the Amber Room

'Giesse es,' Humer said. Pour it.

Borya did, and the other three followed his lead. Water soaked into Mathias's blond mane, then trickled down his face and chest. Shivers accompanied the stream. The German uttered not a sound, other than the chatter of his teeth.

'Anything to say?' Goring asked again.

Nothing.

Five minutes later the process was repeated. Twenty minutes later, after four more dousings, hypothermia started setting in. Goring stood impassive and methodically massaged the amber. Just before another five minutes expired he approached Mathias.

'This is ridiculous. Tell me where das Bernstein-zimmer is hidden and stop your suffering. This is not worth dying for.'

The shivering German only stared back, his defiance admirable. Borya almost hated being Goring's accomplice in killing him.

'Sie sind ein lugnerisch diebisch-schwein,' Mathias managed in one breath. You are a lying, thieving pig. Then the German spat.

Goring reeled back, spittle splotching the front of his greatcoat. He released the buttons and shook the stain away, then culled back the flaps, revealing a pearl gray uniform heavy with decorations. 'I am your Reichsmarschall. Second only to the Fuhrer. No one wears this uniform but me. How dare you think you can soil it so easily. You will tell me what I want to know, Mathias, or you will freeze to death. Slowly. Very slowly. It will not be pleasant.'

The German spat again. This time on the uniform. Goring stayed surprisingly calm.

'Admirable, Mathias. Your loyalty is noted. But how much longer can you hold out? Look at you. Wouldn't you like to be warm? Pressing your body close to a big fire, your skin wrapped in a cozy wool blanket.' Goring suddenly reached over and yanked Borya close to the bound German. Water splattered from the ladle onto the snow. 'This coat would feel wonderful, would it not, Mathias? Are you going to allow this miserable cossack to be warm while you freeze?'

The German said nothing. Only shivered.

Goring shoved Borya away. 'How about a little taste of warmth, Mathias?'

The Reichsmarschall unzipped his trousers. Hot urine arched out, steaming on impact, leaving yellow streaks on bare skin that raced down to the snow. Goring shook his organ dry, then zipped his trousers. 'Feel better, Mathias?'

'Verrottet in der schweinsholle.'

Borya agreed. Rot in hell pig.

Goring rushed forward and backhanded the soldier hard across the face, his silver ring ripping open the cheek. Blood oozed out.

'Pour!' Goring screamed.

Borya returned to the barrel and refilled his ladle.

The German named Mathias started shouting. 'Mein Fuhrer. Mein Fuhrer. Mein Fuhrer.' His voice grew louder. The other three bound men joined in.

Water rained down.

Goring stood and watched, now furiously fingering the amber. Two hours later, Mathias died caked in ice. Within another hour the remaining three Germans succumbed. No one mentioned anything about das Bernstein-zimmer.

The Amber Room.

PART ONE

ONE

Atlanta, Georgia

Tuesday, May 6, the present, 10:35 a.m.

Judge Rachel Cutler glanced over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. The lawyer had said it again, and this time she wasn't going to let the comment drop. 'Excuse me, counselor.'

'I said the defendant moves for a mistrial.'

'No. Before that. What did you say?'

'I said, 'Yes, sir.' '

'If you haven't noticed, I'm not a sir.'

'Quite correct, Your Honor. I apologize.'

'You've done that four times this morning. I made a note each time.'

The lawyer shrugged. 'It seems such a trivial matter. Why would Your Honor take the time to note my simple slip of the tongue?'

The impertinent bastard even smiled. She sat erect in her chair and glared down at him. But she immediately realized what T. Marcus Nettles was doing. So she said nothing.

'My client is on trial for aggravated assault, Judge. Yet the court seems more concerned with how I address you than with the issue of police misconduct.'

She glanced over at the jury, then at the other counsel table. The Fulton County assistant district attorney sat impassive, apparently pleased that her opponent was digging his own grave. Obviously, the young lawyer didn't grasp what Nettles was attempting. But she did. 'You're absolutely right, counselor. It is a trivial matter. Proceed.'

She sat back in her chair and noticed the momentary look of annoyance on Nettles's face. An expression that a hunter might give when his shot missed the mark.

'What of my motion for mistrial?' Nettles asked.

'Denied. Move on. Continue with your summation.'

Rachel watched the jury foreman as he stood and pronounced a guilty verdict. Deliberations had taken only twenty minutes.

'Your Honor,' Nettles said, coming to his feet. 'I move for a presentence investigation prior to sentencing.'

'Denied.'

'I move that sentencing be delayed.'

'Denied.'

Nettles seemed to sense the mistake he'd made earlier. 'I move for the court to recuse itself.'

'On what grounds?'

'Bias.'

'To whom or what?'

'To myself and my client.'

'Explain.'

'The court has shown prejudice.'

'How?'

'With that display this morning about my inadvertent use of sir.'

'As I recall, counselor, I admitted it was a trivial matter.'

'Yes, you did. But our conversation occurred with the jury present, and the damage was done.'

'I don't recall an objection or a motion for mistrial concerning the conversation.'

Nettles said nothing. She looked over at the assistant DA. 'What's the State's position?'

'The State opposes the motion. The court has been fair.'