18.2 An Astronomical Twilight

When Tyler arrived in Tbilisi which was another air force base, they put him on a ‘Coke’ transport plane, the Antonov An series but a different version, and flown to the City of Ozurgeti in the Guria region. It was a busy day visited by a barber and a tailor that suited him at the dacha in the peaceful town. Still finding time, before light went out, Tyler stepped on the road. Nobody bothered to stop him. This was a beautiful area with snow on the sidewalks on top of the mountains and freezing cold. There stood a signboard by the chain-link fence and written in Georgian letters that appeared like a flock of clouds and umbrella sticks.

After an excellent dinner he sat at the dining hall with other guests of the hotel, Tyler Friesen approached the concierge and asked if he could make a long-distance call. The girl at the reception connected the operator and passed his number in Hartford. In fifteen minutes, Tyler received that call from Sandra Friesen. He got connected to Connecticut.

“Good Lord!” Tyler cried, “I wasn’t expecting this call to pass through! How do you do, honey? How are the kids?”

“Where the hell have you been, Tyler?” he heard her loud and clear.

“It’s a long story. They are still holding me for a meeting with a minister tomorrow. I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m perfectly alright.”

“When are you coming home?”

“We’ll find out tomorrow. Listen! I want you to call the foreign mission and tell them I’m here in Georgia in a city called Ozurgeti. I have the number of this hotel for you.”

Following that he asked for another call and had a long conversation with Bobby Strauss at the American Embassy in Moscow who promised that immediate action would be taken to bring him home.

Next morning, a black Tatra diplomatic service limousine drove him to the minister’s residence where he was on vacation. The chauffeur in uniform drove it like a sportscar, changing gears and hard on brakes, climbing up a mountainous terrain, throwing the passenger in the backseat from side to side, on the dicey road. After nearly two hours, the car passed through a tall fence and drove another ten minutes to reach this remote mansion. This whole estate of several acres on the banks of Supsa River belonged to Colonel Angelozzi Tetriverdzi.

The car stopped in front of the main steps and Tyler was received by Levan Alexidze who greeted, “Good morning, Mr Friesen! Minister Ram is out on horse riding. He’ll be back soon. In the meantime, you have something to read. And Mister Bobby Strauss from the embassy just called. I told him that after this meeting you’d be going to Ankara. Somebody from the American Consulate will meet you at the airport. They will have your papers ready at the immigration counter. Any questions?”

“Why did it take so long?” asked Tyler Friesen.

“Come in, sir! You need an explanation. We need an explanation from the KGB and the MVD. For that you’ll have to seek some diplomatic assistance and often these things end up in negation.” Levan escorted him under the porch to the south corner to the office room.

It took him an hour to read the report. He closed the folder and rested to give it some thought. He was not excited about learning something new, not quite. He shut his eyes. Tyler wanted to go home and this got nothing to do with him. Levan gave him these sixty pages to read, typed in English, perhaps to return with a verdict or an argument. It made no sense.

Clever, he whispered, if the KGB had found this, he would praise them. Then be it. Certainly, Tyler Friesen did not belong to their occupation. Why should he bother even to know about Lexicon or Nebo, the TAM file or the MAC file. A thought crossed his mind – had he captured the shots from the MAC file instead of the TAM file from Alexey’s worktable that day, which would be Macedon Air operation in Skopje obviously, he could have known this before. But he did not go through those photographs with much anticipation. Of course, Tyler remembered General Howe mentioning Arizona State College involved in the rutile ore transaction. Talking of Macedon Air and their escrow agent, Tbilisi Aircraft State Association, it was too obvious to find a copy inserted in each file. Could he still solve this problem without the KGB?

But why was he given these notes to read? After all, he wasn’t after Alexey or Macedon Air. He was looking for Jair Sivils and the rutile ore. Macedon Air took its first flight in May 1965, read in the report, painted white with blue and orange stripes.

His fingers froze. The heating system seemed to be waning. A spacious room with high-class furniture and glass-fitted doors by the south corner of a contemporary mansion.

He cracked his fingers, pulled on his gloves and stepped out of the door. Standing on the porch, he could see the Supsa River and its water washing the grass beds in rapid currents, those noises could be heard. Over his shoulder, this tiled porch lay end to end of the mansion, some hundred feet in length. There he noticed a speeding car approaching through the woods. It braked to a harsh stop in front of the steps and a man in a white ensemble stepped out of the driver’s seat. His riding breeches, long-sleeved shirt and hair, all white. In a pair of black riding boots and holding a crop-type whip in his hand. It was a silver blue Mercedes Benz 220 SE coupe, a brand-new ’62 version. He was received by Levan by the steps.