Chapter 9: September 2018

Screams in the night woke me up. Panic had broken out on the upper floor. I rushed upstairs. Sula was screaming in pain, lying in her blood. Yesterday I had agreed with Sula that she should move into my room the next morning because of her impending birth, had stroked her and encouraged her, for she was visibly having problems with her womb. During the night, however, all hell broke loose. Sula was screaming like a banshee, in enormous pain, losing blood instead of amniotic fluid, a dramatic emergency. I grabbed my assistant with the blood-soaked bed sheet, took her to the operating room. Ramona was already dressing and disinfecting for surgery. Esther followed her example. Ramona had discussed upcoming deliveries with Esther several times, had also explained the possible need for an operation, even a caesarean section, but fortunately that was only theory so far.

Ramona briefly explained to me that first they try to save the baby by caesarean section, and only then can she, as a doctor, determine where the bleeding came from. Presumably the placenta had somehow detached and ruptured a larger blood vessel in the process. Priya should prepare herself to take care of the baby alone if it were alive, and Babette should also disinfect herself and hand the doctor any necessary instruments and help with hand grips.

After only twelve minutes, Sula was completely relaxed on the operating table. I had never experienced this before, how you can take away a person’s consciousness and sense of pain so easily, but it seemed to work. Esther was tense. Her friend’s life was now in her hands, even though our doctor had checked all the parameters and the fit of the mask and tube.

Outside the door, I asked Luisa and the young women to go to their beds. They were all excited, fearing for their friend’s life. Then a newborn baby squawked behind the door. Cautiously, I crept into the treatment room. Priya was already taking care of little Ken, as the newborn was to be called according to Sula. Babette was holding open her friend’s womb with clamps so that Ramona could stop the heavy bleeding and remove all the parts to be rejected. It was a hell of a lot to ask of the fourteen-year-old. Honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted to do it, but Beth held on bravely with an ashen face. As the treatment continued, our doctor showed Babette and Esther how to clean, disinfect and close such a wound. It was amazing that our doctor, together with three lay people, had saved the life of a child, saved a young woman from bleeding to death and at the same time taught her assistants important knowledge and skills, an incredible achievement, as I was immediately aware, especially as Ramona herself was five months pregnant.

Our doctor explained the next important task, to compensate for the blood loss. She placed an indwelling cannula in a vein in the crook of her arm and gave Sula a slow-flowing infusion of, if I remember correctly, saline solution. Then our doctor sank down on a chair, and I helped her out of her surgical guard, dabbed her sweaty forehead and kissed her parched lips. “Thank you, Ramona. You must have saved two lives.” Tiredly, our doctor smiled. “I could never have done that alone. Thank your three wives here, they are the best thing on earth.” Babette brought three cups of lukewarm tea for Ramona, Esther, and Priya. Ramona had a glass of beer handed to her, went to the computer, and said, “Shit, Daja is pregnant. She is the only one who has the right Blood type. Still, I’ll have to ask her for half a litre tomorrow. Sula will need that.”

It was unbelievable what a doctor had to think about. When I stepped outside the door, some women were still standing in front of it, full of worry. Others were sitting at the big table, waiting for information on whether Sula had made it. The patient was still asleep, but Ramona was sure that the main bleeding had stopped. Of course, Sula would lose more blood, but her life no longer seemed in danger. With this good news, I sent everyone to bed around 4 in the morning. Daja, I held back. “How are you, Daja? Are you afraid of your birth now?”

“No, I didn’t. Sula was just unlucky, but her son has also been kicking like crazy lately. I’m sure he damaged something.”

“Daja, what would you be willing to help Sula survive?” – “Well, sure, anything, anytime.”

“Daja, you are the only one who could give some blood for Sula because of your matching blood types. It is safe. You need not be afraid. Half a pint of blood would greatly increase Sula’s chance of survival.”

“That bad. Didn’t you say...?”

“Daja, my dear, yes, I said, to put everyone at ease. Sula’s life is not in danger at the moment, but your blood would help her to hopefully recover quickly. And if something should happen to you, Sula could donate her blood to you later if necessary. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“What about my child. Will it hurt if I give blood?”

“Half a litre can be given by anyone, that is without danger. But Sula has lost more than a litre. Exactly how much, we don’t know. You could save her life if she loses more.”

“Okay. Shall we go now?”

“No. Dr Liebknecht has to rest first. The surgery was exhausting. Tomorrow after breakfast, all right?”

“May I see Sula, please?”

With the words “Here comes our lifesaver, our blood donor” I led Daja to our ‘medical staff’. Everyone rejoiced. Daja looked with a serious expression at Sula, who was lying in the next room to wake up, Babette sitting on a chair at her side.

“Is she asleep?” our youngest whispered anxiously. Babette replied, “Yes if you want, you can wait. She will wake up in a few minutes.”

When Sula finally opened her eyes, moaning a little, she suddenly winced, apparently having searched for her fat belly. She cried out, “Where is Ken, where is my child?” Priya briefly brought her the little bundle, reassured her. “Your son is much better than you. Calm down. Take care of your recovery. We will take care of your son. There is everything fine.”

Weak as the little African was, she nevertheless wanted to see her son more closely, hear his breathing, touch him briefly, smell him. Everything was suddenly fine. Sula smiled a little tightly but was reassured. During the pregnancy she had found such a fantastic relationship with her unborn son. She could no longer imagine life without him, she said painfully.

Sunday gave us all new strength. Daja beamed with pride as many hugged and praised her after she donated blood for Sula. Each of the women wanted to know information about their blood group, who could donate to whom and how often, what else to consider, about the role of blood, the blood circulation and how blood cells were formed. Ramona gave an exemplary biology lesson for super-interested students on Sunday. I sat there smiling with Luisa, learning new things, or refreshing forgotten ones.

Sula still slept a lot, was given painkillers, but recovered surprisingly quickly. On Monday, she wanted to go to the toilet, but Esther explained to her when she would be able to have a bowel movement again. The doctor had inserted a catheter for urination and told her patient to leave it as it was for a week. Then everything would be fine again. And so, it was. Sula even had enough milk for her son from Tuesday and was able to get up for the first time on Thursday. The wound was healing well. I visited Sula several times a day, rejoiced with her about her son and about every step in his recovery.

When Sula first joined us for the meal, I acknowledged our doctor and the three obstetricians in front of the team, got my deepest feelings of respect for what had been achieved off my chest, until Ramona interrupted me, “Guys, what my helpers did was great. I am so grateful. But Daja’s blood donation was just as important. Without you, dearest Daja, Sula wouldn’t be able to eat with us already. Not everyone would, especially when she’s pregnant. In appreciation, I give you my favourite necklace, my last memento of my mother.” Thunderous applause punctuated our doctor’s words. All the women at the table declared their unreserved willingness to donate blood any time there was a need.

The evening went wonderfully. Zarina had asked me to play the DVD of Japanese music over the TV for everyone. Many went into a frenzy of the senses, enjoying the surge of emotions in the large hall, a wonderful end to the exhausting days.

The following weekend we continued uncovering the road. Our life had stalled briefly but was back in full swing a week after the scare.

The following Tuesday morning, I stood in front of the wall of my study, which I had cleared of the three to four metres to the imaginary neighbouring room, scanning centimetre by centimetre at head height. Nothing! Not a rise, not a hollow spot. What I found was only meticulously crafted panelling, neatly interlocked with tongue and groove. There was no access here. Should I try again in the surveillance room? I examined the wide sweeping strips, neatly finished, glued to the floor, no trace of a secret door.

Smoking a cigarette, I sat brooding in my favourite armchair. In Rus’ place, I would have retreated to my study in case of danger, and from there to my hiding place, maybe even a ‘saferoom’. No one should notice where I had gone ‘through the wall’, all the furniture should be in place, no one should find the secret door. So, the only place left was the empty space near the outer wall on the left side next to the screwed wall cupboard. That had to be the entrance! Suddenly I found two inconspicuous holes, about twenty centimetres above the floor, about fifty centimetres apart. With two screwdrivers I tried to move the wall in all possible directions, but nothing moved.

Cursing under my breath, I sat down at the desk and searched through the architect’s construction drawings again. To no avail. Next to my study there was a room of the same size, no partition wall and certainly no secret door. There was a ruler in the top right-hand drawer of the desk. I wanted to measure the drawings. Then I saw the thing whose purpose I had wondered about several times before, a steel rail with two five-centimetre-long steel nipples, at the end of each had a ball-like thickening had been carved out. Did I have the solution?

I almost ran to the openings in the wall. The nipples fit exactly, clicking into place. There was a brief buzz as if a lock had opened. As I carefully moved the steel rail, it slid upwards with part of the wall without much effort. The moving part disappeared into the ceiling at the top at a little less than a metre, it went no further, but it was possible to bend down and go into the neighbouring room. As I put my arm through, a ceiling lamp switched on by sensor.

Somehow, I felt a bit queasy. If I went into the room and the wall closed like in ‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves’, I might be locked in forever. No one would know where I was. Consequently, I got Babette to help me in the middle of the lesson, briefly explained to her how I had found the secret passage. Together we pushed the piece of wall back into place and then opened it again.

Babette waited in the study while I went into the secret room. An identical bracket for opening and closing hung there on the wall right next to the opening, but I could only use it after Babette had removed the counterpart. It was child’s play to open and close the wall. Before I examined the room, I showed Babette where I put the special opener in the desk and sent her back to class. She didn’t like that at all. Her curiosity made her beg to discover the secret room with me, but lessons took precedence, even though I had to bring her back very insistently after I had sworn her to silence.

At first glance, the secret room looked like a cheap bedroom like in a camping cabin, cluttered like a move-in apartment. There were metal shelves screwed to the ceiling on two sides, completely covered with boxes and moving cases.

In the middle of the room was a square table with a chair and three stools, on which were heaps of folders and papers. On the other, shorter wall, moving boxes were stacked in rows of two directly in front of two-fold-up loungers. It must have taken weeks of work to sort through everything and possibly put it to good use.

Next to a small washbasin was a toilet, in front of it a dry toilet, perhaps intended in case of a siege and a stop of the water supply. Under the bed, in a box, were two pilot’s cases, two knapsacks and a black suitcase, which I opened immediately. It was bulging with clothes, probably just for Rus. That was very good for me because his clothes size fitted me.

I put the two pilot cases, the two camping bags with many side pockets and a narrow bag with a notebook next to my desk in the study for immediate sighting. Then I locked the secret door. Apart from Babette, no one was to know anything about the secret room for the time being.

First, I opened the noble pilot’s bag. It was made of fine leather, waterproof. In two smaller outer pockets I found a passport, one hundred 100-dollar notes and one hundred 1-dollar notes, which was exactly 10,100 US dollars. The passports were each made out to Ferdinand Grant, a Malaysian and an Indian passport each with a photo of Rus. In the large side pocket were two palmtops, i.e., small computers with sufficient memory for all important personal information, WIFI-capable, also suitable for sending and receiving e-mail.

On top of the large bag was an index card with two dates: 10.08.2010 - OK, 12.05.2015 - OK. Immediately I suspected that Olena Kuklina, Rus’ confidante, had packed the bag, last rearranged in 2015. The bag had the exact dimensions for hand luggage for most airlines and was divided into three compartments. In one compartment I found several wallets, an envelope with fifty American Express travellers’ cheques of US$100 each, not yet signed, bought by Ferdinand Grant in 1996. I didn’t know whether they were still usable.

At the bottom was an inconspicuous folder with ‘Bank Austria’ printed on it, but this bank bag was very special. These were documents for a numbered account in Austria set up in 1992. There was also an account card, a safe key, and a deposit receipt for 500,000 Austrian schillings, as well as a chain pendant that hid the account number code. When I found out by chance, I assumed that the medallion could be opened.

As I learned later, so-called numbered accounts were completely anonymous bank accounts that could be opened in Austria without presenting identification documents but only until 1994. It was even possible to deposit shares anonymously. The bank kept such deposits and secured the dividend payment for the account holder. Such accounts were supposed to be abolished by law, but no bank could simply close the accounts without the consent of the holders. So, I was confident that I would be able to use this account later.

The other contents of the bag are quickly listed:

1 pistol with holster and two spare magazines.

a first aid bag

Some medicines

Cosmonaut food solid and in tubes

Tablets for water disinfections

a face mask black

a set for changing underwear

1 dynamo hand lamp

1 Swiss Army Knife with many functions

1 drinking bottle filled with alcohol, probably vodka.

The second bag was packed almost analogously, only three things were different. Instead of the two palmtops, there was a tablet in the side pocket and the passports were made out to a woman. From the picture, it was Olena Kuklina again, of whom I had already found four passports in the safe, but in these passports, she was called Maria Fernandez. Instead of bank documents for the Austria Bank, I found documents for a bank in Panama, this time with a credit card, a micro memory card and a bank box key with the corresponding key card.

After sifting through the rucksacks, it was clear to me that these things had been prepared as escape luggage, so to speak. So, the Rus and the Kuklina had expected the worst, an occupation of the valley and the need to escape together. From this it followed that there had to be a secret passage. I quickly found a sluice cover next to the toilet, where one could descend with difficulty. I wanted to investigate this passage later.

In the moving boxes I found Rus’ private documents, mostly from his childhood, even school reports, all with the grade ‘5’. Was Rus such a bad pupil or was there a different system in Russia? In any case, he had gone to school in Yekaterinburg for four years. The city was printed in Latin letters, while I couldn’t read everything else. Lenya was supposed to sift through the following report cards.

Presumably, someone had cleared out Rus’ parents’ house without a plan and packed everything that could possibly be valuable to the billionaire in an unsorted manner. Even toys like a teddy bear and match-box cars laid among exercise books and children’s drawings.

These twenty-four boxes were for the girls to sift through. They might contain a few surprises, but the contents were bound to be of no great use to us.

I quickly pushed the boxes into my study. After dinner, I wanted to please everyone in the Palazzo by sorting out the boxes. And it was.

“Guys, I hope you have a lot of fun. Each of you gets a box. What’s in it is yours, you can keep it. Look, I found a teddy bear and little cars. I will use all the children’s drawings as toilet paper. Official documents are placed in the middle of the table. Lenya is supposed to look at them to see if anything is important. But most of it is rubbish. Remember, it’s from a criminal who dragged you here, you don’t have to be considerate, you can tear or destroy things. All right? Good luck then!”

A frenzied rummaging through the boxes began. Everywhere you could hear exclamations of joy and amazement. Many construction kits, assembly sets and other toys were unearthed, as well as children’s books, two encyclopaedias, more than twenty school books, but all with Cyrillic letters, cinema programmes, a piggy bank full of coins, albums with a stamp collection, a chess set, dice games, card sets for Rummy and Bridge, a typical Russian calculating machine with strung beads, many logic games, soldier sets and tanks, toy pistols, an air pistol with ammunition, VHS video cassettes and a player for them, and much more. Zarina’s box only contained things from the 1980 Olympic Games in Moscow, play money, many autograph cards, results lists and magazines. But she was happy to receive Mishka souvenirs. Mishka was the Olympic mascot of the Russians. She was especially happy about three stuffed teddies in sportswear. Kira fooled around with Punch and Judy dolls after Lenya had shown her how to play with them by hand.

The recovered Sula also participated but was disappointed. She had only found magazines in her box, many with black and white photos of naked women, but also a packet of German Bravo weeklies where famous music groups and actors in the eighties were presented with colour photos. She wanted to turn it all into toilet paper, but Ramona intervened, showed Sula collections of song lyrics in English and German. They might still be of importance for our music band.

Sula was allowed to unpack a second box and proudly showed everyone Indian figures made of rubber, two puzzles and an ice hockey game, all later for her son Ken. Ananda was also allowed to unpack a second box, because in her box she had only found jumpers, underwear, and sports shoes for big boys. These things were to be divided among all of them. There was a lot of laughter about the coloured knickers with pockets. Isabella demonstrated to everyone how to use them to get the penis out to pee, got her wild laughs for that. Oh, were the young ladies childish today. It made me happy to see only beaming faces.

Mayari showed everyone a soccer game in which the figures stood on springs, and you could flick a ball towards the goal. She had exchanged this with Daja for two small dolls similar to Barbie dolls. The showing and trading went on for quite a while until I asked in amazement, “Hey, guys, what about your kids? Did you forget them because of the excitement?”

I was quickly reassured. Everything would be fine, and the children would be taken care of. Leonie had stayed with her son and looked after the little ones. Our doctor advised everyone to clean their clothes and wash their hands thoroughly. The young mothers hurried upstairs with their lost property while Fahsai and Daja, the two pregnant teenagers, joined us adults in cleaning up the ‘battlefield’ on the big dining table. We folded up the boxes and put them under the stairs. Everything combustible flew into two bags as fuel. A box full of defective things was to be disposed of in the canyon the next day. Leonie received a small teddy bear from me as a thank you for her support.

Luisa and Ramona’s children were fast asleep when I led my two older partners into my study. I enjoyed their amazement at the new room and the secret door. Ramona was full of the desire to explore and would have loved to go down the secret passage immediately, but I held her back. They were allowed to browse the shelves while I studied the folders on the table.

The documents were written in English, including three folders full of contracts for the supply and purchase of weapons. Sifting through them would take days, but one thing I grasped immediately. We did not have Kalashnikovs in the valley as I thought, but an East German development of the Russian submachine gun, a Wieger Stg .941, ‘made in G.D.R.’. The Indian Army had tested it, described it as an excellent weapon, especially the high accuracy, the longer range and best handling appreciated, and ten thousand units were ordered in East Germany shortly before the country collapsed in 1990 and was taken over by the West Germans. The Russians had protested against the sale of the weapons because of several unauthorised patents. Rus had tracked down the banned weapons in the port of Alexandria and acquired them at a customs auction for relatively little money.

The supply arrangements were interesting. At first glance, there were no armies involved in wars and no terrorist organisation that I know of that did not have these ‘miracle weapons’ had bought. When I added up the numbers, I came up with more than thirty thousand weapons already at first glance, although he had only bought ten thousand at auction in Egypt. Where had he got the other weapons? Was that the main source of his wealth? I briefly crunched the numbers. He sold a Wieger without ammunition for 1,200 to 1,500 dollars. With thirty thousand guns, Rus had earned almost forty million dollars, even if he had paid 300,000 dollars for customs in Alexandria. I wanted to look into that thoroughly at some point, but it was not of interest to our life in the valley, so had time.