Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

He held up the tiara. “This was worn by Anastasia, daughter of Tsar Nicholas the Second,” he said. “She was photographed in it in 1915. It disappeared, along with many other jewels, when the Tsar fell to the revolution.”

Kurt looked over at him. “I thought all the Tsar’s treasures had been found.”

“Yes and no,” he said. “The treasures they were known to possess were discovered long ago. Indeed, many jewels were sewn into their clothing to hide them from the guards. Both Anastasia and her sisters were shot and stabbed to no effect because their clothing was so stuffed with precious stones that they were all but bulletproof.”

“I figure you have those,” Kurt said. “So where did these come from?”

“The Tsar’s fortunes were so vast, the extent of his wealth was never really cataloged,” the man said. “For political reasons, the Soviets insisted that all the wealth had been collected and placed in trust for the people. The Russian government that succeeded the Soviet one continued this charade, but many photographs from that era display treasures that were never discovered. It was long assumed they had been lost to history. Who would have thought that both your government and mine knew where some of them were?”

Kurt considered what the man was saying. It didn’t bother him that the jewels would be going back to Russia, he just wondered how they’d left Moscow in the first place.

“How’d they end up here?” he asked.

“I can tell you that,” a wavering voice said.

Kurt turned. While he and Katarina were down below on the dive, a new arrival had come aboard. Kurt knew who he was and had requested he be found and offered the chance to be present.

Kurt stepped up and shook the man’s hand.

“Katarina,” Kurt said, “members of the Russian government, meet Hudson Wallace.”

Wallace stepped forward, moving slowly. He had to be almost ninety, though he still looked like the kind of guy who could thump you if you got out of line. He wore a bright red Hawaiian shirt, tan cargo shorts, and boat shoes with ankle socks.

He fixed his eyes on Katarina and smiled from ear to ear.

“My copilot and I picked up a fellow in Sarajevo,” he said. “A political refugee named Tarasov.”

“He was a criminal,” the Russian man said, “who took the jewels after burying them with three other soldiers years before.”

“Sure, sure,” Wallace said. “One man’s criminal is another man’s freedom fighter. Anyway, we whisked him out of there and brought him to Santa Maria, where we were supposed to fuel up and hop across the pond. But we got grounded by a storm, and some of their agents found us.”

He shook his head sadly. “Tarasov was shot in the back. My copilot, Charlie Simpkins, was killed as well. I was wounded. I managed to take off, but an electrical storm, a couple engine failures, and loss of blood brought me down. I lost control of the plane and hit the sea. To this day I don’t remember how I got out.”

“You know,” Kurt said, “that story was part of the reason we believed in this hoax.”

Wallace laughed, and his face crinkled up. “In those days things like that happened all the time. Instruments iced up, gauges froze, you couldn’t tell up from down.”

“But what about the engine failure?” Katarina asked.

“I had a hard time figuring that myself,” Wallace said. “We kept those babies in prime condition. Then it hit me. It rained there for three solid days. We fueled the Connie from their ground tanks. I think we sucked up a bunch of water when we took on five hundred gallons of the stuff the day before we left. Damn bad luck, if you ask me.”

Kurt nodded as Hudson looked down at the tiara and the necklace.

“For sixty years I always wondered what was in those boxes,” he said. “I guess they’re filled to the top.”

Katarina smiled at him kindly. “You’ll be able to see them in a museum, I’m sure,” she said.

“No thanks, miss,” he replied. “I came for something much more valuable.” He turned to Kurt. “Were you able to get ’em?”

Kurt reached into his pocket and retrieved the dog tags he’d pulled off the copilot. Wallace looked at them with reverence as if they were made of the purest gold.

“A Navy team is coming out tomorrow,” Kurt said. “Charlie will be buried in Arlington next week. I’ll be there.”

“You?”

“You lost a friend here,” Kurt said. “But in a way you and your copilot saved a friend of mine. We’ll both be there. We owe you that much and more.”

“A long time to come home,” Wallace said.