He gave a neutral smile. “Unfortunately, the person I hired to find it was recently killed.”
“Oh. So that’s it, then? You’re giving up?”
“I didn’t say that. Just that I’m pursuing different avenues at this point.”
“What do you suppose is in it?”
“The plane?” He gave a slight shrug. “I suspect the usual World War Two regalia that’s so prized by collectors.”
“Nothing extraordinary about this particular regalia?”
“That’s what I hope to find out,” he said, then looked at his watch. “You’ll forgive me if I cut our time short. The bill is paid. So, please, enjoy your wine. I really do need to get going.” He stood, moving to her side, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Good-bye, Tatiana.”
With a perfunctory smile, he departed.
She sat there a moment, eyeing her wineglass, wondering if he really did have to leave or if she’d pushed him too far. A waiter, apparently noticing Rolfe’s departure, approached, asking if she was ready to order.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
21
Originally known as Königsberg, the oblast of Kaliningrad became part of the Soviet Union at the end of World War II. When the Soviet Union collapsed, Kaliningrad remained part of the Russian Federation even though it was physically separated from Russia by Lithuania, Poland, and the Baltic Sea. Sometime in the 1990s, it went from being a closed state that restricted access of any foreigners to an open state that now allowed tourists to visit—as long as they had the proper visas. Sam and Remi, being semi-frequent visitors to Russia for various philanthropic events, kept current Russian visas and flew into Kaliningrad Khrabrovo Airport the following night.
Although Remi was fluent in a number of languages, Russian was not at the top of the list. As usual, the ever-efficient Selma made arrangements for a translator. “Sergei Vasyev,” she told them over the phone after they checked into their hotel.
“Vasyev?” Sam asked. “Any relation to Leonid?”
“His second cousin, if I’m not mistaken.” Leonid Vasyev, a Russian archaeologist, had worked with them on an expedition to the Solomon Islands. “Leonid informs me that Sergei is highly reliable, and, based on what Leonid knows about your . . . I believe he said ‘propensity for trouble,’ there’s no one else he’d recommend.”
“Then we look forward to meeting him.”
—
SERGEI WAS WAITING for them in the lobby of the hotel the next morning. There was a slight family resemblance to Leonid. Sergei was a bit taller, with dark hair, and blue eyes, and was much younger—closer to Sam’s age. His face lit up when he saw them step off the elevator and walk toward him. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s ours,” Sam said. “And, please, Sam and Remi.”
“Sam and Remi, then,” he said, shaking their hands. “Leonid’s told me so much about you and your sponsorship of his expeditions. I look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise,” Sam said, noting his accent was almost nonexistent. “Your English is excellent. Where’d you grow up?”
“Name the country. My parents worked for the Russian embassy, and we moved around a lot. They insisted I learn the language of each country we lived in. I also went to graduate school in California. UCLA.”
“Majoring in?” Remi asked.
“Archaeology. Leonid was a big influence. I wanted to be able to travel like he does.”
As they pushed through the lobby doors, Sam said, “We have a rental car.”
“I can drive.” Sergei held up his keys. “Easier that way, since I know the streets. You have names of who you need to talk to?”
“Selma said she’d forward the information to us as soon as she found someone,” Remi said, checking to see if there were any updates on her phone. There weren’t. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who can talk to us about Königsberg castle.”
“What are you looking for there?”
“Some of the more obscure history of the castle during World War Two,” she said. “Preferably, a local historian who might know something about what the Germans stored there before it was bombed. Or someone who could give us anecdotes that didn’t make it into the textbooks or internet lore.”
“I know right where to start.”
“Lead the way,” Sam said. “We’re open to suggestions.”
“So where is it we’re going?” Remi asked Sergei from the back of his car.
“The Amber Museum. There’s someone there who knows everything there is to know about what was smuggled into the castle during the war. If anyone can talk about what else was stored there, he can.”
The museum, housed in one part of an old Teutonic castle, held thousands of amber displays, one of the more unusual pieces containing an entire lizard. While fascinating, he and Remi both gravitated toward the display on the history of the Amber Room, an entire chamber in the Catherine Palace made of amber panels backed with gold leaf. An enlargement of a photo from 1931 showed how the room appeared before the Nazis had discovered it at the palace after invading Russia. They disassembled and carried it off to Königsberg, where it remained and was most likely destroyed when the Allies bombed the castle in 1944. No one had seen it since, though there were rumors that the Amber Room had somehow survived the bombing and the Nazis had smuggled it out of the castle prior to the end of the war.
Next to the photograph of the original was a photo of the reproduction of the Amber Room, re-created in the same chamber at the Catherine Palace near St. Petersburg. Remi compared the two photos. “Imagine finding the original. That would be the discovery of the century.”
“One thing at a time, Remi,” Sam said, noting that Sergei had moved off to talk with one of the curators. After a brief discussion, he waved them over. “Let’s go see what he’s found.” Sam and Remi turned at the exact moment that a man and woman walked in, nearly running into them. “Sorry,” Sam said.
The couple gave him a cold stare, both making a sudden about-face to look at a different display.
“Not very friendly,” Remi said, glancing back at them.
“Sergei,” Sam said. “I take it you’ve got news for us?”
The young man gave a wide smile. “Pay dirt! That’s how you say it, yes?”
“I believe so,” Sam said, figuring he’d reserve judgment on the end result.
“This,” Sergei said, turning to a tall, thin man with gray hair, “is Andrei Karpos. Historian and guest lecturer at the university.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Remi said.
Sam shook his hand, asking, “On what subject?”
“The lost treasures of Königsberg castle,” Andrei said.
“Definitely pay dirt,” Sam said.
22
Andrei suggested they take a walk outside since he was about to go on break. He guided them toward the vendor stalls located in the front of the museum, where tourists shopped for amber trinkets and jewelry. “Cheaper than in the museum shop,” he said, greeting one of the vendors as they strolled past. “Sergei tells me that you’re here about the Amber Room. That’s what they all come for.”
“Actually,” Sam replied, “we heard the Amber Room might not be the only thing moved from the castle. We’re more interested in the other treasures that might have been smuggled out before the bombing.”
“Anything in particular? The Nazis moved a lot of stuff.”
“The Romanov Ransom.”
He glanced over at them, somewhat surprised. “Not many people know that story.”
“So you’ve heard of it?”
“More on the legend side of things . . . but, yes,” he said, continuing on until they reached the park.
Sam waited a few moments, and when Andrei didn’t volunteer any more information, Sam asked, �
�What legend?”
He stopped, his gaze landing first on Sam, then Remi, as if to convince himself they were worth his time. “First, how is it you learned of the ransom?”
“Documents from a downed German plane in Morocco.”
“It’s finally been found, then?”
“You know of it?” Sam asked, surprised.
“Not so much the plane as the pilot who flew it.”
“Lennard Lambrecht?” Remi said.
Andrei’s brows went up a fraction. “You have done your homework.”
“Who is he?”
“Lennard Lambrecht, a Nazi officer, was a double agent, working for Russia and the Allies, even after the war ended.”
Sam was always interested in World War II history, especially when it was something he wasn’t familiar with. “In what way?”
“He helped arrange passage from Europe to Morocco for the Nazi war criminals fleeing prosecution. What those German officers didn’t know was that he was also reporting their whereabouts to the authorities.”
“A ratline spy,” Sam said, thinking that Brand and Karl would definitely want to interview Andrei for their documentary.
“Exactly. Because of his assistance, a number of high-ranking German officers were arrested before they were able to set sail for South America. It was during his work there that he’d heard rumors of a plot against Russia being concocted by a group of Nazi officers. They were going to bomb Russia and blame it on the Americans. You can imagine what something like that would have done.”
“World War Three,” Remi said.
“Quite possibly.”
“How,” Sam asked, “did this Romanov Ransom come into play?”
“If rumors are to be believed, the ransom was stolen from Russia at the same time as the Amber Room, then stored by the Nazis at Königsberg castle. Once the Germans realized they were losing the war, it was smuggled out. The ransom was to be their fail-safe plan. Or—how do you Americans say it?—the Hail Mary plan. They planned to use the stolen treasure to finance the sabotage of the peace efforts.”
He paused for a moment to look around, then back at the group. “My understanding is, Lambrecht died a hero. He knew he’d been compromised. His handlers felt the benefit outweighed the risk and sent him in one last time to get the names of those involved and the route they took to smuggle the ransom out of Königsberg castle. He was bringing that information back when his plane went down in the Atlas Mountains in Morocco.”
He glanced over at them. “What is it you two plan to do with this information?”
“To start,” Sam said, “we document it for historical value.”
“Let’s say you do find the Romanov Ransom?”
“Return it to its rightful owners.”
Sergei nodded, saying, “That’s what the Fargos do. Trust me.”
Andrei directed his attention to Sam, saying, “I’ve had other people make inquiries. People I don’t trust. And neither should you.”
“Understood,” Sam said.
Remi asked, “What do you think the Romanov Ransom is?”
He looked at his watch. “Time to turn back. My break is only fifteen minutes.” They made an about-face, heading toward the crowded stalls once more. And just when Sam doubted that Andrei was going to say anything more, he spoke. “It was rumored that Maria Feodorovna, the Dowager Empress, paid a vast fortune in jewels to free her son and his family from the Bolsheviks.”
“Any idea how much or what it consisted of?” Sam asked.
“As far as a dollar amount? I have no idea since no documentation exists. She kept a diary, but there’s no mention of a ransom paid. A peer of mine suggests the ransom was stolen by someone in her own household before it ever made it to the Bolsheviks. Another believes it was paid, but the Bolsheviks never intended to release the imperial family to begin with. And, as we all know, they were murdered. As to what was in it? Depends on who you ask. That it was paid explains why her fortune was nonexistent when she fled the Crimea.”
“Humor us,” Sam said as they weaved their way through the growing crowd of shoppers. He noticed the couple from the museum shop a few booths away to admire some of the amber trinkets.
“Naturally, everyone assumes there were a few Fabergé eggs gifted to her by her husband, Alexander. After all, it would explain why a handful have never been found or accounted for. She would also have kept any jewelry he’d given her over the years. There are numerous photographs of her wearing tiaras and necklaces that have never been seen since.” Andrei nodded at someone he knew, as they walked, then glanced over at Sam and Remi, saying, “I’m sure that if you’re aware of any of the history surrounding the murders of the Romanovs, you know they’d amassed a fortune of loose stones that were meant to tide them over once they escaped the country. The royal family had sewn them into the lining of their clothes. It would have been no different for the Dowager Empress when she fled to the Crimea. In my opinion, if this ransom truly exists, it would be worth hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“Do you believe the stories?” Remi asked. “That the ransom really exists?”
“I do,” he said, pausing beside the booth where he’d greeted one of the vendors. Strings of amber beads hanging from hooks glistened in the sunlight. “I believe the Bolsheviks had it, and then the Nazis took it when they invaded Russia.”
“Took it from where?” she asked, running her fingers along one of the long strands.
“Originally? Catherine Palace, St. Petersburg. Same time they took the Amber Room.” He gave a slight shrug. “Doesn’t matter. No one’s ever seen it or the Amber Room since. So, whether it really exists or not is anyone’s guess. My opinion counts little.”
Sam eyed the couple just a few booths away. The woman picked up a small amber frame, turning it about in her hands. The man stood with his back to them. Their actions seemed normal, tourists doing the tourist thing, but something about them didn’t seem right. Keeping his eye on the couple, he asked Andrei, “What was it you were saying about others making inquiries into this?”
23
Sometime last year,” Andrei said as they continued on toward the museum, “I was approached by two men who asked if I knew anything about the Romanov Ransom having been taken to Königsberg castle along with the Amber Room. I told them the same as you.”
“Earlier, you said you didn’t trust them. Why is that?”
“These people wanted exclusive access to my notes. They offered to pay because they didn’t want what I’d found out in the public realm. Thousands more than I’d ever make publishing my book. I refused.”
“It’s your passion,” Remi said. “There is no price.”
“Exactly,” he said, sounding surprised. He glanced over at Sergei. “You were right. They do understand.”
“I told you,” Sergei said.
“What happened next?” Sam asked.
“When I turned them down, one of the men threatened that if I did publish the book, they’d come after me. The publisher I had lined up suddenly went out of business. Another small academic press I had submitted it to was sold, the new owners no longer interested.”
As they walked past, Sam watched the couple from the corner of his eye. Neither looked their direction.
“At the time,” Andrei continued, “I assumed it was just my bad luck. But when I decided to self-publish it, the shop belonging to the printers I hired burned to the ground. That’s when I realized that whoever they are, they were intent on keeping my work out of the public domain.”
“These people,” Sam said. “Anything you can tell us about them?”
“Beyond that they’re dangerous?” He shrugged. “I was never able to prove anything. The more I talked about it to the authorities, the more I looked like a crazed man spouting a conspiracy theory. Even I was beginning to disbelieve what was happening.”
/> Remi said. “Weren’t you worried for your safety?”
“At first, no. But after the printing press disaster, I realized that others around me might be hurt. That’s when my wife suggested that I put all of my work on the internet instead. She felt that once it was out where everyone could see it, they’d lose their leverage.” Andrei gave a deep sigh. “At the moment, it’s still an obscure academic paper that takes a bit of searching, but, as my wife pointed out, with social media these days, should anything happen to me, people would be bound to do a search of my name. If they did, that paper would shoot to the top of the search results. So much for keeping the information private.” He gave a cynical smile. “The very next time they contacted me, I let them know.”
“Did it work?” Remi asked.
“They’ve left me alone ever since. Of course, it also gave them access to everything I’d gathered, but what could I do? One day I may try again to get it properly published, but, for now, there it sits on the internet for anyone who cares to look for it. So, please. Help yourself. And if I were you, I’d take a good look at the bibliography—something I didn’t pass on to those charlatans. Some of my most amazing finds were from a diary kept by the groundskeeper of Königsberg castle.”
Remi took out her phone and opened a text to Selma as they talked. “Notes,” she said. “So I don’t forget.”
When they neared the front of the museum, Andrei stopped, saying, “Duty calls. Even for us volunteers.”
They thanked him for his time, and Sergei walked him back to the museum entrance.
Sam waited until they were out of earshot before asking Remi, “You happen to notice we were being followed?”
“The man and woman who nearly ran us over inside the museum?”
“The same.”
She put her hands on her hips, her expression one of mock seriousness. “An appalling lack of etiquette, that they’d follow us around without a proper introduction.”
The Romanov Ransom Page 10
