The coldest winter in memory had clamped a frozen grip upon all life in Estonia. Mihkel while battling the bitter cold knew that the record cold would ironically be the key to his plan’s success. The following morning in pitch darkness he, accompanied by his son Jack, would depart the Royale’s hiding place. From there they would drive the it across the frozen edge of the nearby Gulf of Finland with his sights on reaching Finland and freedom. Through all of this Mihkel knew his journey would be haunted by a well connected Soviet army officer obsessed with having the Royale for his own.

FINAL EPISODE – In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 20 – A Snowball’s Chance)

Soviet Icebreaker “The Lenin”

ESTONIA 1987

Petrov felt in his bones the Super Auto hiding somewhere near Neeme. He just had to get back to that desolate village. His intuition rewarded him. What he found set his Super Auto passion on fire. It also befuddled him. Right in front of him, fresh tracks in the snow. First tank tread tracks, then marks of tires with snow chains. Maddeningly he realized it had just been there. His mind raced with “how could this be?” themed thoughts. He also realized the “why” did not matter if he located the “what”. He followed the tire marks to the edge of the Gulf. He scream out loud and to no one in particular, “This is crazy.” Then, in the distance he saw it. A spot of light. He jumped in the car and together with the three soldiers attempted to chase the dot of light. Immediately the car just spun like a top.

Soviet MiG-23

Now, acting like a wild man, a frantic Petrov had the soldiers push the sedan back towards the shore. In a comic scene the soldiers slipped and fell and pushed as, all the while, Petrov screamed. Finally the car gained traction at the shore line. With frozen soldiers shivering in the car, Petrov raced back to the house of Peeter Oja. Banging on the door he demanded entry to use Peeter’s phone. Having lost control of his better judgment, he pulled every string he had. He called in every favor owed him and mentioned every story that someone did not want told. He woke his friend the admiral together with the admiral’s girlfriend. Petrov passionately sold him on an opportunity to do something big and get the promotion the admiral so richly deserved. All the admiral had to do was order a plane to bomb the ice to stop an “enemy of the people” from escaping across the frozen Gulf of Finland. Unfortunately, the admiral, half in a sleepy fog with the young woman snuggled on his chest, advised Petrov that a dangerously low ceiling had grounded all flights. “Damn it,” screamed Petrov, “Send an ice breaker and cut him off.” “Interesting,” replied the awakening admiral. “And who is this enemy of the people?” Trust me pleaded Petrov, “You will be famous.” “Okay Yuri, replied the sleepy admiral, “I have a husky older ice breaker ‘”The Lenin”’ close by. I can send it.” Pleased with his success, Petrov set about assembling the men and resources needed to retrieve “his” Super Auto. By now, Petrov had lost any command of rational thinking. He had become Captain Ahab and the Bugatti his white whale.

GULF OF FINLAND 1987

An ominous cracking sound emanating from the ice beneath the Bugatti’s chain wrapped tires sent shivers through their spines. Mihkel and Jack comforted themselves by noting that cracking did not necessarily mean breaking through. The words “I hope” went unspoken. Mihkel drove at a slow deliberate pace. In light of the dense cloud cover and barren landscape, navigation had to rely solely on Mihkel’s and Jack’s orienteering skills, which were considerable. Jack, armed with his compass and map applied his best “Kentucky Windage” to charting a path to a shore line in some part of the free world.

For Mihkel, vivid memories of his beloved and noble dog team and his escape across this same frozen expanse in the bitter winter of 1940 flooded back. At times the triumphant recollections of the past adventure overshadowed the very real and deep concerns presented by the present one. A kind of calm conviction had fallen over both father and son; Or it might better be described as a fatigued numbness born of the months of relentless emotional strain and, now, the inevitability of a fast approaching conclusion. However mixed their emotions, their focus never departed from the challenge of successfully traversing this frozen desert of ice. Then they saw it.

In the distance, a hulking Soviet ice breaker named “The Lenin” haltingly smashed the unusually thick Gulf of Finland ice as it plowed across from the east with its spotlights slicing the darkness as it scanned its surroundings. Continuing on its present course it would cleave the line Jack had plotted for the Royale’s escape route. The Lenin, a 440-ft. nuclear powered ice breaker usually patrolled the arctic ice that presented greater challenges than the normally more moderate ice cover in the Gulf of Finland. For a number of years it had been the pride of the Soviet Northern Fleet. However, chance would find The Lenin in the Gulf and, now, it towered as a powerful force determined to frustrate Mihkel’s plan. Clearly, It would be a race, plain and simple. Mihkel had to pass to the west of the ice crushing Soviet juggernaut before it cut a channel preventing his escape to Finland and freedom.

Mihkel could not safely increase his speed considering the enveloping darkness, the limited range of his spotlights and the frequent irregularities in the ice surface that needed to be avoided. Worse, it seemed impossible that the Soviet ship had not yet sighted the running lights of the Royale. Locating the escaping “enemy of the people” would considerably improve the Soviet ship’s ability to plot an optimal interception course. Mihkel observed that the attack angle of the ice breaker had changed to shorten the distance that the ship would have to travel to cut off their escape. With their chances for success clearly diminishing, both Mihkel and Jack felt the time had come to break radio silence. Jack reached for the Nokia mobile phone. He punched in Valentina’s number. She picked up on the first ring. Jack as calmly as possible briefed her on their situation. Clearly the ice breaker had been a game changer. He let her know their intended course had not changed from what they discussed when planning, but now everything had become fluid. Suddenly the phone signal started to break up. The Soviets had been listening in and had heard enough. Valentina’s voice signal deteriorated into incomprehensible static. The Soviets had succeeded in jamming the signal leaving father and son truly on their own. With no other option, Mihkel continued on the course Jack had plotted.

As the great ship loomed ever larger, its searchlights swept ever closer towards the point where it would pass across the Royale’s path. Then it happened. A great rift in the ice opened up ahead of the Royale. Like a crack in a windshield it literally ran across Mihkel’s field of vision from east to west. Spanning the distance from the icebreaker’s bow it cut off any path to Finland. “Game, set, match,” observed Jack with dejected resignation.

Just then an odd sound came from the Royale’s dashboard. “What the hell is that?” snapped Mihkel. With a bemused incredulity Jack responded, “I think it’s the police phone.” Jack remembered Viktor’s fascination with it. Jack recalled considering whoever outfitted this car in the late 1930s had really thought of everything, but then gave it no more thought. Jack picked up the hand set and heard Valentina’s voice. No time to explain she instructed. Jack gave a quick update describing how the Soviet ice breaker had cut off their escape. Basically he and Mihkel had run out of options. Valentina replied, “I disagree.” She continued saying, “Do you have your lights on.” Jack ever the wise-ass responded, “You bet we do. Wouldn’t want that big Soviet ice breaker to miss us.” Valentina continued saying, “Do you have a flashlight?” “Yes,” answered Jack. Valentina with the conviction of a drill instructor said, “I know it is brutally cold but stand outside and, shortly, you will hear something coming toward you. Just wave your flashlight at it. No questions. Just do it. Trust me.”

Jack stepped outside. In a few bitingly cold moments he heard a loud rhythmic sound coming in low and fast. Looking towards Mihkel, Jack uttered in disbelief, “Jesus.” Stirring up a bone chilling swirling storm of snow a Sikorsky Super Stallion heavy-lift helicopter hovered, then, it set down a short distance from the Royale. Sliding back the cockpit window Ed “Wonderfalk” Sikes yelled to hook up the car as the helicopter’s side door opened and John Taylor brought out rigging cables. The biting cold made it too difficult and painful to talk. Talking could wait. Jack knew exactly what to do. This Bugatti had been designed with four jack points to facilitate rapid tire changes during a race. Each jack point consisted of a 10-inch long high strength steel bar attached between two gusseted chassis mounts. With a cable affixed to each of the four jack points everybody scrambled on board except Jack. He remained on the ground to make sure the load hung properly. With the grace of an Olympic gymnast the Super Stallion with Wonderfalk at the controls lifted the Bugatti. With the Royal suspended from the cables and hanging flat and steady a few feet off the ground, John tossed down a rope ladder which Jack climbed. Now sealed up and airborne the big chopper turned north and, with its priceless cargo firmly secured, headed across the frozen international waters towards Finland and freedom.

ESTONIA 1987

“What? What helicopter? Shoot it down! No, don’t shoot it down! No, Shoot it down!” spit flew out of Petrov’s mouth onto the mouthpiece as he screamed uncontrollably into the phone at the admiral.

Ripped from the joy of arranging the capture of these pirates absconding with his Bugatti, Petrov could not believe some helicopter had snatched away this treasure from closing grasp. He fumed. While he bellowed at no one in particular, he stood amidst the Soviet Army detail assigned to him. He drew numerous uncomfortable glances as he ranted saying, “Our planes are grounded yet some “Buck-a-roo” zooms in under our noses and snatches this prize. What kind of cowardly Soviet pilots do we have who fear a few clouds?” Soldiers in his detail, first imperceptibly then more obviously, began putting distance between themselves and Petrov.

FINLAND 1987

As a bottle of brandy circulated through the helicopter warming faces  produced the jubilation of great victories and the raucous laughter born of death defied. Naali, the Arctic Fox, and Wonderfalk, clearly, had added to their legends. Shortly the coast of Finland came into view greeted by the hearty cheers of all on board. Suddenly the helicopter slowed to a hover. A forest clearing came into view. Out from the woods emerged a large truck with a canvas topped bed. Four men jumped out of the truck, pulled back the canvas cover and removed the metal ribs that supported the canvas. Wonderfalk skillfully hovered above the truck. He positioned the Bugatti squarely over the truck’s bed. Then, like placing a baby on a blanket he gently lowered the 7^th Bugatti Royale onto the truck where the four men each released one of the cables. Then Mihkel, Jack and John quickly hauled in the cables and by the time the chopper had turned to leave, the truck had disappeared.

After a matter of minutes, the helicopter with Wonderfalk at the controls approached the far end of a quiet snow topped meadow. Once there he put down near a waiting car. John Taylor directed Mihkel and Jack out of the helicopter to the car where Valentina waited. With a quick exchange of warm hugs mixed with Valentina’s tears the three departed quickly with Valentina at the wheel. She explained that all would meet up after Ed had returned the helicopter to the Finish National Geological Survey facility upon completing John Taylor’s “government approved” aerial review of various geological features.

After driving through a forest to the end of a meandering country road, they pulled up to a small but handsome stone cottage. It belonged to a retired General in the Finish Defense Forces. The General’s service to his country dated back to the Winter War of 1939 to 1940. From firsthand experience the General held Mihkel and Ed in the highest regard. Nothing would be too much to ask if requested by the legendary Wonderfalk and Naali, The Arctic Fox. Like the General, a legion of senior and influential members of Finish society felt the same way about Mihkel and Ed. That deep reverence had helped facilitate the favorable and expeditious treatment of a number of accommodations made in the name of Wonderfalk and the Arctic Fox. The availability of a heavy lift helicopter, the off-loading and disappearance of an unregistered car flown onto Finish soil and confirmation of Mihkel’s and Jack’s legal entry into Finland represented but three examples.

The five co-conspirators; Mihkel, Ed, Jack, Valentina and John seated near a very warm and welcoming fire in the cozy cottage, hosted a recounting of everyone’s role in the Great Escape. Stories of heroism, close calls and lucky breaks filled the air like a dense flock of birds. The magnificent cooperation of their valiant Estonian and Finish co-conspiratorial accomplices, some free some not, resided at the heart of much of the retelling.

Amidst the exhaustion and exhilaration reality slapped Jack in the face.  “Where’s the car?” Jack bellowed.  Ed’s response froze all in stunned silence. “I doubt you’ll ever see it again,” said Ed. “What?” they responded as one. “I sold it,” said Ed, suddenly assuming his persona as the savvy classic car broker. The room dithered like a bee hive that had lost its queen. Ed continued explaining, “I reached out to two quite secretive Swiss car collectors, brothers actually, with a passion for Bugattis and anonymity. Quite an appealing combination I thought considering our circumstances. I had dealt with them previously. Anyway, as I suspected, Hans and Fritz, their last name is Schlumpf, jumped at the chance.” Ed continued, having correctly read the troubled looks swirling about the room, “What you have achieved has been a great accomplishment but the challenge of selling a car, one that, let’s be honest, has been pilfered from behind the Iron Curtain, is fraught with many serious problems. Some involve the authorities who despite how much Mihkel is loved and respected, may not view this situation in the kindest of lights. Selling to the Schlumpfs eliminated all of these potential problems.” After a painful silence Mihkel spoke, “I have and continue to trust Ed with my life. Whatever he has done I support. My goal has been to contribute to my father’s dream of creating a technical trade school in a free Estonia. I hope this will help. How did we do?” Ed responded by explaining that the Schlumpfs were known as shrewd negotiators. He explained how they knew well the precarious situation in which his client, Mihkel, found himself. He added that the Schlumpfs, who had lost their Bugatti collection, desperately wanted this car and the secrecy that surrounded it. So Ed said, “We settled on a price that we agreed would be fair to both sides.” Ed paused for effect. He then said, “How does $8.5 million sound.” Outside the cottage a sudden explosion of screams and joyous laughter echoed through the otherwise silent snow trimmed woods. A startled Siberian Jay took flight from a nearby tree.

EPILOGUE

MOSCOW 1987 – The Soviet Union denied published reports of a maritime incident in the frozen Gulf of Finland during the “Big Freeze” OF 1987.

MOSCOW 1988 – Intense and classified scrutiny by the badly embarrassed Soviet Politburo focused on what had internally been described as unauthorized use of the People’s ice breaker “Lenin.” The admiral responsible received the significant amount of intention that he craved; unfortunately, all of it bad. He was subjected to a humiliating demotion which could have been far worse. However, he defended himself by declaring to have been following the directions of Colonel Yuri Petrov who claimed to be speaking on behalf of the Soviet KGB hierarchy.

SIBERIA 1988 – Colonel Yuri Petrov was reinstated into active duty in the Red Army. Assigned to the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, he would oversee troops guarding the Northeastern Siberian labor camps. He would do so until the collapse of the Soviet Union 1n 1991.

ESTONIA 1991 – Estonia departs the Soviet Bloc to become a free and independent nation.

FINLAND 1992 – Because of their past financial problems and fear of the Royale’s seizure by the French Government, the Schlumpf brothers hid their newly acquired 7^th Royale at an isolated location in Finland known only to them. Hans Died in 1989. Fritz died in 1992. Neither brother ever revealed the location of the Royale. To this day no one knows of its location. That remains a story to be told another day.

ESTONIA 1993 – Mihkel Oja together with his wife Beth and son Jack were joined by Valentina and John Taylor and Ed “Wonderfalk” Sikes for the ribbon cutting to open the OJA Technical Training Institute in Tallinn. Viktor Karmään was announced as its Director.

© Copyright 2023 Burton Hall

With the this the conclusion of the “The Lost 7th Royale,” I would greatly appreciate any and all comments as to the quality of its content and its ability to hold your interest.

Mihkel refused to accept defeat. He committed himself to selling the Bugatti in the non-communist world of the West. His goal being to fund an Estonian technical school honoring his parent’s name. To succeed, he would resort to a new plan that called for revisiting an old solution. Confronted by an extraordinarily bitter Baltic winter, Mihkel recognized a rare opportunity. He would take advantage of the severe cold by driving the Bugatti to Finland and freedom across a frozen Gulf of Finland. With the mechanically revitalized Bugatti now stashed in an isolated fishing village by the edge of the frozen Gulf, Mihkel stood poised to face the greatest challenge of his life. Certainly he had no intention of allowing some corrupt Soviet military officer to stop him.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale (Part 3, Episode 19 – Frozen Freeway to Freedom

ESTONIA 1987, JANUARY 9th

An hour after learning of a possible sighting of the mystery Bugatti, a frenzied Yuri Petrov hustled to a waiting military vehicle joined by three Soviet soldiers. “Go, go, go,” snapped Petrov. Leaving Tallin, they headed for the eastern part of Harju County to where the informant had reported seeing the big fancy car. Here deep in Estonian winter the sun would set at 15:45. Petrov hoped to get there before dark. His driver had his doubts.

FINLAND 1987,  JANUARY 9th

Before departing for Helsinki Valentina had been thoroughly briefed by Mihkel. She knew he intended for the Bugatti to depart in darkness on the morning of the 10^th. She felt greatly relieved that her husband John had equipped them with a Nokia Cityman 450 mobile phone. She did not understand much about these newly introduced portable phones, but she felt greatly relieved that Mihkel had one. The thought that there might be a way to communicate with them during the Great Escape comforted her.

Ed “Wonderfalk” Sikes had arrived well over a week ago. He immediately endeared himself as if a distant but beloved family member. She somehow wanted to call him Uncle Ed. She found great solace in his warmth, confidence and abilities. As a diplomat Valentina had experience with many powerful people. Somehow “Wonderfalk” seemed different. With her diplomatic experience, she marveled at how he managed his global connections like a chess master skillfully moving pieces; sometimes calmly, other times aggressively but always with a plan. With a magician’s ease, he seemed capable of making doors magically open. Soon it would not be a door that challenged him but an Iron Curtain.

ESTONIA 1987, JANUARY 9th

Considering the flimsy fabric of any realistic expectations of success, all preparations had been completed to the degree possible. Tomorrow would be the day. The sight of a low thick cloud cover over the frozen Gulf of Finland heartened Mihkel. Thankfully Salamander space heaters had been brought to warm the small warehouse concealing the stashed Bugatti. The Royale, now calmly idling, stood fully prepped. Tomorrow morning Jack intended to have it at operating temperature and ready by 6:00am. Here in the far north daylight would arrive at 9:18 in the morning. Mihkel estimated the distance across the Gulf to be roughly 60 miles. How long would it take? Hopefully less than the three hours when dawn would arrive, but no one really knew. Mihkel and Jack would be together in the Royale. Reminiscent of the early pre-WWII days of auto racing, Mihkel would drive and Jack would be the riding mechanic.

Thiokol Snow Cat

Viktor, driving the Thiokol 601 would clear the way to the Gulf’s frozen edge. He, then, would return to Eesti Energia to return the borrowed equipment. At that point committed to reaching the distant shore Mihkel, Jack and the beautiful beast would be on their own. For enhanced visibility, 12-volt spotlights had been affixed on the front of the Bugatti. The Nokia Cityman 450 mobile phone would be in the Bugatti. Viktor looking at the Bugatti’s 1938 police phone joked that if Mihkel and Jack needed help they could always call the police. Interestingly, a while back Viktor during a rare break from resurrecting the Royale had taken the opportunity to mention the police phone in the car to John Taylor. Viktor found it fascinating that cars in the 1930s could have 2-way communication. While technology had moved on he believed that that police phone could still communicate with someone using a shortwave radio dialed to around 3 Megahertz. Geologist John had a mind that liked science and numbers. He never forgot that discussion.

The approaching afternoon darkness muted the fading daylight of the frigid January 9^th. All that could be done had been done. Jack had just shut down the Bugatti when everyone heard a car pull up. A car door opened. A voice called out. At the front door of the nearby house, the owner of the warehouse could be heard responding. The owner, Peeter Oja, an older Oja family member and great admirer of Mihkel, had been pleased to contribute the use of his warehouse to what he viewed as Mihkel’s patriotic effort.

A man speaking in Russian with a commanding tone, identified himself as a Colonel Petrov. Despite his best efforts to intimidate the old man, Petrov experienced no success in communicating with Peeter. Peeter understood Russian but, apparently, had chosen not to in this instance. Meanwhile peeking through a crack in the warehouse wall, Viktor saw four men in uniforms standing by the four open doors of the car. He gasped upon recognizing the one speaking and clearly in charge. It was the Soviet officer he had misdirected at the train station. He felt a chill; one that had nothing to do with the sub-zero temperature.

Frustrated with the stupid Estonian who did not understand the language of his Russian occupiers, the officer called upon one of his accompanying soldiers, an Estonian who spoke Russian, to translate. Like a schoolyard bully the soldier gruffly demanded to know if the old man had seen any unusual activity involving a big fancy car. The normally sharp Peeter, acted confused, even baffled by the questions. He deferentially apologized for his inability to help. Finally, Petrov, clearly frustrated and with the sun setting, said he would return tomorrow. Four doors could be heard shutting. The sedan spun its tires in the loose slippery gravel and pulled away from the village heading in the direction of Tallinn. Peeter shuffling past a warehouse window cast a sly and knowing smile to those inside. Relieved but alarmed, Mihkel, Jack and Viktor knew they had to be long gone by tomorrow morning.

Shortly after departing Neeme and while passing the residence of the informant, Petrov decided he did not like the idea of traveling the distance back to Tallinn. He sensed that he should not leave: that his Super Auto lay hidden somewhere within his grasp. No, he would not return to Tallinn. He would honor the local informant responsible for sighting the car by allowing him to house Petrov and his soldiers for the evening.

ESTONIA 1987, JANUARY 10^th

The three awoke to an outside temperature of -24°F. Luckily their parkas, sleeping bags and the space heaters made the little sleep they got sufficiently comfortable. Looking out a soiled window Mihkel, upon seeing a very low hanging sky, nodded to himself. Then offering his comrades a clenched lipped half-smile, set about explaining how the low ceiling would be their friend. Viktor, ever the eager student, had asked Mihkel why the low sky pleased should please them.

Mihkel described how a low cloud ceiling over the Gulf of Finland can be thick enough to interfere with radar. As well, such a low cloud cover especially when combined with a deep freeze could seriously degrade flying conditions much to the benefit of their Royale’s Great Escape. The low temperature would likely mean that all military aircraft concerned about icing on the wings would be grounded and anything in the air could never see through the dense cloud cover. In all, winter weather conditions producing seriously impaired radar tracking and grounded military aircraft would significantly improve their chances for success. To be more specific Mihkel comforted the team saying, “Now, we do have a snow ball’s chance in hell.” Michael laughed heartily and warmly cuffed a clearly concerned Viktor on the shoulder.

Serenaded by the throaty rumble of the idling and, now, warmed Royale the three completed a breakfast consisting of cold sandwiches and hot coffee. As Jack opened the carburetor choke, the engine smoothed out. The resulting transition of the massive 12.7-liter engine’s note to a brutish hum seemed to signal a call to action. With Peeter joining in, handshakes and hugs prefaced everyone’s retreat to their stations: Viktor to the Snow Cat. Mihkel and Jack to the Royale and Peeter to clearing his warehouse of any telltale debris.

Petrov had barely slept. His watch showed 5:30 am. Though black as the dead of night, 5:30 found him shuffling about while mustering a cup of coffee. The house offered nary a sound save for the light snoring of one of the soldiers. “How wretchedly bitter,” Petrov mused as he looked into the empty blackness.”

Viktor, his face illuminated by the Snow Cat instrument cluster, lead the way into the pitch darkness of the early morning. The Snow Cat’s bright headlamps and rooftop spotlights carved a tunnel of light ending at the surrounding desolate forest in the distance. Elderly Peeter, his breath billowing like a cloud encircling his weather lined face stood at the open warehouse door as the Royale eased out like a great ship departing port. Accompanying the movement of this grand Bugatti like some great mechanical musical instrument, the snow chains wrapped about each tire accompanied each rotation with a husky rhythmic rattle, clink and clatter. Mihkel in pulling out had just begun to get a feel for the Royale. On the light dusting of fine snow, the brutish torque of the engine spun the wheels and threw a chain free. Mihkel gunned the engine in frustration and hopped out of the car together with Jack to ensure once and for all the chains would remain in place. The lights of the Snow Cat bathed the big Bugatti in welcome illumination as Mihkel and Jack labored in the cruel cold.

Petrov’s head snapped to alert, his right side ear tilted up as if to enhance its acuity. “Did you hear that?” barked a wide eyed Petrov. All in the kitchen, each muddled in a post sleep fog, expressed a variant of the same response, “hear what?” “Shut up and listen, do you hear it?” bellowed Petrov. And they did. The sound clearly emanated from a serious engine. Petrov knew it had to be the racing engine of a great Bugatti. “Get dressed. Get dressed. Let’s go. Let’s go!” yelled a frantic Petrov. For Petrov, moments that seemed like hours dragged by as the young soldiers hustled to depart. One of the soldiers and been smart enough to leave their car running over night. They stumbled through the light snow cover and fumbled with their thick gloves and clumsy door handles. One of the doors seemed frozen. Petrov near apoplectic shoved both soldiers in through the one operative rear door. They headed north towards Neeme.

Their frigidly painful task completed, Mihkel and Jack knew the snow chains could now be trusted. Mihkel, as well, with greater respect for the Bugatti’s power, eased in behind the Snow Cat. The sound of the Snow Cat’s tank treads together with the Bugatti’s huge V8 driven chain wrapped wheels made what Mihkel acknowledged as one God awful noise. He crossed himself and prayed that the “The Good Lord” would keep the cloud cover low and dense.

Viktor nosed up to the edge of the frozen Gulf and backed off to make room for the Bugatti. Viktor, Mihkel and Jack exchanged waves and thumbs up. They did not dare to leave their vehicles. They had said enough goodbyes. Mihkel eased the beautiful beast onto the ice. His concern for controlling the Bugatti on such a hazardous surface caused Mihkel to move slowly and deliberately. He would most likely remain in second gear for greater control. While staying in the lower gear might consume more fuel, Mihkel and Jack agreed that the Bugatti’s full 200-liter gas tank would hopefully eliminate fuel as a concern.

Viktor choked up as he watched the two greatest men he had ever known slowly disappear into a frozen unknown. As much as he just wanted to watch their journey for as long as possible, he knew he should leave immediately lest Communist soldiers who had not been bribed come by on patrol. As a snow had started to fall and cover his tracks, Viktor chose to take a longer path back before returning to the main road. While approaching a clearing where in daylight Peeter Oja’s old warehouse could be seen, Viktor caught the flash of an approaching car’s headlights in the far distance. Unsure as to who would be out here in the early morning, he turned his lights off, shut down the Snow Cat and waited silently in the dark.

© Copyright 2023 Burton Hall

THE CONCLUDING EPISODE OF THE LOST 7^TH ROYALE WILL BE PUBLISHED ON JULY 1. I AM GOING TO ITALY FOR THE MILLE MIGLIA:)

Though discovered and freed from its 45-year confinement in Jaak Oja’s barn in rural Estonia, the fabulous last 7^th Bugatti Royale remained a captive behind the Soviet Iron Curtain. Mihkel Oja’s plan to spirit away this long lost treasure, had been dashed. Colonel Yuri Petrov a high ranking and highly connected Soviet army officer had stumbled upon the Bugatti’s existence. Petrov, like his mentor, past Soviet Premier Leonid Brehznev, enjoyed a very uncommunist-like passion for exotic cars. Petrov by following the Bugatti’s trail to Estonia had unknowingly foiled Mihkel’s plan to surreptitiously ship the car out of the country. Now, with a harsh winter fast approaching and the team’s legitimate window for leaving Estonia quickly closing and the mounting threat of discovery by communist authorities, Mihkel had to act now or never.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 18 – End Game)

ESTONIA, 1986

St. Lucia’s Day 1986 found Mihkel, in looking ahead, recognizing an oncoming weather pattern. He had seen it once before in the cruel winter of early 1940. Only this time the signs portended an even more brutally punishing Arctic freeze. In light of this observation, he had an idea. Mihkel’s Plan “B” did not even enjoy the slim odds of success associated with the “Trojan Horse” plan that had failed. However, it did have one great advantage. He had made it work once before.

Upon hearing Mihkel’s plan his team of Valentina, Jack, John, and, now, Viktor, new to the leadership role, screamed “absolutely not.” Though Viktor did not yell as vigorously as the others. “That’s insane,” barked Valentina. Mihkel just calmly raised his right hand, palm out, like a policeman stopping traffic. “I have done it before,” Mihkel quietly said attempting to quell their concern. Then, Jack spoke up saying, “Yes and you did it as a young man with a team of huskies and a dog sled, not a 2-ton Bugatti.” Mihkel’s plan focused on prepping the Bugatti to drive across a frozen Gulf of Finland to Finland. With a gently expressed feigned confidence Mihkel attempted to lighten the mood saying, “What could possibly go wrong?”

After a discussion consisting of pretty much equal parts heated disagreement and pleading, Mihkel’s team unanimously rejected the idea. However, Mihkel’s vote would be the only one to matter, and he voted yes. The dissenting but ever loyal team fell in line. They would do everything possible to make the plan work. Though he did not let on, Viktor who had come to revere Mihkel on a level bordering worship, felt a powerful inner burst of pride in witnessing Mihkel’s determination.

The Gulf of Finland had not frozen over since 1940 when Mihkel escaped across the ice to Finland. However, a wicked and unusually severe arctic cold wave had swept over the Baltic region with daily temperatures hovering around 0°F. Mihkel’s instincts afforded him the confidence to basically bet his life that the “Big Freeze” would linger; and it did. For the first time in 47 years the Gulf between Tallinn and Helsinki would freeze. While the “Big Freeze” gave Mihkel what he wanted, it deprived much of the local population of what they needed. As temperatures plummeted producing record lows reaching -24°F. Local power outages left people without heat or electricity, some shops had empty shelves, and inflation soared as the value of the Russian Ruble fell. Rationing of bread and milk products resulted from interrupted supply chains. The inability of the Estonian government to function effectively created an overall shock to the public. The only silver lining of this freak weather crisis came in how it would benefit Mihkel’s escape. The American dollar, of which Mihkel’s team had a stash, became even more desirable, as the Estonian populace found itself with a desperate need for basic supplies, supplies that could purchase on the black market with the more valuable American dollar. Effectiveness of Estonian border security forces and repressive communist policies in general had declined in the face of the punishing weather conditions compounded by a growing Estonian pro-independence movement. If ever there existed the perfect bad storm enabling a clandestine Iron Curtain border crossing this was it.

Compared to the group that undertook the unsuccessful “Trojan Horse” effort, the team in Estonia dedicated to undertaking this ice bound “Great Escape” would look very different and be much smaller. With time quickly running out on the Estonian government sanctioned stays of Valentina’s Dance troop and John’s Geological Research team, both groups would have to depart for Helsinki as planned by December 18th. However, neither Mihkel nor Jack would be with them. Here the team prayed for the persuasive power of the American dollar in a country where a bribe of $500 could significantly improve a local person’s life for a year. Now in the “Big Freeze” its value as an incentive had significantly increased.

So much could go wrong it seemed hardly possible that the plan could succeed. There existed no doubt that faith played a major role. Valentina’s and John’s groups would depart for Helsinki before ice blocked the ferry. Customs officials had accepted life changing bribes of $1000 each to approve passage of Mihkel and Jack through customs “in abstentia” so to speak. Mihkel, Jack, and Viktor intended to remain in Estonia where, supported by the Forest Brothers and Sisters, they would work feverishly to bring the Royale back to an operational state. Amidst the chaos swirling around this last minute (no one wanted to use the word “desperate”) plan’s implementation, thinking negatively had no value. Everyone simply had to believe. Mihkel’s best estimate placed D-Day, (Departure Day) at around the 10^th of January depending on more variables than any team member care to acknowledge.

By the morning after being misdirected by Viktor, Petrov now accompanied by a few Soviet soldiers had finally located the warehouse deep in the dense Estonian forest. It triggered a distant memory. An overnight dusting of snow had obscured any tire tracks around the structure. However, once inside, evidence of a flurry of very recent activity could be seen everywhere. Empty Tartu Õlletehas brand beer bottles collected in a barrel. Mugs still held some coffee, though now frozen. However, most perplexing to Petrov, could best be described as a great timber monument. Dominating the warehouse floor resided a giant horizontal log stack. A dumbfounding anomaly, it made no sense until Petrov walked around to the other side to discover that the great stack formed a hollow space large enough to conceal an automobile. Petrov’s pulse raced. Then, his jaw clenched with frustration as he ruminated on what he would have found if he had only gotten here a day earlier. “Damn that stupid truck driver and his stupid directions,” he thought. However, his mood quickly swung to that of a great hunter on a warm trail. He felt a glorious prize within his reach. Still, he would have someone keep an eye on the warehouse.

With time melting like butter on a hot skillet, Mihkel had to make two quick decisions. First he had to detail for Valentina and John their roles and responsibilities. While their dance and geological groups would return to America, they would stay in Helsinki and coordinate activities on the Finnish side. For Valentina that meant taking vacation time from her United Nations work to open up channels available to her through her diplomatic contacts and to immediately enlist the support of Ed Sikes. Apparently “Naali, the Arctic Fox” and “Wonderfalk” would have one more long shot mission to face. Secondly, Mihkel no longer felt safe housing the Bugatti on the Oja farm. The urgency of relocating the Royale could not be overstated. On December 16^th the Dance Company and Research team braving 0°F temperatures and biting winds had departed for Helsinki. December 17^th saw Valentina depart for Helsinki having confirmed that Ed Sikes would be arriving in Helsinki in two days. During that time “Wonderfalk” would be busy reconnecting with friends across the Baltic region. His exploits over the past 40-some years had earned him a rightfully earned hero’s stature across the region among senior members of the government and military alike. Any conversation expressing the possibility that the legendary Wonderfalk and Arctic Fox would reunite once again in Finland, would bring all other discussions to an abrupt and reverential halt.

John Taylor worked feverishly to arrange the technical support needed to provide any hope for Mihkel’s plan to succeed. Using his authority and some financial incentives he established Viktor as an approved source of technical support for Eesti Energia. This allowed the young Estonian access to the portable generators, welding equipment, space heaters and gasoline that had proved so helpful at the warehouse. Viktor would also have access to the motor pool as well as benefiting from the latest Nokia Cityman 450 mobile phone that would allow him to connect with John in Finland. The motor pool access and mobile phone addressed critical needs for transportation and communication necessary for Mihkel’s idea to have any chance of success. December 18^th saw John join Valentina in Helsinki. In that pivotal two-day period Viktor played the web of the Oja family underground like a virtuoso violinist. In that brief period he had arranged what he and Mihkel believed to be an ideal site in Harju County to relocate the Royale. In searching for a new work space Viktor had located an abandoned brick kiln very appealing on numerous counts especially its remoteness and proximity to the Gulf of Finland from where Mihkel would launch his escape. Its roomy interior and still functional fireplaces would provide an acceptable space to prep and stage the Bugatti for its planned midnight run to Finland and freedom.

Estonia’s northern coast bordering the Gulf of Finland provided the closest proximity to Finland, roughly 50 miles. The area had brick factories as its main employer. Poverty gripped a large part of the population. The state of the local economy would see the presence of Mihkel’s “Great Escape” effort provide a selective and desperately needed infusion of money into the hands of those that needed it most. Needless to say, the local community proved to be resoundingly supportive of and stonily silent about, whatever that very generous Viktor and his friends do in that old abandoned brick kiln.

In the setting sun of the crumbling Soviet empire young conscripts yanked from distant homelands proved equally open to cash incentives. In this case, the 18 to 20-year old soldiers responsible for raking the beaches to show any footsteps approaching the water, would, now, rake over any tire tracks when directed to do so.

Snow crunched under the tank treads of a trusty old Thiokol 601 Snow Cat as it left the Eesti Energia motor pool. Pulling an empty flatbed trailer, it moved quickly along the lonely country roads in a jerky sort of way. Its destination, the Oja farm. Reaching the farm it circled in the open yard kicking up a cloud of snow driven by a bitter wind. Jack opened the doors as Viktor deftly backed the trailer into the barn. The two together with Mihkel worked quickly. The Royale yielded its ground with surprisingly little resistance as the Snow Cat winched it on to the trailer. Fighting the cold and wind, the three men affixed and anchored a large tarp about the Bugatti’s sculpted contours. It transformed the beautiful beast into a shapeless cargo not worthy of a second look. With a burly groan accompanied by the rattle of trailer safety chains the big cat departed the garage: now towing a treasure. Before leaving, all three men did their best to remove signs of activity. They dropped hay and dragged rakes. They did their best to leave no trace. Mihkel, then, closed the barn doors and set the lock. Without looking back, the three men tossed suitcases into the Snow Cat, climbed in and left. While not yet under its own power, the big Royale had none the less begun its uncertain and irreversible journey to Finland and freedom.

December 20^th found Petrov having dinner with an old friend and senior navy officer in a command position with the Soviet Baltic Fleet. Petrov’s friend over many vodkas described the tedium of his responsibilities overseeing a fleet of old ice breakers. He bemoaned how a man of his skills and capabilities belonged in command of a Soviet warship. He resented his relegation to managing “old tubs that the Russian navy probably commissioned when Lenin was alive.” He viewed his situation as wrongful punishment for having taken advantage of opportunities that higher ups freely enjoyed. He explained his maltreatment saying, “Some greedy Stalin types did not like him drinking from their trough.” He dreamed of the opportunity to do something dramatic that would elevate his stature. “That,” he said, “Would force Moscow to reward him with an assignment suitable for a man of his abilities.” Petrov feigned sympathy for his drinking buddy’s situation though saw little hope for its improvement. That said, his friend from the old days could hold his liquor, enjoyed reliving stories and Petrov trusted him. In the Soviet hierarchy it is always important to nurture good friendships. One never knows when they will have value.

While Petrov rejected any Christian beliefs, a prerequisite for membership in the Communist Party, each winter holiday time (Christmas and New Years) he would return to his native Ukraine to enjoy holiday festivities and parties. He would do the same this year. He reasoned that in this frozen Estonian lock-down, no one would be doing anything, much less smuggling a Bugatti.

ESTONIA 1987

Everyone dearly missed their loved ones as they labored on the Royale bathed in the shadowy light that filled the abandoned Brick Kiln. Despite its age and decrepitude, its open wood burning fire places shielded them from the worst of the Hellish Estonian winter. For the first two weeks of the new year temperatures never rose above 0°F. Working through the forbidden Christmas holidays of communist Estonian, they entertained each other by signing joyous Christmas carols and songs. Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ around the Christmas tree” and the WWII classic “I’ll be home for Christmas” being two favorites. Viktor took special delight in learning the American songs. The fact that he had a great singing voice brought good cheer to all as they labored, and labor they did.

As skilled automotive troubleshooters they consistently marveled at the quality of the workmanship evident in the Royale. Chosen by fate to resurrect this pinnacle example of 20^th century Olympian automobiles each man worked in awe of its technical and aesthetic genius. It provided the team with a uniquely rugged mechanical jewel that their considerable technical skills could polish into a functioning automobile despite its near half century left in a barn. Working in their favor this last Royale had originally been designed and prepped to function optimally in a punishing long distance race through a harsh northern winter.

On January 7^th, Mihkel sat behind the wheel of the beautiful beast pulled out the choke and cranked the powerful starter motor. Much like a young child new to the challenge of walking, first attempts faltered. However, with technically astute Jack (Mihkel called Jack the car-whisperer) adjusting, tweaking and massaging the great 12.7 liter, 8-cylinder, the Royale roared to life. Exhibiting a truly human expression of achieving instantaneous freedom from unrelieved stress and a profound team accomplishment the three, to a man, cried as they cheered. Serenaded by the basso profundo exhaust note of the big V8, the men affixed snow chains to each tire for greater traction. The 52 gallon (200-liter) gas tank would hopefully feed the beast for long enough to reach Finland. They estimated 6 miles per gallon at best and 1.5 miles per gallon under full acceleration.

The morning of January 8^th welcomed the team with a -20°F slap in the face. Mihkel putting a good spin on the God-awful cold noted that the long spell of frigid weather ensured that the ice would be thick enough to support the Bugatti. He added that it could also kill them if not given due respect by dressing properly. Today, on this dark morning, they would transport the Bugatti to the small quiet town of Neeme by the Gulf coast. Victor had arranged for a warehouse where the Bugatti would be unloaded and fine tuned in preparation for the Great Escape on the 10th. On that day handsomely bribed young Soviet soldiers would be looking the other way when that time came.

Viktor backed the Snow Cat up to the abandoned vine wrapped brick kiln. With the doors open the Arctic wind caused the warming fires inside the kiln to dance within their brick enclosures. The men heavily bundled in white parkas struggled to wrap the Bugatti as before. This time the wind had other ideas and swept away the heavy tarp leaving it pinned to the top of a large nearby pine tree. Mihkel made the call, “Never mind, let’s go.” With the temperature so cold and the area so isolated, Mihkel’s hopes rested on the belief that no one would see the Bugatti on this dark morning. Even if they did, Mihkel and the Bugatti would soon be gone. He chuckled a fatalistic half laugh to himself thinking, “Guaranteed we will be gone, one way or the other.” The Snow Cat’s tracks dug into the snow covered ground. Again with a groan and the clanking of trailer chains the Royale moved yet closer to Finland and Freedom.

Through the holiday season Petrov had been unable and, admittedly, unwilling to free his mind from thoughts of the Super Auto that he believed waited just beyond his grasp. On January 5^th he had returned to Tallinn to continue his search. There he had reached out to the local communist authorities asking for any information that might relate to a “missing” special classic automobile. He explained it had been stolen from a politburo member and the KGB believed it might be in Estonia. He emphasized that the details of this matter should be kept confidential. He made a point of noting that any assistance would be greatly appreciated and rewarded.

Much to Mihkel’s mistaken relief, he believed that no one had seen them on the road that dark morning of the 8th. Even better, a winter mist had further obscured the Bugatti. None the less, everyone involved felt great relief upon seeing the Bugatti unloaded and sequestered in the warehouse at the small village of Neeme. Over the next day, Jack would conduct a final and detailed inspection which would conclude with firing up the beautiful beast to confirm all would be ready tomorrow, the 10^th. Viktor pulled the Snow Cat into the woods and unhooked the trailer.

Around noon on January 9^th Petrov’s phone rang. The caller, an Estonian communist party official had heard from a local Russian informant of a big fancy car being seen the day before on a trailer in Harju County.

© Copyright 2023 Burton Hall

A fabulous race prepped 1930s Bugatti Royale had been unearthed in Estonia in 1986. For forty-five years it quietly sat secretly sequestered in a barn on the farm of Mihkel Oja’s just deceased father Jaak Oja. It’s discovery has inspired the grieving Oja retinue from America to devise a wild scheme to smuggle the car out of Estonia. Because they envisioned an independent Estonia in the not too distant future, their intention called for selling the Bugatti in the west to fund an Estonian technical trades academy. It would serve as a magnificent memorial to honor the patriotism of Mihkel’s deceased parents. At the same time sneaking this “Mona Lisa” of vintage cars out from under the repressive Estonian communist government’s nose would serve to celebrate Jaak Oja’s antipathy to Estonia’s communist regime.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 17- The Best Laid Plans)

ESTONIA 1986

All men selected by Valentina to bring the Bugatti plan to life, called themselves the “Forest Brothers.” The name would honor the roughly thirty thousand native Estonian men who in WWII chose not to submit to the Germans nor subsequently the Russians. These thousands of men instead armed themselves and melted into the dense Estonian forests. From then on, these Forest Brothers conducted a brutal guerilla war against first the Nazis, then the Soviet occupying forces. They continued to fight for years even after the end of the War.

WWII Forest Brothers

Viktor Karmään joined by loyal extended Oja family members Roman, Andrus, Peeter, Aleksander, Margus and Madis formed the core of the new Forest Brothers. In the suppressed but patriotic native Estonian culture the sacrifices of those who came before were held in the highest esteem. Unspoken but understood, these new Forest Brothers, like their WWII namesakes, would give their lives rather than betray a comrade. Not alone, the Forest Brothers had the support of women from the extended Oja family; all no less dedicated than their brethren. Olga, Katrin, Marina, Helen and Elena would call themselves the Forest Sisters. Together as a clandestine assemblage of righteous co-conspirators, they formed a resourceful and fearless ad hoc network dedicated to a single purpose. They would make Mihkel Oja’s plan a reality. Consisting of craftsmen, local police, dock supervisors, port administrators, town officials, loggers, warehouse managers and a doctor, all involved had an important role to play.

Led by Mihkel and Valentina all understood they had to move with speed and precision as winter fast approached. All bore the burden of being entrusted with creating and delivering the hollow log “Trojan Horse” containing the Royale. Though eager, the Forest Brothers and Sisters faced a daunting task subject to a fast moving clock. Two major choke points loomed over the work schedule. First the visiting Americans’ mandatory departure time in Estonia rapidly approached and secondly punishing Arctic winds already portended a harsh winter.

With little time and scarce resources they toiled tirelessly to fabricate the “Trojan Horse.” A rugged Ural 6X6 flatbed truck “borrowed” from a logging camp would provide the muscle to haul the Trojan Horse to the docks. As fabrication proceeded respected team members discretely dispensed bribes to smooth access to the docks and facilitate passage and approvals through the port to the awaiting Liberian flagged cargo ship.

Finding seasoned logs reduced the weight of the Trojan Horse by almost half compared to fresh cut lumber. Finding a site with little chance of discovery unwittingly brought the story full circle as the warehouse built deep in the woods 1n 1938 to prep the Royale still existed. Though gutted it remained sound. There would reside the platform upon which the Trojan Horse would be built. Generators and Salamander space heaters on short term loan “appropriated” by John from Eesti Energia transformed the open space into a somewhat tolerable work space. And work they did.

Back in the Oja barn Jack and Viktor had made significant progress. Farm tires had been found that would accommodate the Royale’s wheels. Suspension components and the steering box experienced resurrections courtesy of recently developed silicon grease. Surprisingly the rejuvenation process moved along quite smartly resulting in a more than acceptable rolling chassis. Realizing that they had brought the Bugatti’s chassis to life and knowing that the team at the warehouse needed more time to complete the Trojan Horse, Jack and Viktor turned their attention to the powertrain. Not that they thought they could get it running, they simply wanted to know the beautiful beast better.

In navigating the wonders of the Royale’s unique supercharged engine Viktor wanted to explore how to refine the integration of the supercharger. He dared not try anything with the existing set-up but, he thought, if he could get a second carburetor to play with, how grand that would be. In a bolt of inspiration he researched and found the address and phone number of the Bugatti Club of Switzerland. They had been around since 1935. On a whim he went to the local train station for a phone and called. A poised and very formal gentleman man answered. Viktor asked for any information as to where a carburetor for a Bugatti Royale might be found. The man chuckled and said the last one he saw was strapped to a unicorn. The man did say Viktor could leave his phone number; which Viktor did, and if the man ran into that unicorn he would call him. Viktor laughed, thanked the man for his time and returned to exploring the magnificent beast without giving the call a second thought.

MOLSHIEM, FRANCE 1986

Wizened by the off-putting effect that his aggressive tone had on his elderly Aunt Yvonne, Yuri Petrov would not make that mistake again. Having flown to Molsheim, France, the revered home of Bugatti, Petrov placed himself in the company of his Aunt Yvonne and her colleague from Pre-War Bugatti Jacques Moreau. Jacques had been a young and skilled apprentice at Bugatti in the late 1930s. With the three seated at Yvonne’s dinner table, Petrov presented himself as a classic car aficionado with a love of all things Bugatti. Reaching for an open bottle of Chateau Margaux Bordeaux he had brought and set aside to breath earlier, Petrov gushed about his admiration for the brilliant craftsmanship of artists and visionaries such as Jacques. After Petrov filled the wide mouthed stemmed glasses Yvonne had set out for the three seated at the table, he raised his glass in a toast to the elderly man in the dark beret, checked shirt and heavy duty work pants. He toasted the great men such as Jacques responsible for creating such breathtaking beauty. Eagerly refilling Jacques’s glass, Petrov with almost fawning obsequiousness lavished praise on the great men of the automotive Golden Age such as Jacques. Petrov’s voice radiated warmth and congeniality as he began to explore Jacques’ memories of the  “Old Days” at the Bugatti factory. Despite his best efforts to project a warm and a conversational ease, Petrov’s words, increasingly acquired the feel of an integration. He could barely restrain himself from clawing to the facts for which he hungered. fortunately for Petrov, the fine wine and feigned adulation had lubricated Jacques’ recollections of the factory while dulling the old man’s desire for compensation.

Bugatti Factory 1930s

Much to Petrov’s liking, Yvonne initiated talk of the mystery car by recalling how Jean Bugatti had made such an issue about the hush, hush nature of this “special Bugatti. Being the office manager she saw big invoices come in and go out. However, none matched the size of those going out to some rich Romanian playboy. Jacques, wishing to capture the dominant role in the recollection of past events, jumped in recalling sneaking into the off-limits “quarantaine” special projects workshop. What he saw then, he described, now, as “fantastique.” He related how this project funded by some rich guy named Antonescu with an odd first name had the shop bustling. As, apparently, cost had been no object to this rich Romanian, Jean Bugatti dedicated himself to its perfection. In this troubled pre-war period, such a considerable infusion of cash could not have been more welcome.

Jacques went on to provide details of what he had seen. Even when he tried to embellish his recollections, his efforts fell short of doing the actual Royale justice. Petrov consumed this confirmation of his wildest hopes with a ravenous appetite driven by his dream of possessing the ultimate Super Auto; a dream fed by his early experience with the Nazi Silver Arrows.

Petrov drilled down into Jacques’ memory always lubricating the probe with copious doses of adulation and praise. In so doing he had succeeded in coaxing out a tantalizing mother lode of information. Yes, the original bespoke 7^th Royale had been built. He had a witness who saw it quietly loaded onto a truck. It had headed north for a 1939 Monte Carlo rally starting point. It would have been either Stavanger, Norway or Tallinn, Estonia.

Petrov’s journey to Molsheim had paid great dividends with a rich but incomplete trove of information. He immediately called upon all resources at hand to fill in critical blanks. With surprising speed Petrov discovered that a wealthy, egocentric Romanian, auto racing aficionado named Archimedes Antonescu had registered for entry in the 1939 Monte Carlo Rally. The Romanian’s intended starting point had been Tallinn. However, Antonescu never showed up for the rally. Apparently, Antonescu along with three respected racing mechanics had died in a violent railroad crossing accident near the Estonian/Polish border in 1939.

Based on his research, Petrov concluded that, as best as could be discerned, the mystery Bugatti Royale had never been seen since leaving the factory for Estonia. For Petrov a jaw-dropping reality began to take shape: Antonescu’s racing Bugatti Royale has sat in some dark corner of Estonia waiting for Petrov to find it. The thought of some Super Auto grander than a Silver Arrow being lost in time and hidden waiting to be found, elevated his level of interest to a ten on the frenzy scale. He frantically explored every avenue to narrow his search without betraying his objective. Then he got lucky.

One of the 6 original Bugatti Royales

In reaching out to a contact in the Bugatti Club of Switzerland, he asked about special Bugattis, like a Royale for instance. The friend laughed saying “There are only six Royales, yet in one day I have gotten two inquiries.” Doing his best to appear to be making idle conversation Petrov halfheartedly asked about the second inquiry. His friend pooh poohed the other call referring to it as just some guy with an accent asking about getting a carburetor for a Royale. With a smirk he said, “There are only six Royales it’s not like he had a seventh one with a servicing problem.” Petrov did his best to laugh nonchalantly. Then he asked matter-of-factly as to the caller’s accent. His friend responded recalling that the accent sounded like it came from Latvia or Estonia, one of those little Baltic nations.

Cleverly, Petrov followed up by asking the caller’s phone number. Sometimes a little luck can go a long way. Petrov knew he was on the scent. He would go to Tallinn to employ his connections within the Estonian communist hierarchy.

ESTONIA 1986

Muuga Harbor, Ribbon Cutting

Mihkel surveyed the nearly completed log stack “Trojan Horse’ with its hollow center revealed. He cast a smile across the warehouse floor that warmed the assembled Forest Brothers and Sisters charged with bringing his plan to fruition. As in every step of the process, time cracked an unrelenting whip over all involved. The feast of Saint Lucia on December 13^th fast approached and right after that on December 16^th would come the huge celebration recognizing the opening of Muuga Harbor. Muuga Harbor would be the main cargo harbor for the Port of Tallinn and Estonia. Mihkel’s plan called for the truck transporting the Trojan Horse with its precious cargo to take advantage of the frenzy of activity surrounding Muuga Harbor’s opening. Lost in the swirl of activity, the truck with the aid of incentivized customs and security police would be loaded on the Liberian flagged freighter arranged by Mihkel’s American father-in-law and shipping big wig Johnny Santucci. Valentina and her dancers including Jack Oja would depart Tallinn for Helsinki during the flurry of activity on the 17^th. John, her geologist husband, with Mihkel and his team from Lamont-Doherty would follow shortly, after seeing the freighter depart the port. All seemed in order, or so it seemed.

Part of Valentina’s UN responsibilities involved being present for the Muuga Harbor festivities that began on the 14th. Even in proper business attire Valentina, pretty, blonde, slim and athletic presented a striking visage. One that could elicit undiplomatic comments from a diplomat. So it was at a party attended by numerous members of the Estonian communist government, Baltic region officials and members of the military that she was approached by a gentleman in military regalia who introduced himself as a Colonel Petrov. While seeming a bit full of himself, Valentina felt no threat in talking for a few moments before moving along. As part of the American diplomatic corps that comprised part of her responsibilities. Making small talk Valentina asked this Russian Colonel about his presence in Estonia. Petrov seeking to impress this very attractive diplomat responded with a story that froze Valentina. She did her best not to gasp. Her diplomatic skills served her well. Petrov told of his efforts to track down a mystery Super Auto that he believed had long ago been hidden. Valentina much to Petrov’s delight seemed fascinated by his adventure. It seemed she could not get enough. Petrov was more than willing to keep this striking beauty hanging on his every word. When the time came that Petrov had exhausted the tale of his search for the Super Auto and moved on to Valentina’s plans for later, Valentina diplomatically excused herself.

Trying to hurry as slow as she could to leave the gathering to return back to the Oja farm without attracting attention, Valentina entered the farm yard skidding to a halt. Winds swept across the field with a bitterly cutting intensity thanks to unseasonably cold temperatures. Against the stiff wind she muscled open the sturdy farmhouse door. While closing the door her words tumbled out. Mihkel, Jack and Viktor stared with a shared concern. Catching her breath Valentina related the horrible news that someone else, an arrogant Russian military man, had come to Tallinn to track down a mystery Bugatti lost for fifty years. No one could believe the timing. Mihkel spoke first with the calming voice of one who had faced more than one devastating surprise. “Does he know enough to defeat our plan,” Mihkel asked. Valentina laid out everything that he said and she surmised. They concluded that though a potential irritant this Petrov did not know enough to be a problem. Left unexplored but on everyone’s mind rested the question, “how did he know?” Three days remained before the Trojan Horse would be delivering the Royale to the docks.

The next morning Petrov called the phone number given to his contact at the Bugatti Club of Switzerland. The station master answered and informed the caller that no one lived in the train station. Having identified the station location, Petrov sped to inspect, in his mind, this first tangible  clue to locating the ultimate Super Auto. As Petrov raced towards the railroad station, Viktor had fired up the muscular Russian Ural 4320, 6×6 flat bed truck that would carry the Trojan Horse. His path to the warehouse would take him by the train station.

Petrov parked by the front door of the station. He had purposely worn his uniform in the belief that it would serve to intimidate anyone he questioned. The elderly stationmaster had seen plenty of uniforms over his considerable lifetime, first Nazi ones, then Soviet ones. He was not impressed, but he was smart enough to be respectful. He explained that from time to time people used the phone. He did not keep track.

Overhearing the conversation, a man with a Russian accent motioned to draw Petrov’s attention. A relieved stationmaster quickly shuffled away. The exchange between the two men quickly settled on the question of where a large car could be hidden locally. According to the man, other than the Eesti Energia facility and the Soviet military base, both a long ways off, the only structure relatively near the station was an old abandoned warehouse. The man, looking up and to the left as if to recollect something, said he had passed near it recently, though not exactly sure where, and thought he saw a light inside. Petrov started to hyper ventilate as suddenly distant memories from the depths of his past filled his mind’s screen. Like yesterday he recalled a boring day in his youth when as a very young Soviet officer in 1939 he stumbled upon a warehouse of relatively, then, recent construction. It had some tools and parts strewn about and specification sheets. Petrov momentarily froze as the fog of a distant memory cleared. He clearly remembered the spec sheets, emblazoned with the logo of Bugatti! Could it be, Petrov immediately discarded the man when he could not provide any further help in finding the warehouse. Luckily for Petrov, he thought, a large truck rumbled up the road towards the station. Flagging the truck down Petrov asked the driver for directions to an isolated warehouse buried in the woods. The driver, one Viktor Karmään, remembering Valentina’s encounter, immediately went on red alert. Fast on his feet, Viktor apologized for not knowing the back areas well, but did offer his best guess as to which direction. Viktor hoped he could get this Russian sufficiently lost to allow Viktor to get to the warehouse, warn his Brothers and clear out equipment that could be traced.

Petrov escaping the bitter cold wind jumped into his Russian Lada and while spewing a small rooster tail of loose gravel sped off, in the wrong direction. Unfortunately for the Forest Brothers, the limited number of roads through the forest ensured Petrov would find the warehouse in relatively short order.

Ural 4320

Navigating the back road like an ungainly bull on a tear, the big Russian flat bed with Viktor at the wheel plowed through the underbrush hugging the road. Snorting and creaking, the big Ural 4320 came to rest facing the warehouse. Viktor exploded through the warehouse door. His firm and urgent tone effectively communicated the crisis at hand. Details he assured would follow. What ensued consisted of a frenzied but thorough gathering of generators, space heaters, tools, wrappers anything that could be traced. With everything loaded on to the truck and into the three cars that had transported the Forest Brothers, everyone departed with the urgency of firemen responding to an alarm. Sadly the “Trojan Horse” had to remain.

Plummeting temperatures reaching -18°C (0°F) and a punishing wind gloomily complemented the mood inside the Oja farmhouse. Confusion and defeat hung in the air like a suffocating cloud. The murmuring, swearing and many softly spoken versions of “How could this be?” ceased as Mihkel stood up to face the roomful of crestfallen Forest Brothers and Sisters.  What words of comfort could the noble “Arctic Fox” offer in light of the inexplicable and devastating failure of this mighty and righteous effort. Mihkel scanned the distraught faces around the room and said, “I am profoundly in your debt. You should take great pride in what you have accomplished and the bond you have forged as the new Forest Brothers and Sisters. You have honored those who have come before you. Know that we could not have reached this point without all you have accomplished.” It was then that Viktor in a room thick with emotion respectfully asked, “What now?” Mihkel answered, “I have an idea.”

© Copyright 2023 Burton Hall

The passing of Jaak and Ann Oja, Mihkel’s parents, triggered a domino effect of unforeseen events including the discovery of a priceless Bugatti Royale unknown to the world and hidden for almost 50 Years on the Oja family farm in Estonia. This whirlwind of death and discoveries blurred Mihkel’s daily life turning it into a vivid jumble of lives past, present with a future tracking towards a very dangerous tomorrow. With the backing of a supportive team of family members, Mihkel had decided to surreptitiously spirit the unique Bugatti out from behind its Iron Curtain captivity. Meanwhile, over 1000 miles away fate stood poised to unleash the obsessive desire of a second suitor.

In Search of the Lost 7^th Royale Part 3 (Episode 16- Bugatti Royale Resurrection)

ESTONIA 1986

Like a soothing balm to relieve the pain of his parents’ death, the idea of absconding with the Bugatti brought peace to Mihkel’s otherwise anguished mind. Successfully bringing this ultimate barn find to market in the west could fund the Estonian technical school that would honor his parents. Mihkel understood the odds did not favor success. His team possessed a very limited time window in which to carry out this crazy gambit. The schedule for Valentina’s Estonian folk dance tour would soon draw to a close. Mihkel with his cover as part of John Taylor’s research team enjoyed a bit more flexibility, but not that much. Dawdling had no place in executing the plan. Mihkel felt evermore uneasy courtesy of the tightening grip of a dwindling time line that threatened to thwart any escape. While Mihkel had gambled his life against the odds before, now he had included his loved ones in the dangerous game all would be playing.

With the basic plan set and Mihkel at the helm, each member went into action. Valentina immediately plunged into mobilizing the trustworthy support team needed to translate the plan into reality. She drew only from the close knit but expansive ranks of trusted Oja family members. She deftly allocated Mihkel’s stash of American hard cash. Highly prized American greenbacks would play a critical role in greasing the, at times ill fitting, moving parts of the team’s rough-hewn plan. The team’s intended actions functioned far past any grey area

Estonian Communist Party First Secretary, Karl Vaino (left) at Estonian Communist Party anniversary

of approved practices. Every step of the way would be carried out in complete and total disregard for the iron-fisted oversight of the oppressive Soviet led Estonian communist government. That said, at this late stage in the increasingly weakening bonds of the Soviet bloc, the iron grip had become brittle and suspect.

In casual conversations at the American embassy Valentina worked to developed a general feel for any shift in the local cultural climate. A longtime and trusted native Estonian translator pretty much summed it up saying, “Increasingly in the 1980s a spirit of freewheeling and corrupted capitalism was setting in with those in power wanting more for themselves. They took larger salaries, gave themselves twice the apartment allocation and would receive more rations and, rumor had it, receive some of the items seized at customs. These people could be bought for the right price. They just needed to make sure you were trustworthy and weren’t going to turn and rat them out.” Pleased with what she heard, Valentina saw it playing to the team’s advantage.

Valentina loved sharing that perspective with Mihkel and the team. They viewed the bribery culture as providing fertile ground that would help nurture their chances for success. In an expression of both her father’s genes and retribution for his wrongful death, Valentina took great satisfaction in her contribution to this highly dangerous, or as some might say,  foolish undertaking.

From John Taylor’s point of view, as an energy industry research  consultant working with the Estonian oil industry hierarchy, he had picked up a similar vibe. At a recent dinner a long time veteran of the Estonian fracking industry, on his 6^th scotch, confided in John. He said, ”Here in the Baltic nations like Estonia. it’s always good to be loud and visible as a company guy in support of the government. That said if you have good friends, you can sell things and skim off cash for yourself. Of course you have to keep it hidden and use it in non-conspicuous ways so as not to call attention to yourself.” John found the practice distasteful. However, in this case, he found confirmation of a business culture supportive of blind greed to be of great interest.

Mihkel joked with his son to lighten what could be, and actually was, a very stressful and dangerous state of affairs. In joking, Mihkel described his role in the plan as being a conductor leading an orchestra of honorable carjackers dedicated to a righteous cause. For simplicity sake Mihkel chose to keep the Royale sequestered in the barn. He would take down the false wall to afford better light and the greater space necessary to return the Bugatti to some state of mobility. It would be imperative that the massive car be at least capable of rolling freely thus allowing it to be winched up a ramp.

With Jack’s signature vigor and technical acumen, he bore down on assessing the state of the great and beautiful beast after its 50-year entombment. He worked as a man possessed on initiating the steps necessary to resurrect the glorious Royale from its moribund state. Jack felt well equipped thanks to a tool set provided by one of the Oja family co-conspirators, a young Estonian named Viktor Karmään. Enthralled with dreams of fast cars, Viktor wanted, more than anything, to work on great cars like those Jack and Mihkel serviced in America. He also wanted dearly to be respected by Jack. He orbited Jack like a very close moon. Jack did not mind. Viktor had a sharp mind, good skills and a great can-do attitude. Frankly, Jack enjoyed the bright lad’s company.

Step one called for the wheels to roll. Jack surveyed the slumbering and priceless Bugatti, his mind kept playing the famous line attributed to the Hippocratic oath, “First do no harm.” Jack saw things that he liked. He smiled upon seeing the loaded mouse traps wisely left by his grandfather. As well, his grandfather had sprinkled agricultural sulfur about the surrounding area to further discourage hungry rodents. Grandpa Jaak’s actions had seemed to achieve the desired results. The Bugatti’s simple wiring harness remained pretty much intact.

Though transporting the car would not require the engine to start Jack could not resist probing the massive straight 8-cylinder engine. Pulling spark plugs he recognized that the cylinders had been lubricated. Seeing that, and with the plugs removed, Jack felt comfortable attempting to turn the engine. He put a wrench on the crankshaft pulley bolt. Somewhat to his surprise and delight his sinewy arms spun the 12-Liter engine with relatively little effort. This thrilled Jack which translated into blissful happiness for Viktor. That simple easy turn of the crankshaft elicited hardy huzzahs from Jack and Viktor alike. A relatively freely turning crankshaft provided welcome answers to critical questions concerning the condition of the long stationary big Bugatti. Yes, the engine was not seized. No the clutch plate was not rusted to the pressure plate. Yes, properly shoed and lubricated the great behemoth should roll freely given proper motivation.

Jack ticked off the list of concerns that needed attention. The first being replacing tires that, despite having been driven precious few miles, had sat motionless for nearly half a century. So that the new tires would roll, Jacks’ attention would then turn to wheel bearing and suspension grease fittings. Good fortune found that the 24-inch rims of the Bugatti would accommodate available farm use tires. They would work fine. While mounting the tires could be a challenge, John believed he could get them done at the fracking facility motor pool. Also available from the motor pool would be a hand held grease gun that Jack could use to manually lubricate the suspension fittings. While suspension bushings did not represent a major issue for rolling the car a short distance Jack took no chances. With one look at the desiccated bushings he put silicon grease on the shopping list for John to bring to the Eesti Energia maintenance shop. Engine oil, brake fluid and gear oil made it to the list as well.

Deftly employing her greenback budget to enlist the cooperation of local officials, Valentina had purchased an expanded range of freedom to conduct her clandestine activities. Otherwise watchful Estonian eyes did not see her or Jack leave the hotel or rehearsal halls. Putting her newly purchased freedom to work allowed Valentina to mobilize a team of loyal Oja family members, both men and women. These Estonians would play critical rolls in bringing the team’s plan to life. As craftsmen, local officials, port workers and police these tight knit family members represented a powerful network capable of providing the necessary transportation, acquiring the fresh cut logs, building the hollow “Trojan Horse” camouflage log load, gaining access to the port and discretely dispensing the necessary financial incentives to enlist the cooperation of customs and port officials. These strategically selected customs and port staff members had to turn a blind eye for the log camouflaged Bugatti to be unchallenged when loaded onto the awaiting friendly freighter. The international cargo contacts of Mihkel’s father-in-law and wife Beth’s father, Gianni “Johnny” Santucci had proved invaluable by arranging the availability of a small Liberian flagged freighter.

Mihkel reflected on all the dominos that would have to fall properly. He realized more than dominoes he sat at the helm of a Rube Goldberg Machine. For a fleeting moment with a brief self-deprecating laugh he thought, “what could possibly go wrong?” Then he thought it better not to ponder what could go wrong. “Wrong” would take care of itself. He had to focus on doing his very best to make everything work right.

MOLSHEIM, FRANCE 1986

Yvonne Smirnov answered the phone. Her age worn voice greeted her Nephew, Yuri Petrov. With a tinge of disinterest Petrov asked why she wanted the call back. Yvonne responded saying she had not forgotten Petrov’s intense interest in some special Bugatti and had reached out to one of her old factory friends from before the War. She lightly laughed when relating how her friend said he remembered a lot about that Bugatti. She added that her friend also said that since that was almost 50 years ago, the statute of limitations had run out on the financial arrangement he had made with Jean Bugatti to keep quiet about the racing Royale.

Petrov, suddenly almost beside himself, started frantically yelling into the phone literally screaming “What did he say? What did he know? Taken aback by Petrov’s aggression, the elderly aunt became flustered and borderline fearful. If Petrov could have reached through the phone he would have grabbed her and shook her. Somehow she sensed that and blessed the thousand miles separating them. Gathering herself she explained that her friend did not tell her anything but said he would gladly talk to her nephew. She could not recall exactly what her friend had said about his proper compensated. With an uncharacteristically gracious effort, at least for Petrov, he reined in his normal arrogance. Petrov clearly sensed his elderly aunt’s sudden angst at the thought of continuing the conversation. In a patronizingly kind and gentle voice laced with an overeager undertone, Petrov asked for the friend’s phone number. He attempted to sooth Yvonne’s ruffled emotional feathers by suggesting that he could call the friend directly and not inconvenience her. She responded saying, “He does not have a phone; but he would probably speak to you in person.” Petrov clenched the phone’s mouthpiece to muffle his uncontrollable sharp groan of frustration. The call ended with Petrov in soothing voice promising to visit his beloved aunt as soon as she would be kind enough to set up a meeting with her friend. Yvonne with a faltering voice said she would do her best. Petrov with gentle precision rested the handset in the cradle of the push-button phone base. Then in one abrupt and violent motion he slammed the whole assembly off a nearby wall.

© Copyright Burton Hall

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.