fact that the treasures were going to be sent to the cartel. This was done under the guise of being prepared to confound the Nazis if they did somehow prevail but it also helped conceal the fact that the treasure was no longer in the possession of the Ministry. The seemingly outlandish idea gained credence and accelerated rapidly when one of the Minister’s closest advisors reported that many of the surviving craftsmen and artisans from the height of the Russian Fabergé era were still living in Leningrad – thus, there was a local, albeit aging source of the kinds of skills and talents required to accomplish the task in the shortest possible time.
Secret orders—no more peculiar than some of the others that had emanated directly from the Kremlin—were rapidly issued to round up surviving artisans and craftsmen and put them to work. With the production arranged, Stalin handed the delivery and
security aspects to one of his most trusted generals and sometime in the fall of 1942 the cargo was secreted out of the country via multiple aircraft. In the end the incredibly complex mission was mostly successful with the exception that some of the cargo failed to reach the delivery point and apparently vanished.
After hearing the story Calder immediately understood. “And this,” he said as he gestured toward the drawer, “this ... it was one of those missing pieces.”
Kirkland nodded slowly. “Apparently so. But, understand, until now, I considered the story of the missing pieces to be perhaps as much myth as fact. Needless to say the Kremlin hasn’t let an outside expert examine the collections over the years.”
“That helps explain why the Russians were so pissed last night ... you might reveal their secret ... or the real secret behind the secret.”
“Possibly ... but I have considerable doubt as to whether Silayev is aware of it. It’s something well above his pay-grade. Dr. Kurtz may but he would never reveal such a thing under any circumstances.”
Calder nodded after considering that then a thought came to him. “Why didn’t Stalin send the duplicates and keep the real ones?”
“They knew there would be gemologists at the delivery point. And you have to keep in mind ... the path to their diamond production still ran through the cartel.”
After staring at one of the pictures on his wall for several moments Calder joked, “Stalin pawned the family jewels.” Another thought came to him. “Back then, what was a hundred and something million pounds in dollars?”
“Roughly four hundred million. The cartel only paid for three quarters of that because that’s all that was delivered.”
Calder’s eyes widened and he whistled lowly. So whoever sent this to my mother stole over a hundred million dollars worth of jewelry in nineteen forties’ dollars. He slumped back in his chair and winced then said, “Damn, man. A hundred million ... without a calculator I’m guessing it’s worth ten times that now.”
Kirkland only nodded slightly.
Calder shook his head in disbelief. “And the Russians couldn’t find it?”
With a thoughtful look upward Kirkland replied, “Couldn’t find it is an adequate analysis under the circumstances of the time. They had a very rough idea where it might be but the area was apparently quite remote. Of course, Stalin promised the cartel it would be found and delivered ... he also had the gall to demand the full payment.”
“Sounds about right,” Calder said knowingly.
“Yes, but by then the Red Army was in a desperate battle to save Stalingrad. He was forced to accept the three-quarter payment.”
“Stalingrad,” Calder noted grimly. “It was the handwriting on the wall for the Wehrmacht.”
Kirkland nodded again. “And you’re very close on the inflation rate. It’s slightly over eleven to one.” He paused for a moment then asked, “Which begs a very delicate question, Mr. Cal—sorry, Al—is that the only piece you have?”
Calder immediately shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.” The magnitude of what he had just heard made his new-found knowledge of his parents’ previous lives even more significant – perhaps even more dangerous. “You’re heading up to Dallas,” he began, “but I think there are some things you need to know ... and some more things I still need to know about how that got here,” he said pointing to the drawer.
He doesn’t know how it got here? Kirkland thought then raised his hand slightly. “I can leave tonight or early in the morning if need be. Or if you prefer, I’ll be back Friday afternoon ... I’m having dinner with Catherine.”
Calder grinned and nodded approvingly but after a few moments the worry crept back into his mind and he began shaking his head. “I don’t wanna wait that long. Can you come out to the ranch and meet my mother? For lunch?”
“Your mother,” Kirkland said as if the source of the mystery had just been revealed.
Calder nodded, recognizing the look of surprise on the man’s face. “Yep,” he said then sighed as if another admission had been made.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Kirkland began enthusiastically then looked at Calder and asked, “If you’re going to be carrying the pendant, may I suggest we take my vehicle?”
Calder thought momentarily then shrugged, stood up and walked over to a door that opened into what looked like a small closet. He reached in and removed a shoulder holster with a Smith & Wesson 4006 in it and put it on, followed by a light sport-jacket that had been tailored to conceal the gun.
“And yes, it’s legal,” he offered as he recovered the small bag from the drawer and dropped it into an inside pocket. After calling his assistant with the news he’d be out the rest of the day he turned to Kirkland and said, “Let’s go.”
- # -
As they wound through the freeway network from downtown Houston toward the northwest, Kirkland listened as his client related a truly fascinating but now somewhat even more disquieting story of a family secret having been kept for decades.
Alex Calder had only recently learned his mother and father were not ‘Cecil and Margaret Calder’ as they had been known since the late nineteen forties. In fact, his mother’s former name was Helena Nuryev and his father was Colonel Anton Nuryev, a Soviet Red Air Force fighter pilot and intelligence officer. They had been secretly extricated from East Berlin to England in 1947 and new lives were created for them in the U.S. ‘Cecil Calder’ became a consultant to one of the major aeronautical firms in California; ‘Margaret Calder’ was turned into the typical housewife who eventually went into nursing when her children were old enough to be in school.
Alex was their first child, born in California in 1948 and had grown up very much the typical California coastal kid with a sister just two years younger. He somehow survived the lifestyle of the sixties and after graduating he joined the Air Force and became a fighter pilot – never once knowing there was more behind his father’s obvious pride than just having a son flying in the Air Force.
For fifty years his parents had dutifully kept the secrets that had been so necessary to keep them safe from what had been the Soviet Union – even after Glasnost in the late ‘80s and the eventual collapse in 1991. Then, just three months after the death of Cecil Calder, a box containing the pendant had arrived with a note from a man his mother wouldn’t identify other than to say she thought he had died long ago, and after four months of wrestling with the problem by herself, she finally approached her son.
Kirkland fought the repeated urge to ask questions as Calder retold the story his mother had related. New bits and pieces of a very old puzzle were now tantalizingly close to being found and while he didn’t want to offer anything that might deter the telling he finally had to ask something Calder had left out. “Where did the shipment originate?”
Calder heaved a sigh before he answered. “Don’t misunderstand ... my mother is seventy-six but she’s more than just in control of her faculties. Now that I think of it I suspect she was trained in how to not tell people anything.”
When Calder pointed to the next exit, Kirkland changed lanes as he asked, “But how would the party who sent her the pendant have found the connection between Nuryev and your father living as Cecil Calder?”
Calder fixed him with a quizzical look and shrugged.
“Ah. The lady won’t say.”
“Hell, she may not even know,” Calder offered then seemed to be trapped in thought for a few moments. “But until we can assure her that nothing can happen to him or the family she’s gonna keep that to herself – I think that’s why she insisted I call Commoner.”
“Does he know about the ruby, or your parents?” Kirkland asked about the man they both knew as one of the country’s shrewdest legal practitioners.
Calder shook his head. “Uh uh. Mom and I decided to start by finding out if it was real. I told him basically what I told you about the museum situation.” They drove on a half-mile or so in silence then Calder added, “The only people who know
about this ruby thing are my mom and I, and now you.”
Kirkland considered that then advised, “Let’s not forget the person who sent it.”
A twinge of uneasiness made Calder take a deep breath and he shook his head slightly as he almost whistled it out. “This whole thing is way outta left field.” After a few seconds he added almost reluctantly, “El’s ... shit, I don’t know what El’s gonna do ... she’ll be at the house for lunch.”
Kirkland recalled the seemingly imperturbable woman he had met at the museum. “My first impression of your wife leads me to believe she’ll find it intriguing.”
“Hah!” Calder snickered. “I don’t think intriguing is the right word – she doesn’t like being kept outta the loop on things. You should have seen her face when she couldn’t figure out who the hell invited you ... and now this.”
“I’ll do my best to be reassuring. No small part of my business involves dealing with exigent circumstances.”
Calder picked up on the phrase he had heard the man use before. Until then he hadn’t paid any attention to the vehicle but he started noticing things. “This isn’t a rental, is it?” he asked as he glanced around. “I’ve owned a couple of these ... my son still keeps one around for hunting ... lousy mileage.”
“Especially with four wheel drive.”
“I’d guess that’s useful where you’re from.”
“It is,” Kirkland agreed. “We got over a foot of snow in April.”
Calder pointed to the array of controls and switches on the dash and custom center console. “That’s a nicely-done setup.”
“If I didn’t think it would attract too much attention I’d drive an armored truck at times,” Kirkland said then went on to explain the extensive modifications that had been made to the Suburban to turn it into his version of an all-purpose company vehicle:
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