The Romanov Ransom

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.