Authors: Garner Scott Odell
Emerald
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Garner Scott Odell
ISBN 978-0-7414-8107-8 Paperback
ISBN 978-0-7414-8108-5 eBook
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919657
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For my daughters, Mary Lou and Chrys, who keep my memory of family strong
.
CHAPTER 1: Switzerland in the mid 90’s
CHAPTER 7: Tel Aviv - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 9: Munich - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 12: Geneva - - - Berlin
CHAPTER 13: Geneva - - - Munich
CHAPTER 15: Munich - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 18: Geneva - - - Munich
CHAPTER 25: Munich - - - Tel Aviv
CHAPTER 26: Rome - - - Munich - - - Tel Aviv
CHAPTER 28: Tel Aviv - - - Ein Hod - - - Munich
CHAPTER 29: Tel Aviv - - - Munich - - - Buenos Aires
CHAPTER 30: Geneva - - - Tel Aviv - - - Munich
CHAPTER 32: Munich - - - Geneva
CHAPTER 34: Geneva - - - Tel Aviv
| To: | Stephen Douglas and Jessica who thrasher through pages of words to find some semblance of order. |
| | Nancy for rescuing me at every computer glitch |
| | “Freddy Rocker” for a vision of the joy and mystery in beautiful stones |
| | Central Valley Writers for patience in listening to the reading of rough chapters |
| | Michael Caskey for cover art that really pops |
| And: | Especially to “Amazing” Grace for her constant love and support through it all. |
“And, as long as people hunger to possess the magical green fire of an Emerald, there will be people who risk all to satisfy that hunger - - - at any price.”
Anonymous
London, 1931
A
cold September rain slanted down on King Street in St. James and sharpened the noise from the steady stream of honking cars, taxis, and red double-decker buses as they made their halting way towards Clarence House.
Shaking the silver rain droplets from his umbrella Bixby Reynolds entered the vestibule of Christie’s London Auction House with great anticipation. The last two weeks, the sun had hardly broken through the damp London fog long enough to assure anyone it was still in the sky. Today was no exception. It seemed that the continuous rain had imprisoned them for days. Stamping the water off his black rubbers and shaking his black brolly he shoved it into the umbrella stand near the front door. Walking quickly down the green-carpeted corridor, he nodded slightly to several of his employees, careful to keep a casual distance appropriate to his stature as Managing Director. Auction day always started promptly at ten each Monday morning, but that was only one of several things on his mind. Was the catalogue ready? Was the gallery spotless? Would there be a good crowd in spite of the rain? Soon, he hoped, the gallery would begin filling up with the on-lookers, the rich, their agents and other hopefuls. Bixby was always nervous on auction day, but especially today, September 15, 1931, because some of the impressive collection of jewels from the Bavarian National Treasury was to be offered. He entered his private office sanctum, hung his derby and greatcoat on the hall-tree just inside the door.
As if listening for his entrance his personal secretary entered from the inner door. Placing a small silver tray on his desk, she announced, “Your tea, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss McIntyre, any mail?
“Not until after nine, sir.
“Yes, of course.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“Not for the moment. Please let me know as soon as our guests begin to arrive.”
“Certainly, sir,” and with a slight nod, she left the office.
Henry Jones, Bixby’s young assistant, tapped on the jam of his open door. Bixby wondered whether Jones’ ruddy complexion was from being Welsh or because he drank too darn much. Since he never associated with employees outside the office, he would never know. He wished Jones would have his suits pressed more often, though.
“Anything special for me this morning, sir?”
“Ah, Jones, come in. Are the catalogs ready?”
“Yes, sir. I instructed the clerks to place them on the usual table at the gallery entrance. I’m sure they are there already. And the gallery is spotless.” Henry knew Bixby would throw one of his little tantrums if there was the least bit of dust in the gallery prior to a sale. The Director carried a pair of white gloves in his coat pocket just for inspection every auction day.
“Good, good. That is all for now, Jones. Oh…Jones, put a Carnation in your buttonhole, please. We must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?”
“Certainly, sir,” Henry bristled. He hated being called just “Jones”. Bixby looked down on anyone not born in jolly old England, and Henry suspected the reason he had not received a promotion for several years was because he was Welsh. He hated that his superior always found something wrong with his appearance, no matter how hard he tried to be perfect.
If I had the nerve, I’d go right up to the old sod. I’d give him a piece of my mind. Someday
, he thought. He turned and walked quickly back to his desk, vowing again to look for a position in another firm.
Henry quickly forgot his vow when he returned to his own office and picked up the thick catalog filled with pages and pages of beautiful antiques, art works and jewelry lying on his desk. He sat down looking at all the fascinating items, starting with the Rembrandt and Goya paintings featured in the fine arts section. He paused.
I wonder what it would be like to have paintings like these hanging on the walls of my flat instead of just seeing them in a museum
, he mused. Bypassing pages of beautiful furniture, he stopped at the fine jewelry section. It was his favorite part of any catalog.
His secret ambition was to possess one of those beautiful jewels some day, even a small one. Closing his eyes, he dreamed of what it would be like to give a beautiful sparkling necklace to his wife.
Coming out of his reverie, Henry noticed it was just past nine: time to make sure the men had prepared the items for auction correctly in the proper sequence. He left his office, striding through the great holding hall behind the auction gallery where he checked off each item and made sure it was labeled with its corresponding number. When he got to the gem section, he stopped.
Would that it could be me who is allowed in the vault to prepare the jewelry for display
. But only Bixby was allowed to handle the gems. He said it was because of the company’s insurance policy, but Henry knew better. In Bixby’s narrow mind Jones was an outsider, a foreigner and always would be.
Bixby nervously glanced at the oak clock on the wall opposite his desk.
Have I taken care of everything
, he asked himself. He mentally checked off the items on his Auction Day checklist, a process he went through each morning of every auction. Yes, he assured himself, all was ready. He hoped for a large crowd of bidders and a grand profit for the company.
At nine thirty-five, on the dot, Bixby finished his morning tea and rose from his desk. It was time to open the safe and place the gems into their numbered velvet pouches.
Just outside the vault room, he greeted the two security officers: “James, Owen. Good morning. Keep a keen eye out today. We have quite a display for this auction.”
“Something special today gov?” Owen asked, moving closer to the vault door.
“I’ll say. A large lot of beautiful jewels. One’s the biggest emerald you’ll ever see.”
Bixby stepped forward and twirled the dial on the front of the huge safe and, hearing a click, turned the dial the other way, another click, then slowly and carefully this time, the final click. With a hard turn of the large lever, he swung the heavy door open and entered the vault interior. The security officers held their ground, standing at attention outside the gaping door. In a few moments Bixby came out of the vault pushing an oak file cabinet on soft rubber wheels. He paused, opened one of the top drawers and took out a silver box, opened it, and took out a black velvet bag.
“Feast your eyes on this beauty, gentlemen,” Bixby said as he reached into the pouch and gently held in his hand an emerald the size of his fist. It caught the overhead lights and sent a flash of green around the room.
“Good Lord, Mr. Bixby, that is the biggest emerald I’ve ever seen,” James remarked.
“It’s the largest jewel of any kind I’ve ever seen, outside the Crown Jewels in the Tower, I meant,” Owen said in awe.
“That it is, lads, and it’s worth a fortune.”
“Where did it come from, sir?” Owen asked.
“This one’s the famous Wittelsbach Emerald, part of the collection of jewels from the Bavarian National Treasury. Well, I guess we’d better get these beauties out of the holding area. Stay close to me, boys, and don’t let these out of your sight all day.”
