With Dr. Bard Leon’s help, Walter was now familiar with the history of Djemmal-Eddin’s independent Georgia. In 1917, Georgia combined with its nearest neighbors to form the Transcaucasian Federation. By the spring of the following year, it was obvious the arrangement was not viable. In May 1918 Georgia declared its full and complete independence. The Federation of Georgia, Azerbaijan and Dagestan collapsed. Stability was never really established. The region was embroiled in chaos, overwhelmed by war. In early 1920, when both the British and the Americans pulled their expeditionary forces out of Russia-“How many people know they were even there?” Professor Leon had asked Walter-the fate of Georgia was sealed. The infant nation fell to the Russian Army on February 25, 1921. Professor Leon had described Djemmal-Eddin’s retreat through the Klukhori Pass and Lacey’s pivotal role in the operation. Lacey brought three ships to the port of Sukhum-Kale. Djemmal-Eddin used those vessels to evacuate many of his fighters, their families and whatever else they could load on board.
Here is where it got really interesting, Dr. Leon told Walter. Many historical gossips and more than a few academic historians as well believed Djemmal-Eddin escaped with as much as twelve tons of the Czar’s ten Ruble coins. Only someone as close as Lacey-someone who was family-could have moved such a fortune without thievery. In Europe, those with whom Djemmal-Eddin did business during the time of his exile received gold in return for goods and services. Still, stories had it that the Georgian had hidden away more than eight tons of the coins. Lacey had done it, of course. He was responsible, and all who knew him or knew of him knew the gold was safe. If Djemmal-Eddin was a man of substance, Frederick Lacey was a man who instilled fear in the hearts of bandits, equally among those on horseback and those wearing suits and ties. After hearing this, Walter understood the appeal of Lacey’s confession to those who could care less about John F. Kennedy. If the document contained the location of such an amount of gold, it held the secret to a treasure worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
There were three balls in the air. Walter was not about to play favorites, pick one over the others. Not yet. No matter what he learned, his information served only to make a case for one or the other, not one against the other. This was the process he followed for decades. The time for judgment would come later, a time when he had all the data, when he could lay everything out and reach a conclusion in which he had confidence. What he learned in Vermont was valuable. The Georgian ball was still in the air, more so now than before. If Solly Joel was right, Lacey may have hidden gold worth five-and-a-half million dollars- then! Today that same gold would bring almost three hundred million, nearly a third of a billion dollars. It made sense that people who thought it was theirs would want it. No doubt people who had no claim to it would too, and Walter was equally sure either or both would kill to get it. The Georgians were a real possibility. He needed to find out. There was something he had to do. It was not personal. It was just professional. He called Isobel Gitlin.
The first time he called Isobel was about Leonard Martin. At the time she was writing obituaries for The New York Times, taking a terrible beating for her insistence that Leonard’s first three killings were done by a single man. No one-not even her-had identified him then. A local man, in Tennessee, a man with a personal grudge had been arrested for the murder of the third of Leonard Martin’s victims. Isobel thought the Tennessee authorities had the wrong man. Walter, of course, knew she was right. By then he was already on the job, trying to find who Leonard Martin was and then determined to locate the man himself. “I know you’re right,” he told Isobel back then. He also said he was old enough to be her father, so she needn’t worry about him. He was right. How could he have known he needed to worry about her? The first time she agreed to meet, she said she was bringing a gun. She was real cute.
Five years can be forever. Their conversation now was brief. He felt the tension and knew she did too. Isobel was, of course, polite. Yes, certainly she would see him. Whenever he suggested. They agreed to meet in Atlanta the next day. When she hung up, Isobel sat at her desk remembering New York, her kidnap of sorts by and her interview with Leonard Martin. When that strange ordeal ended, when she was safely home, she called Walter. He listened. He told her to catch the morning flight to St. John. Time passes, yet somewhere not far below the surface, Isobel wished he’d said that now. Take the morning flight to St. John. Ike and Billy would be there too. How would she have answered? Would she have gone? Instead she said she would meet him at a place called Malone’s, a restaurant near the Atlanta airport. He told her to be there at three-thirty, too late for lunch and too soon even for the early-bird dinner crowd. The place was sure to be almost empty. They would have all the privacy they needed. He would be there when she arrived, he said. Look for him in a booth. “Find me.” That was it. A quick goodbye and then a day to wait, for both of them.
You always deal with what you know, not what you think. Walter didn’t have to, but couldn’t help reminding himself of that simple fact. Speculation was a flame, hot to the touch. Sometimes too hot. But fact was the fuel that fed the fires of discovery. He knew Harry Levine was dead. That was fact. He knew Harry had been found only after the intimidation of Isobel Gitlin. That too was fact. Whoever it was in Atlanta threatening to cut off her husband’s fingers, there was no doubt he was directly involved. Fact? Not yet, but more than likely. Walter was proceeding his way, as he had done for forty years. He could not afford any thoughts about Isobel. Not today, he hoped. No personal commitment-that was the special ingredient in the formula for his success. If he expected to find Harry’s murderer, he could ill afford to screw that up now. His past with Isobel was pushed deep into the dark hole beyond the heavy metal doors guarding his soul, his sanity. He’d opened those doors for her once, doors closed tightly when Gloria left, and he was burned for it.
Isobel knew about Leonard Martin’s secret all along and kept it from him. She betrayed him, then rejected him. Hard as it was to move those massive plates, once they began to part he lost control. It was years since he closed those doors behind him again. To keep her out. Just as he had done so long ago with Gloria. He was taken by surprise at Il Localino. Still, it was Louis Devereaux who unnerved him more that night. It wouldn’t happen again.
“Wow,” she said, approaching the table near the back of the restaurant where Walter was sitting. “You l-l-look great.”
“Nice to see you, Isobel. Please sit.” The formality caught her off guard. Walter looked stronger, younger, far more fit than the last time she saw him briefly at Il Localino and certainly he looked better than how she remembered him from years back. She wanted to say more about it. She wanted to ask what he had been doing to look so good. But clearly he was not about to make this a personal meeting. “Please sit,” he said. That meant business.
When the waitress came over, Walter looked to Isobel. She stumbled a little and finally ordered a glass of Merlot and a steak sandwich with French fries. Walter already had a Diet Coke in front of him and it was plain to see he’d already ordered whatever it was he intended to eat. She wanted to ask what happened-what happened with Harry Levine. But she was afraid. The look in his eyes said it all. It turned her stomach. She was ashamed, but strangely not regretful. She could never let them hurt Otto.
“They killed him,” Walter said, without her asking.
“I’m s-s-sorry.”
“I didn’t come here for an apology.”
“Why did you come here?”
His resolve was jolted, on its way to shaken. Could she do this to him with a simple question like that? Damn! He wanted to say- For you. I came for you! Asshole! he berated himself. “I need to know about the guy who threatened you and your husband. I have to put him somewhere, with someone. He leads me to them and right now I don’t know who they are.”