Stealing gold

"This news is truly astonishing," Edel remarked, holding the document he had just received. He shared the information with the guard Carust, who had delivered it. Carust, equally surprised, responded, "Yes, Your Highness, it's unexpected that Britain would actually propose a 'Navy Holiday' to suspend the construction of warships for one year. And to think that this proposal came from the British Secretary of the Navy himself—it's quite shocking."

Indeed, the image of Britain that most people in Europe held was still anchored in the Victorian era's grandeur. This perception was largely shaped by Britain's ambitious shipbuilding programs, such as the one for the fiscal year 1913. Since then, the Royal Navy had planned the construction of eight Vengeance-class super-dreadnought ships—five were actually built, two were converted into battlecruisers, and one was canceled. However, compared to its predecessors like the Queen Elizabeth-class battleship, the Vengeance-class was technically less advanced: its full-load displacement was reduced by 500 tons, its speed decreased to 23 knots, and its endurance dropped from 8,600 nautical miles to 4,200 nautical miles. While these changes reduced costs, they also met the Royal Navy's strategic needs to combat the German Navy in the North Sea.

Edel remembered that during World War I, Britain had concentrated all its main dreadnought ships in the North Sea to counter the German navy. Consequently, the Mediterranean Sea was left to be patrolled jointly by the French and Italian navies. Without the Italian navy, the Allies had little presence in the Mediterranean. The combined forces of Austria-Hungary were insufficient against France alone, let alone Italy. The Allied Powers, dominating the seas, were practically invincible. The four years of World War I were sustained only by the formidable German army, a reason why Edel was hesitant to involve Romania.

Reflecting on Romania's involvement in the war in 1916, the Crown Prince now believed that 1918 was an opportune moment to secure the best interests for Romania. Austria-Hungary was weakening, Tsarist Russia had been overthrown, and Red Russia, having signed the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, had withdrawn from World War I and was embroiled in a civil war. The two major threats to Romania had collapsed, presenting a golden opportunity to claim the legacies of these countries and then focus on dealing with the emerging red forces.

Amid these thoughts, Edel's mind drifted to a piece of news that had been widely circulated in later generations—the story of "Kolchak's Gold." Alexander Kolchak, a noble from St. Petersburg, graduated from the St. Petersburg Naval Academy in 1894 and saw action at Lushunkou during the Russo-Japanese War. By 1916, he was commanding the Black Sea Fleet and was promoted to admiral in 1917. In 1918, he became the Minister of the Army and Navy of the "Siberian Government," quickly establishing a military dictatorship with the support of foreign armed forces and proclaiming himself "the supreme ruler of Russia." He led the White Guards during the initial Allied intervention in Soviet Russia, controlling vast territories until his defeat by the Red Army in late 1919. Captured, he was executed in Irkutsk in 1920.

The approximately 600 tons of gold that Kolchak had managed to secure originally came from Russia's Reserve Bank in Kazan. During World War I, Tsar Nicholas II had ordered most of Russia's gold reserves transferred to Kazan, located in the middle reaches of the Volga River, a region that was Russia's rear with convenient transportation and abundant resources. After seizing Kazan in 1918, Kolchak found the gold and transferred it to his capital, Omsk, in Siberia. The notion that the Soviet government had moved the gold there was something Edel scoffed at; if they had known nearly 600 tons of gold could be transported by train within half a day, they certainly wouldn't have left it for Kolchak to find. This was hard currency worth more than 80 million pounds, enough to rebuild a German high seas fleet.

Considering the early financial struggles of the Soviet Russian government, the value of this gold, now worth over 80 million pounds, was not lost on Edel. He realized he needed to act, though he also knew that such a stash would be heavily guarded and required careful planning.

Unable to stay still with this revelation, Edel decided, "Carust, go call Miloc over. I need him to handle something important."

"Very well, Your Majesty," Carust replied promptly, understanding the urgency as the Crown Prince had been unexpectedly asked by the United Kingdom to pause naval construction for a year, and now suddenly sought out the intelligence chief, Miloc.

While Edel waited, Miloc, an ordinary-looking man who blended easily into any crowd, was in his office pondering his future. Despite the sunshine outside, his office was draped in thick curtains that kept it dim, a preference stemming from his extensive intelligence work which made him averse to bright light. Having served the old king and knowing too many state secrets, retirement was not an option for him; he was bound to his role until death. Lately, the Crown Prince had seldom utilized their services, often delegating tasks to his chief guard instead. This shift made Miloc anxious about the future of his agency; if it wasn't being used, disbandment might not be far off. While he mulled over his options, a subordinate entered quietly.

"Sir, a man named Carust is here. He says the crown prince has summoned you."

The tone used by Miloc's subordinate revealed the strained relations between the two intelligence agencies now operating under the royal family. Despite his concerns, Miloc maintained a composed facade, instructing without emotion, "Invite him in."

As Carust entered, Miloc prepared to hear what urgent matter had prompted this sudden summons, unaware of the grand plans forming in Edel's mind regarding the Russian Civil War and the legendary gold that could change the fate of Romania.

As Carust entered the dimly lit room, he greeted Millock, who was seated in the shadows. He was acutely aware of the current strained relations between their two intelligence agencies, a tension that stemmed from the need to maintain control over Crown Prince Edel. Only by securing the prince's power could their relationship potentially be eased. Previously, the agencies had cooperated well enough to maintain a facade of unity.

Millock, the confidant of the crown prince, fixed his gaze on Carust and asked in a detached tone, "Captain Carust, I heard that His Royal Highness summoned me?"

"Yes, that is correct," Carust replied succinctly.

Millock stood and walked towards a side room, explaining to the chief guard, "I will return shortly after changing my attire. It would be improper to meet His Highness in my current state."

"Okay, I'll wait for you," the head of the guard responded with a smile.

After changing, Millock accompanied Carust to Prince Edel's office. Upon their arrival, Edel wasted no time, "Millock, I need you to discreetly transport 600 tons of goods from Kazan, Russia. How do you propose we accomplish this?"

The request plunged Millock into deep thought. He was well-versed in Russian affairs due to Romania's national defense and security needs. Russia, at first glance, appeared easy to penetrate, but this was misleading; it was as challenging there as in any other major power to gather intelligence.

The task of smuggling 600 tons of goods was daunting. Such a volume required substantial transportation—either a train or a freighter—making it difficult to go unnoticed.

Realizing Millock's hesitation, Edel clarified the timeframe, "We have about four to five years to ship these goods."

Relieved, Millock nodded. "Your Highness, I will need to devise a thorough plan."

Edel, understanding the magnitude of nearly 600 tons of gold and the wealth it represented, insisted on careful planning and collaboration. "Millock, this time you and Carust will work together. I expect you to mobilize the best resources and formulate the most effective plan."

The mention of collaboration reminded Millock and Carust of their previous joint effort during the rubber crisis, though that had been led more by Carust with Millock's team playing a lesser role. Was history repeating itself?

"This operation must succeed; failure is not an option," Edel stated emphatically, impressing upon them the gravity of the mission.

Both men understood the critical nature of their task. For Carust, it was a rare moment to hear such decisive words from the prince. For Millock, a seasoned intelligence professional, it underscored the seriousness and potential impact of the mission on his career.

Satisfied with their reaction, Edel envisioned the wealth ensuring Romania's financial stability for years, allowing for significant military and technological advancements from post-war Austria-Hungary and Germany.

After the meeting, Edel, unable to focus on other duties and preoccupied with visions of Kazan's gold reserves, decided he needed a distraction. He inquired about his wife's whereabouts and, learning she was resting, decided to seek her comfort.

Days later, Edel reconvened with Carust and Millock, both showing signs of fatigue yet spirited, ready to present their plan. Millock laid out a detailed document, the result of six days of intensive work with experts on Russian affairs and seasoned action planners.

"It's better you explain the plan," Edel said, acknowledging their expertise.

Millock unfolded a detailed map of Russia and began, "We plan to infiltrate Russia with operatives posing as engineers, businessmen, and students in Kazan and other strategic locations. We've arranged for 11 groups in Kazan alone and additional personnel in cities like Tsaritsyn, Rostov, and Astrakhan. Our primary route utilizes the Volga and Don Rivers for transportation, with multiple contingency routes planned through the Caucasus, the Baltic states, and even a last-resort route via the Siberian Railway."

Edel, impressed and unable to fault the plan, gave his approval, "Proceed as planned."

The operatives, including those from Millock and Carust's teams, began infiltrating Russia, blending into their respective cities and lying in wait for the signal to act.

Meanwhile, in Constanta, a seemingly innocuous tavern owner, well-acquainted with his regulars, served a new customer—a man whose face was mostly hidden by a hat—who requested whiskey with ice. After a brief, quiet exchange, the customer left, and the next day, a notice appeared announcing the tavern had been sold.

In Buzau, Fei Liderici, once involved in foreign rubber speculation and now a seasoned intelligence officer, was approached by his partner, Qomias. "Friedrich, we have a mission," Qomias announced, signaling the beginning of another covert operation. Fei, acknowledging his partner, prepared to join him, reflecting on how his life had changed since entering the world of espionage.

As Millock and Carust coordinated their elite teams, they were unaware of the broader implications their mission held for Romania's future. The operatives, now positioned across Russia, were ready to act, ensuring that when the time came, they would execute their plan flawlessly.