Operation Blue Sapphire

by David B. Gilmore

  “No, Emma and I just drove through an air raid.”

  “An air raid?”

  “The girl and her aunt live near the docks. When we were leaving, the Japanese decided it would be a good time to bomb it.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “No, we’re fine, but we’re going to need another car. It looks like someone took a baseball bat to it and the back windshield’s broken.”

  “Don’t worry about the car, the important thing is you’re both alive and unharmed.”

  “Thanks, Vern.” Emma set her purse on the kitchen table and sat down. “How about one of those gin and tonics you’re famous for. Would you mind making me one?”

  “It’s the least I can do. There are some leftovers, if you two are hungry.”

  “No, we ate with the girl and her aunt, unless Henri wants something.”

  LaCroix shook his head, “No, gin will be fine.”

  Miller reached into the cupboard and brought down a new bottle of Plymouth Gin. “Jimmy, we’re going to have a drink. Do you want one?” Miller said in a loud voice.

  “I’ll be right in,” replied Bunnel.

  “Vern, that’s a different brand than what you had before.” noticed LaCroix.

  “The other was good, but Plymouth is a bit softer on the juniper and has more of an earthy flavor to it. I think you’ll approve,” said Miller as he poured some in a glass.

  “Hold on. Don’t stop there. Make mine a double,” said LaCroix.

  “I think doubles all around,” agreed Emma.

  “What’s the occasion?” Bunnel asked, coming into the kitchen.

  Before Emma could reply, Miller told him, “She and Henri just drove through an air raid.”

  Bunnel tensed with shock.

  “We’re all right, but the car’s seen better days,” LaCroix assured him.

  Miller set the drinks down on the table and sat down with them, obviously waiting to hear the rest of the story.

  Emma took a long drink from her glass. “Vern, this is good gin. The other was good, too, but you’re right, this is very smooth.” She lit a cigarette and took a deep breath to decompress from the day’s events. She thought about what the old woman in Liberia had told her, about a very fast fire, but that she would be okay. Tonight she’d seen and felt several fast fires raining from the sky, and she hoped there wouldn’t be any more. Her moment of reflection was broken by Bunnel.

  “Were you able to see the girl and learn anything new?”

  For the next few minutes she and LaCroix brought both Bunnel and Miller up to speed on the events of the day.

  “So it sounds like we have two foreign women who have been pretty active lately,” said Bunnel, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Where do we go from here, Emma?”

  “First thing is we’re going to need more cars, not just to replace the one that was damaged tonight. I want each of us to have one. And, Jimmy, are you ready to go back to work?”

  “I’ve been ready. I’m starting to go stir crazy sitting around here. What do you have in mind?”

  “Henri, can you remember how to get back to Lalana and Padma’s apartment building?”

  “Sure.”

  “Jimmy, this is going to be boring, but I want you to keep an eye on the girl. She’ll probably be in school most of the day, but I want you to follow her and make sure she gets home without any problems.”

  “And if I see a woman with long black hair, whom I’m assuming is Missus du Maurier at the apartment, what then?”

  “Find out who she is and what she wants. Make it clear to her they don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “And if she insists?”

  “Do whatever’s necessary, but don’t let her get to the girl. Our mission here is to find out what happened to Preston, and we need to know for certain if these people are involved. If it gets ugly, our questions have been answered.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to the little girl,” said Bunnel. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Good. Tomorrow, while you keep an eye on the girl, I’ll pay the Archdiocese of Calcutta a visit. Find out all there is to know about Catholic charities in the area.” Emma finished her drink and asked Miller for another, but not a double.

  He quickly freshened everyone’s drink and sat back down at the table. “There’s been a lot going on tonight. I don’t know where this will fit in, but I’ve finally been able to find out about that property in the country,” he said.

  “You have? Great!” Emma replied.

  “I’m sorry it took so long, but before I gave you my report, I wanted to be certain of some things.” Miller removed a pad of paper from his shirt pocket and looked over some notes. “There is a recording system, but it took a bit of familiarization with it before I could make any sense of things. The property’s owned by a corporation.”

  “A corporation?” asked Emma.

  “Bear with me and I’ll tie it all together. It gets interesting.”

  Emma motioned him to continue.

  “After I went to check the property records, I had to place some calls to where corporations are registered. In the end, the single shareholder listed for the company is a man by the name of Rurik Kulikovskaya.”

  “A Russian?” asked Emma.

  “Wait, it gets better.

  “Not long after Captain Blaine and I arrived here, one night we met an Englishman who worked for the government. He liked us and told us if we ever needed anything to let him know. I called him and told him I’d found this parcel of property and was thinking of buying it, kind of an investment for after the war. Anyway, I told him it was owned by a company and I gave him Kulikovskaya’s name. I also told him I wanted to find out all I could about the guy, as it might help my bargaining position.

  “Turns out Mister Kulikovskaya and his wife, Jelena, just appeared at immigration one day with a story of walking off a railroad construction site in Siberia. They requested to immigrate to British India, and their request was granted. They listed their occupations as structural engineers. That was late in nineteen thirty-nine. Other than that, nothing’ known about them.”

  “Railroad structural engineer, someone with that experience, should also know some things about explosives,” said LaCroix.

  “And would know where to get them,” Bunnel added.

  “Vern, when did the corporation buy the property?” asked Emma.

  Miller looked over his notes again, “In April of forty-two.”

  “And how big a parcel is it?”

  “Just under seventy acres.”

  “Did the records show any encumbrances, you know, a mortgage?”

  “None at all,” replied Miller.

  “Some things aren’t adding up. Where does an immigrant fleeing the Soviet Union, less than three years later get enough money to pay cash to buy a farm? I know there’s a lot of construction going on here in Calcutta, and a good engineer can make a nice salary, but not that good. And the corporate ownership raises another flag. On the face of it, it’s perfectly legal, but it could be used to try and hide ownership. If so, why?” asked Emma.

  “I don’t think it’s all on the up and up,” said Bunnel. “Not what you found out, Vern, but the entire thing. Siberia’s a big place. If he and his wife walked off a construction site, that would mean they also had to walk across Mongolia and China to get here. Maybe they had some money with them and were able to get transportation, but it’s still a long trip. Anything’s possible, but I’m not sure I’m buying it.”

  “What do you think we have going on here?” asked Miller.

  “I don’t know, Vern,” said Emma, “but it’s beginning to get kind of convoluted.”

  “Do you think Captain Blaine might have stepped into something he shouldn’t have?” asked Miller.

  Emma finished her drink, “He may have, Vern. Question is what?”

  The next morning while Miller took LaCroix and Bunnel to O House for more vehicles, Emma made her way to the Archdiocese of Calcutta.
She turned onto Park Street, was lucky, and found a parking place in front of the building. Walking to the entrance, she noticed the grass was clipped short, and the trees and bushes on the grounds were well manicured.

  As she walked into the Diocese, she saw it was busy, but quiet at the same time. The building was cool, and like the grounds, it was very clean. The tile floor was highly polished, the dark brown tiles reminding her of some she had seen in Los Angeles. As Emma approached the reception desk, she was greeted by a young priest with a smile on his face.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  Emma introduced herself as Katherine Williams from the Los Angeles Times. “I don’t have an appointment, but I’m writing about charitable works here in Calcutta for my column. I’m up against a deadline with my editor. He wanted to be sure that I got the views of the Church on what it’s doing here in Calcutta to help the poor.”

  “I’m sure we can help you today. If you’ll please have a seat, I’ll find someone you can talk to,” replied the priest, motioning her toward some chairs in a small waiting area.

  Before she could sit down, he vanished. Ten minutes later, he reappeared with another man whom Emma surmised was in his early sixties. The young priest made the introduction. “This is Father Emile Verbeke, an aide to His Excellency. He has a few minutes and would be very happy to talk to someone from the United States.”

  Emma followed Father Verbeke down a long hallway and into a spacious office. Rather than sit at his desk, he sat down at a table and invited her to do the same. Coffee service for two had been set up and he quickly poured a cup for her and then one for himself. After settling himself comfortably and tasting his coffee he asked, “In what way may I be of service to you?”

  Emma immediately detected he had a very thick European accent. “Father, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”

  “Belgium. I came here with His Excellency and have been one of his aides for many years.”

  Emma took a sip of her coffee and set the cup back down in the saucer. “Father,” she said in French, “I’m fluent in French. If you would prefer, we can have our conversation in your native language.”

  The gesture made Father Verbeke smile. Emma could see his shoulders relax. “That would be very nice. Again, in what way may I be of assistance to you?”

  “Father, the priest in the reception area may have told you, I write a column for the Los Angeles Times. I don’t cover the war, but rather, people. Sometimes it’s about how our servicemen are doing, getting along and adjusting to being here. Other times, it may be about an Indian person, say a shopkeeper. Things that are different and will be of interest to the readers back home. My next column will be about charities and charitable works here in Calcutta.”

  Emma took detailed notes as Father Verbeke told her about the schools the Church had in Calcutta, the general work each parish was doing, and the charitable works the Diocese did. He was very thorough and Emma was surprised at the volume of notes she took.

  “Father, as you may or may not know, last night the Japanese bombed the docks. I don’t know what the damage was to the docks or to the civilian population living in the vicinity. In a situation such as this, would it ever be the church’s policy, or the policy of the charities you mentioned, to seek out and find these victims?”

  “I did hear about the air raid. Another tragic part of this war … and war, in general. All of our prayers go out to the people and families affected. But to answer your question, no, we would never seek out people in need. There is so much need in Calcutta, they come to us. The people here know where to go to find aid if they need it. If they come to us, of course, we respond and help in any way we possibly can. So, you see, there’s no need for us to solicit them. Last week I was talking with a colleague at the Salvation Army. They, too, have been overwhelmed with requests for assistance. As always, the issue becomes one of resources. Unfortunately, in Calcutta that is the state of affairs.”

  Emma asked some general questions about the Diocese, when it had been established, how it was staffed. She then looked at her notebook. “Father, I think I have more than enough to write a very good column. You have been very helpful, and as you can see from my notes, I’ve learned a lot today. Your assistance is very much appreciated.”

  Father Verbeke walked Emma out to her car. As they crossed the courtyard, he gazed up at the sky. The sun was out and birds were softly chirping in the trees. “What a beautiful day this is turning into.”

  “Yes, Father, it is,” agreed Emma.

  “Miss Williams, something tells me you’re going to go to the area of last night’s bombing. A word of caution to you. People are the same all over the world. If they’ve lost everything, or perceive to have lost everything, they can become desperate. Desperate people are unpredictable and do things they normally wouldn’t do.” Father Verbeke let his words resonate with Emma then added, “If you do find people in need, direct them to the closest parish. We’ll make sure they are helped.”

  “That’s sound advice. Thank you. I know you’re a busy man, so thank you again for all the time you’ve given me. You’ve helped me more than you realize.”

  “It was a pleasure. It’s not every day that I get to use my French with someone other than His Excellency.”

  Emma drove past du Maurier’s office, parked her car, and walked to where LaCroix sat in his car watching the offices. She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “Everything go well with Jimmy?” she asked.

  “Perfect. We got there just as Padma was taking Lalana to school. I told him which apartment they lived in and Jimmy followed them.”

  “Good.”

  LaCroix pointed to the intersection in front of them. “Vern’s parked up there.”

  “Anything happen while I was at the Diocese?” asked Emma.

  “Nothing much. A man went up to du Maurier’s office a few minutes ago, but that’s about all. Were you able to talk with anyone from the Church?” Just as Emma started to tell him about her meeting, he interrupted her. “They’re coming out into the street, du Maurier and the man who went up there a few minutes ago.”

  Emma and LaCroix watched as du Maurier and the man got into a very heated argument. The more they argued, the more it looked to Emma and LaCroix like the argument could easily escalate into a fight.

  “I wonder what that’s all about. Have you seen him before?” asked Emma.

  “Not that I can remember. This hasn’t happened before.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” Emma agreed. “I don’t know about you, but if this thing gets out of control, my money’s on the other guy. I don’t think du Maurier has a chance. The guy looks mad enough to kill him. I wonder what it could be about?”

  LaCroix laughed. “We know Chevalier’s sleeping with du Maurier’s wife. Maybe he’s been sleeping with this guy’s, too. That would be enough. Whatever it is, he’s pretty upset about something.”

  Emma and LaCroix watched. The longer du Maurier talked, the more the man began to calm down.

  “Think he is an unhappy customer?” asked LaCroix.

  “Maybe, but even so, I would think that’s something that could be handled in the office, not out in the street.”

  After a few more minutes of discussion, the man shook hands with du Maurier. As du Maurier went back into his office, the man walked up the street to his car. Rather than get in and drive off, he casually looked around then unlocked the trunk.

  “Think he’s getting a gun?” asked LaCroix.

  “We’ll know in a second.”

  The man closed the trunk and LaCroix could see he was carrying a small package. “No weapon,” he told Emma.

  Emma glanced at her watch. “It’s too early for lunch, so we have plenty of time. Henri, it may be a waste of our efforts, but let’s follow him.”

  LaCroix started the car and pulled out onto the street. As they passed the intersection, she saw Miller sitting in an outdoor café drinking a cup of coffee. A newspaper was
open and spread across the small table. As LaCroix and Emma passed by, he saw Emma motion with her hand outside the car window for him to stay put. He casually nodded and looked back down at the paper.

  They followed the man down a busy street. LaCroix kept a safe distance, but when he stopped at an intersection, he ended up directly behind the man. Emma reached into her purse, took out a small mirror, and began checking and adjusting her makeup. If the man did look back in his mirror, she wanted them to look like a couple heading somewhere. She hoped he wouldn’t pay them any more attention.

  A few more blocks ahead, the man turned on Chowringhee Road and parked not far from one of the department stores. As he exited his car, they could see he was carrying the small package. He looked up and down the street. Emma and LaCroix watched as he walked away from them. Before he entered a business, he again casually scanned the area then disappeared into the building. A couple minutes later, he returned with a smile on his face and got back in his car.

  “He dropped off the package,” said LaCroix.

  “I see that. Whatever was in it was probably valuable. He had it locked up in the trunk, and it looked like he had a good grip on it when he was on the street.”

  “I noticed that. Plus he kept looking over his shoulder. Whatever it is, he didn’t want it stolen.”

  “And it’s a florist shop. What kind of delivery to a florist could be so valuable?” asked LaCroix

  “Keep following him. This may not turn into anything, but I’m curious to find out where he goes.”

  LaCroix kept a safe distance and began following the man, who kept heading east. It wasn’t long before Emma and LaCroix surmised where he was going.

  “He’s heading out in the country, Emma. This is the same route we took when we followed du Maurier on Sunday. You think that was the Russian Vern told us about last night?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Keep following him. The traffic’s going to get thin pretty soon, so be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep back.”

  Soon it was obvious where they were going. While they were driving, Emma told LaCroix about her meeting at the Diocese.