After forty-seven years Mihkel’s life had come full circle. He had surreptitiously returned to his Soviet occupied Estonian homeland. His mother’s death had abruptly and painfully tore open an aching void, long repressed, that had been gouged out by his separation from his parents. He felt compelled to return home to reunite with his elderly and, now, widowed father; Soviets be damned. He knew precious little time had remained for him to do so. Upon Mihkel’s return home his father would pass on a long held secret as his time ran out.

Unknowingly, Mihkel’s return would create a calamitous collision of men and machine set in motion decades earlier at the start of WWII.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 15- The Ultimate Barn Find)

ESTONIA 1986

With his strong and weathered hands clutching his favorite photo of Ann to his chest, Jaak Oja’s last wish had been granted. He had passed in his sleep. Adorned with a gentle smile, Jaak’s last expression in life spoke to the peace experienced as he reunited with his beloved Ann. Mihkel cried. He cried for the loss of his father. He cried for the loss of his mother. He cried for the lost years apart from his parents, family and homeland. He cried for the loss of comrades in arms. He cried for the loss of his country to tyranny. He cried the tears that had been stored for half a century behind a dam of stoic determination to survive no matter the pain or hardship.

The loss of Ann and then Jaak Oja served up a brutal one two punch for the loyal and large Oja family in Estonia. The emotional gathering of the grieving Oja kin served to bring Jaak’s son Mihkel and grandson Jack close to the bosom and deep into the heart of the close knit, patriotic and loving Oja clan.

Amidst the tears they allowed themselves to laugh. One topic that generated great laughter and pride at beating the system centered around the packages of rags sent to Jaak and Ann Oja from America. These rags mixed in with other low value items usually made it past the Soviet customs agents. Inspectors accustomed to stealing the good stuff viewed the contents unworthy of pilfering. However, these rags included left or right pant legs of American blue jeans. The next package sent from America would include the matching legs to the blue jeans sent earlier. A third package could contain zippers. Ann, a talented seamstress would then stitch the “rags” together into pairs of new American jeans, a highly valued commodity on the Estonian black market.

Despite intense and calculated Soviet efforts to destroy the Estonian culture, the extended Oja family carried on in a quiet yet unyielding defiance of the Soviet attempts. With the Soviet occupation, Russian became the official language. Estonian ecclesiastical and cultural traditions suffered banishment. The Soviets flooded Estonia with people from other countries and cultures, primarily Russians. Marriages promoted with outsiders, predominantly Russians from distant places, supported the Soviet mission to weaken the Estonian cultural fabric and the collective societal will. For decades Oja family members would have none of it. The Oja’s refusal to accede to Soviet dominance honed a family culture highly adept at navigating a finely honed informal yet highly effective underground that functioned below the surface of Soviet control. This independent underground network would soon prove invaluable to energizing an outrageous scheme about to consume a yet unsuspecting Mihkel.

Amidst the swirling arc of emotions ranging from familial love to painful loss, a physically and mentally drained Mihkel sought refuge in the quiet of the once and yet strangely still familiar Oja farm yard. He allowed himself to fantasize about honoring his father’s desire for an Estonian technical school named in his father’s honor. He understood this could never happen as long as the Soviets ruled Estonia. He walked to the old barn where he once fed Päts the family horse his father sarcastically named after the pre-WWII Estonian dictator. Swinging open the creaking barn door Mihkel smiled. Rusting in a corner sat the old Lanz Bulldog tractor. He felt as if he had entered a time capsule. In walking around this memory museum he thought of his father’s last words about the elephant still in the barn. Mihkel knew it meant something. His father remained mentally sharp till his last breath. Then from the depths of his memory Mihkel recalled the story of the rich Romanian’s race car. In Mihkel’s present mental state none of this made sense. Certainly the old Lanz Bulldog did not qualify. Mihkel laughed at the thought of the Bulldog grunting down a track bearing a number and a racing stripe. He paced back and forth.

As a teenager he remembered walking across the length of the barn in carrying out some monotonous task for his father. Maybe he was fetching tools or bringing bags of feed. He would count his steps, always fifty-three steps. For old time’s sake he did it one more time. Forty-five? Yes, he had grown a bit more from his teenage years, but eight fewer steps? He would try it again. Still about the same. How could the barn have become shorter? He froze. He reflexively sucked in a breath. He grabbed a long handled hoe and began hitting the barn’s back wall where tools and tack hung. The wall moved. He grabbed a flashlight hanging from the wall. It worked. He pried a wall panel back. His flashlight beam danced across the dust muted surface of a spectacular and imposing work of genius. He has in the presence of automotive art created by a master. Crowning its radiator stood the prancing elephant designed by Rembrandt Bugatti the sculptor brother of Ettore Bugatti. Mihkel had never heard of much less seen anything like this. A voice broke Mihkel’s focus. It came from the open barn door. Jack, his son, called in. Mihkel poked his head out of the hide-away chamber. In an excited voice he told, more like ordered, Jack to close the door and come fast. He directed his son into the protective inner sanctum of the spectacular Bugatti that had been frozen in time since 1940. Jack just stared. Then in a hushed voice he uttered six words that would change their lives. “How do we get this home?”

With their flashlights crisscrossing the dark enclosed room like searchlights exploring war-time London skies, Mihkel and Jack examined the fantastic Bugatti. Thoughts of “What must it be like to drive this” flooded Jack’s consciousness. Mihkel’s mind had locked on to satisfying an altogether different desire: one to which he had only recently been introduced. In his heart and in light of the realities of a failing Soviet Union, he believed Estonia would soon again be a free and independent nation. A nation that would need free and independent trades people to build a strong nation. The dream of his father could be realized by the sale of this vehicle. Making this dream a reality would require answering Jack’s question, “How do we get this home?” Jolting Mihkel’s dream back to the here and now, an excited Jack waved a sturdy manila envelope. It contained documents in French, Estonian and some other language; they surmised Romanian. The Estonian presented no problem for Mihkel. Linguist Valentina he hoped would take care of the rest. They tore themselves away from the magnetic pull of the long forgotten Bugatti. Mihkel did not want their extended absence to attract attention. Both returned to join the fellow mourners at the farm house.

Days later and fearful of being overheard in the comfort of a surveilled   Estonian hotel room, Mihkel, Jack, Valentina and John sat in John’s company car by the nearby harbor. Viewed out the car’s windshield a north wind foretelling the coming winter stirred the Gulf of Finland sending a steady drumbeat of low waves against the dock pilings of Tallinn Harbor. The conspirators had chosen to park near the open and newly developed expansion of the Tallinn port named Muuga Harbor. Here they could speak freely. Mihkel spoke first and shared his dream of the eponymous Oja Technical Institute. Jack loved the idea. Valentina loved her adopted Uncle “Naali.” John dearly loved his wife Valentina. A team had formed. Now the only thing standing in their way was the lack of a plan. Son Jack stepped up to casually summarize the challenges faced in spiriting an incredibly valuable, 2-plus ton work of automotive art out of a hostile Soviet bloc country. He called attention to the Bugatti’s hiding place being a backwoods rural farm; that it had not been started in over 40 years; and that nobody actually knew if it had ever run. Other problematic issues included that its breathtaking beauty ensured that it could not be seen in public without causing a calamitous stir; that unfriendly authorities would be drawn to it like moths to a flame and, oh by the way, we do not know who actually owns this beautiful behemoth.

Valentina next spoke offering the stunning declaration that Mihkel owned it. With that she waved the manila envelope Jack had discovered in the car. She observed that the envelope’s contents revealed that a foresighted Grandpa Jaak had a valid mechanic’s lien on the vehicle. Apparently its original owner a Mr. Archimedes Antonescu had left this original Bugatti in Grandpa Jaak’s workshop for some 45 years beyond the activation date of the mechanic’s lien. Valentina then continued on to detail the facts, realities and conditions working in the team’s favor.

With the building power of a locomotive departing the station, Valentina began to advocate for their effort’s success by noting that a growing anti-Soviet, pro-independence sentiment in Estonia could create lapses in what once had been a near impenetrable wall around the Baltic states. The mere fact that she and her Estonian folk dance troop had been welcomed would have been unthinkable only a few years back. She went on to explain that the loosening grip of the great Russian bear on the native Estonian people could create opportunities. Estonians reacting to a reduction in the arbitrary oppression of the repressive Soviet rule would be more responsive to rebel and profit from financial incentives i.e. bribes. She noted that their team had significant cash resources on hand to enlist the willing support of local Estonian friends and officials. American dollars carried great purchasing power in Estonia. Now on a roll, Valentina’s advocacy gained steam.

Valentina powered on emphasizing that the opportunity existed to help Estonian lives with American dollars that would go much further here. She explained that giving a man $500 would exceed more than he could make in a year. She said, “As soon as you say, I’m going to give you 500 dollars. Can I borrow your truck for a week? They’d be like, yeah, what do you need me to do? Here’s my truck, here’s my keys. Let me get my sons to help. I will get my cousin to help too. Only then would they even ask about what  you wanted them to do. It would not matter.”

Valentina charged ahead at full speed explaining a plan she had conjured up in the wee hours when sleeplessly assessing the challenges they faced. She explained that the timber industry played a major role in Estonian commerce. Lumber trucks in transit existed as a common sight across the country. It would be relatively easy to create a stack of logs rigged on the back of a flatbed truck. However, that stack of logs would be fabricated to camouflage a hollow interior. There the Bugatti could be hidden. With the horizontally positioned logs artfully assembled with fake log end caps on the front and rear, the truck could be driven all over Estonia without attracting any attention. Interrupting the wrapped silence of her audience, Jack posed the question as to how we drive it across the border. “We don’t” said Valentina, “We load it on a ship.” She reminded her compatriots that Mihkel’s father-in-law Johnny Santucci had many good connections in the international shipping business and Johnny could never say no to his daughter. Valentina smiled. Looks flashed back and forth across the confined space of the company car. Half laughing Mihkel spoke, “It’s as good a plan as any.” “But,” cautioned Valentina, “It will fail without trust.

In Estonia the foundation of trust is respect.” Valentina explained, “Say a man has a family who loves and respects him. We have recently witnessed that Mihkel enjoys such love and respect. Over the years children grow and have children and so on. Estonian cousins of cousins still enjoy a strong family bond. Here familial relationships going back many generations remain close. Mihkel’s great closely connected tree of relatives, many of whom we met at Jaak’s funeral know the whole family tree and Mihkel’s honored position on that tree. Those family ties represent an unbreakable and expansive web of willing co-conspirators in whom we can entrust our lives.” And that is exactly what they would have to do to make this plan work.

UKRAINE 1986

Yuri Petrov ruffled through pages in a leather covered address book. He would return his elderly Aunt Yvonne’s message.

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Late fall 1986 found Valentina Taylor’s United Nations Estonian Dance Team including a strapping Jack Oja boarding a flight from New York’s JFK Airport to Finland’s Helsinki Airport. It represented the first and by far the longest leg of an official U.N. mission to Estonia and a surreptitious collaboration to return Mihkel Oja home. Sharing the same flight would be John Taylor’s Lamont-Doherty geological research team, sponsored by Estonian state-owned energy company, Eesti Energia. Part of Taylor’s research team would be Technical Specialist “Mike” Oja. Once in Helsinki a ferry ride to Tallinn, capital of Estonia would complete one journey and commence a clandestine second.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 14 – The Beautiful Beast Poised at the Threshold of Discovery)

Helsinki Ferry

FINLAND 1986

Pudgy with a few days growth, a squinty eyed round faced man well into his cups stumbled towards Valentina as the ferryboat pitched. Jack quietly sensing a potentially unpleasant turn of events repositioned his sturdy frame between her and the approaching and severely listing celebrant. Upon contact with Jack, the squinty eyed man slurred his apologies to Jack, patted him on the chest and shambled off.

Mikhail Gorbachev

Old and tired the ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn moaned and creaked. Both Valentina’s and John’s groups retreated to quiet corners in a best attempt to keep a low profile. It proved a greater challenge than one might expect. A large dank open space packed to the gills like a subway car afforded far too many opportunities to meet inebriated Baltic And Scandinavian  passengers up close and personal. Truly the last thing both groups needed would be some public spectacle drawing the attention of authorities. If all went as planned Valentina’s U.N. credentials and history with the Estonian authorities and John’s government approved pedigree would hopefully speed passage through customs. With Mikhail Gorbachev’s elevation to Soviet Premier a subtle yet discernible loosening of the great Russian bear’s grip had been felt in Estonia. Valentina’s dance team had been welcomed the prior year. John as head of the geological research team enjoyed the favor of Estonian officialdom. His success would be their success. Since the 1960s, Estonia had been the largest oil shale producer and consumer in the world. In the 1980s, Estonia accounted for close to two-thirds of the world’s oil shale production. John’s expertise dovetailed with the efficient discovery and development of shale resources. The recently introduced Estonian technical publication, Oil Shale had written glowingly of John and his research team.

ESTONIA 1986

The scene upon arrival at Tallinn did not comfort the Americans. Long lines trailed back from custom’s check points. The stony tension made everyone, even the most innocent grandmother, project a scent of guilty nervousness. The two teams from the United States were not immune. Dour uniformed Soviet soldiers functioning as border guards opened every bag and every pocket in every purse. Everyone received a form requiring the declaration of anything of value being brought into the country. John claimed his Compaq Deskpro 386 computer that contained his research notes. John would forget to claim the $20,000 secreted in his secure computer travel case. The cash could be useful in any effort to get Mihkel’s father out of the country. Soldiers in grey uniforms carrying serious weapons stood everywhere. No one smiled. Sweat gathered on the brows of Americans slowly yielding to the mounting stress of their circumstances.

The mounting pressure and terror gathering in the cluster of Americans vaporized as a man and woman both in depressingly styleless official garb emerged from the tangle of travelers and troops. Incongruously, considering the sterile and severe surroundings, they waved and smiled in approaching to welcome the Americans. Far more genial than their attire would imply, they directed the two groups away from the customs assembly lines to an anteroom. Native Estonians rather than Soviet transplants, both the man and woman expressed a genuine joy to welcome the returning UN representative, Ms. Taylor and the “very smart” Dr. John Taylor.

As a courtesy the traveler’s luggage would be taken to the hotel. John apologized for being a quirky scientist but asked that he keep his computer with him because of its important contents. Everyone understood, or thought they did.

Hotel Viru

Tallinn from a distance on the Helsinki ferry presented a charming view featuring the majestic towers of the old town and the churches. However, driving through Tallinn on the way to the hotel presented a city decidedly grey, dirty and sad. Both groups would initially be housed in the Hotel Viru. For the group, entering the hotel with its dark paneled walls felt like walking into the 1960s. However, for Estonia the Hotel Viru served as a showplace for visitors that provided a level of food and service basically unavailable to the people of Estonia. It also provided women on the lobby of every floor whose job consisted of keeping track of who came and went. Secret spaces located between pairs of hotel rooms facilitated government agents’ ability to observe occupants’ actions and conversations. As past visits had educated Valentina as to the intense scrutiny, everyone in her group understood the game.

Soviet Police electronic eavesdropping facility at top floor of Hotel Viru

As a small but proud nation Estonia suffered greatly under the Soviet efforts to destroy their culture and character. Understandably little love loss existed between the native Estonians and the occupying Soviets. For Estonians attuned to the informal but powerful network connecting trusted family members and friends, much could be accomplished below the awareness of the Soviet oppressors. As a daughter of respected and trusted Estonians Valentina was dialed in, respected and trusted.

As a UN diplomat Valentina enjoyed a level of officially approved freedom that when combined with Estonian family loyalties created a level of access and influence possessed by few. A savvy and skilled diplomat, she discretely began working the levers of influence and the power of the American dollar. She walked past the native Estonian watcher on her floor as the woman averted her gaze while bending for an extended period of time to secure the American $20 bill in her purse. Valentina exited the hotel together with Jack to meet her equally savvy husband John accompanied by Mihkel. John and Mihkel waited in an Eesti Energia company vehicle. Quickly, the four departed. Destination the Oja farm. Though over 40 years had passed since last here, much had not changed. Mihkel knew the way.

Moskvitch sedan

A thundering silence surrounded the four passengers as the car approached its destination. Son Jack had never seen his father Mihkel so deep inside himself. Mihkel simply clenched his heart and soul as prepared to return to a life and place once familiar, then lost; and now, what? His mother gone and his father? Mihkel could not even grasp the inconceivable moment about to reveal itself. He began to choke up inside. His heart could not wait to get there while his body sat paralyzed by the thought. The familiar house and barn yard appeared. A few horse drawn wagons and a faded Moskvitch 4-door sedan populated the barn yard.

Voices could be heard inside. Enlisting all of the fortitude that had carried him through life’s travails to this point, Mihkel knocked on the door. The room went quiet. With a neutral but firm timber, a voice called out questioning who knocked. At this point, not caring who would hear whether friend or Soviet foe he answered, “Mihkel, Jaak Oja’s son. I am here to see my father.” With a sharp creak the door flew open. Astonished faces embraced the man as he entered the room. Seated in a rocking chair by a fireplace a slender, elderly but not frail man gasped and with the gravelly voice of age uttered, “My son.”

Tears rolled freely from all eyes in the room. Heads shook in disbelief. Myriad questions first poised on the tips of tongues suddenly seemed unnecessary. All present had been captured by the power of the moment, by the return, as if from the dead, of “their” Mihkel. Everyone cried and laughed and sang and hugged. Oh how hard they hugged. Mihkel could not have timed his return better. In Estonia, especially communist Estonia, family is everything. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces had made a routine of stopping in to keep Jaak company since Ann had passed. Today would have been her birthday so everyone had come to celebrate her life. Many in the room had yet to be born when Mihkel had fled his homeland. He quickly became aware that while he did not know everyone in the room. They all knew him. His father, Jaak, had for decades made sure. All in the family revered the brave and patriotic son of Jaak Oja. They all grew up listening to Jaak’s stories of his son’s heroic efforts in the cause of Estonian independence. Jaak had ensured that Mihkel’s rightful place in the family ranks had been established and preserved.

As the day too swiftly drew to a close Valentina and John knew they had to return to town before their power to disappear suffered challenge. They had established cover stories for their respective team members who would spend the night at the Oja farm in a joyous celebration of family. Into the wee hours Mihkel and son established family bonds of trust and love that would last many lifetimes. Jaak spoke honestly and openly of his hatred for the occupying Soviets. He could speak so openly because all present were family members. All there held an allegiance to the Oja family blood line that knew no limits when surreptitiously challenging their Soviet oppressors.

For a week, every minute that could be stolen from a their “cover story responsibilities” day found father, son and grandson reliving the Estonian life together they had missed. Jack spoke of Estonian independence. He dreamed of a time where with the Russians gone, there could be a trade school when young Estonian boys and girls could learn the technical skills needed to bring an independent Estonia back to life. Mihkel recalled warm memories of his mother. Jaak spoke of the bountiful love they shared that warmed the sturdy farm house he still called home. But for Jaak home had lost its heart. He had lost his Ann. While the joy of being reunited with his son and meeting his grandson helped to mask the pain of losing Ann it could not cure it.

Late into the night as the fire burned low, Jaak confessed to Mihkel that despite the wretched Russians, his time on earth had been blessed because of his wife, Ann. He confided that he, now, ached for nothing more than to be reunited with her. Jaak shared a wistful smile that conveyed both an inner peace and a welcome acceptance of his soon to be granted wish. Jaak apologized to Mihkel for feeling so deeply tired. Mihkel reached out as Jaak made a weary effort to rise from his chair. Mihkel braced Jaak as they both shuffled towards the bedroom. At the bedroom doorway entrance Jaak turned to Mihkel. He flashed a smile brimming with the triumphant satisfaction of an underdog’s hard earned victory. Placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, Jaak promised to reveal a surprise the next day that would become Jaak’s to keep. When Mihkel asked what, Jaak simply grinned slyly and told him that “the Elephant was still in the barn.” He then hugged his son with a loving firmness that conveyed all the missed hugs of the past 40 years. Jaak turned and retreated to bed. The scuffing of slippers on the wooden floor the only sound.

UKRAINE, 1986

Tanned and carefree Yuri Petrov returned from his Black Sea adventure on the “Russian Riviera” at Yalta. He dropped his suitcase on the bed. Checking his answering machine, he heard the voice of his Aunt Yvonne Smirnov in France. He would return her call, just not right now.