the Amber Room

'That doesn't explain why you're here.'

'As I indicated, I followed Knoll.'

'How did you know Karol died?'

'I didn't until I arrived in town Monday.'

'Ms. Myers, what's all the interest in the Amber Room? We're talking about something that's been lost for over fifty years. Don't you think if it could have been found, it would have by now?'

'I agree, Mr. Cutler. But Christian Knoll thinks otherwise.'

'You said you lost him in the airport yesterday. What makes you think he's following Rachel?'

'Just a hunch. I searched the concourses but never could find him. I noted several international flights that left within a few minutes after Knoll dodged me. One was to Munich. Two to Paris. Three to Frankfurt.'

'She was on the one to Munich,' he said.

Paul Cutler appeared to be warming to her. Starting to trust. To believe. She decided to take advantage of the moment. 'Why is Judge Cutler going to Munich so soon after her father died?'

'Her father left a note about the Amber Room.'

Now was time to press. 'Mr. Cutler, Christian Knoll is a dangerous man. When he's after something, nothing gets in the way. I'd wager he was on that flight to Munich, too. It's important I speak with your ex-wife. Do you know where she's staying?'

'She said she'd call from there, but I haven't heard from her.'

Concern laced the words. She glanced at her watch. 'It's nearly three-thirty in Munich.'

'I was thinking the same thing before you arrived.'

'Do you know exactly where she was headed?' He didn't answer. She pressed harder. 'I understand I'm a stranger to you. But I assure you I'm a friend. I need to find Christian Knoll. I can't go into the details because of confidentiality, but I strongly believe he is looking for your ex-wife.'

'Then I think I ought to contact the police.'

'Knoll would mean nothing to local law enforcement. This is a matter for the international authorities.'

He hesitated, as if considering her words, weighing the options. Calling the police would take time. Involving European agencies even more time. She was here now, ready to act. The choice should be an easy one, and she wasn't surprised when he made it.

'She went to Bavaria to find a man named Danya Chapaev. He lives in Kehlheim.'

'Who is Chapaev?' she asked, innocently.

'A friend of Karol's. They worked together at the Commission years ago. Rachel thought Chapaev might know about the Amber Room.'

'What would lead her to believe that?'

He reached into a desk drawer and removed a bundle of letters. He handed them to her. 'See for yourself. It's all there.'

She took a few minutes and scanned each letter. Nothing definite or precise, just hints to what the two might have known or suspected. Enough, though, to cause her concern. There was no question now that she had to stop Knoll from teaming up with Rachel Cutler. That was exactly what the bastard planned to do. He learned nothing from the father, so he tossed him down the stairs and decided to charm the daughter to see what he could learn. She stood. 'I appreciate the information, Mr. Cutler. I'm going to see if your ex-wife can be located in Munich. I have contacts there.' She extended her hand to shake. 'I want to thank you for your time.'

Cutler stood and accepted the gesture. 'I appreciate your visit and the warning, Ms. Myers. But you never did say what your interest is.'

'I'm not at liberty to divulge that, but suffice it to say that Mr. Knoll is wanted for some serious charges.'

'Are you with the police?'

'Private investigator hired to find Knoll. I work out of London.'

'Strange. Your accent is more East European than British.'

She smiled. 'Quite right. Originally, I'm from Prague.'

'Can you leave a phone number? Perhaps if I hear from Rachel, I can put the two of you in touch.'

'No need. I'll check back with you later today or tomorrow, if that's all right.'

She turned to leave and noticed the framed picture of an older man and woman. She motioned. 'A handsome couple.'

'My parents. Taken about three months before they died.'

'I'm so sorry.'

He accepted her condolences with a slight nod of the head, and she left the office without saying anything more. The last time she'd seen that same older couple they, and twenty or so others, were climbing out of the rain into an Alitalia airbus, preparing to leave Florence for a short hop across the Ligurian Sea to France. The explosives she'd paid to store on board were safe in the luggage compartment, the timer ticking away, set for zero thirty minutes later over open water.

TWENTY-FOUR

Munich, Germany

4:35 p.m.

Rachel was amazed. She'd never been in a beer hall. An oompah band, complete with trumpets, drums, an accordion, and cowbells blasted an earsplitting din. Long wooden tables were knotted with revelers, the aroma of tobacco, sausage, and beer thick and strong. Perspiring waiters in lederhosen and women in flaring dirndl dresses eagerly served one-liter tankards of dark beer. Maibock, she heard it called, a seasonal brew served only this time of year to herald the arrival of warm weather.

Most of the two hundred or so people surrounding her appeared to be enjoying themselves. She'd never cared for beer, always thought it an acquired taste, so she ordered a Coke along with a roasted chicken for dinner. The desk clerk at her hotel suggested the hall, discouraging her from the nearby Hofbrauhaus where tourists flocked.

Her flight from Atlanta arrived earlier that morning and, disregarding advice she'd always heard, she rented a car, checked into a hotel, and enjoyed a long nap. She would drive tomorrow to Kehlheim, about seventy kilometers to the south, within shouting distance of Austria and the Alps. Danya Chapaev had waited this long, he could wait another day, assuming he was even there to find.

The change of scenery was doing her good, though it was strange to look around at barrel-vaulted ceilings and the colorful costumes of the beer garden employees. She'd traveled overseas only once before, three years ago to London and a judicial conference sponsored by the State Bar of Georgia. Television programs about Germany had always interested her, and she'd dreamed about one day visiting. Now she was here.

She munched her chicken and enjoyed the spectacle. It took her mind off her father, the Amber Room, and Danya Chapaev. Off Marcus Nettles and the coming election. Maybe Paul was right and this was a total waste of time. But she felt better just being here, and that counted for something.

She paid her bill with euros obtained at the airport and left the hall. The late afternoon was cool and comfortable, sweater weather back home, a midspring sun casting the cobblestones in alternating light and shadows. The streets were crowded with thousands of tourists and shoppers, the buildings of the old town an intriguing mix of stone, half-timber, and brick, a villagelike atmosphere of the quaint and medieval. The entire area was pedestrian only, vehicles limited to an occasional delivery truck.

She turned west and strolled back toward the Marienplatz. Her hotel sat on the far side of the open square. A food market lay between, the stalls brimming with produce, meat, and cooked specialties. An outdoor beer garden spread out to the left. She remembered a little about Munich. Once the capital of Bavaria, home of the Duke and Elector, seat of the Wittelsbachs who ruled the area for 750 years. What had Thomas Wolfe called it? A touch of German heaven.

She passed several tourist groups with guides spouting French, Spanish, and Japanese. In front of the town hall she encountered an English group, the accent twinged with the cockney twang she remembered from her previous trip to England. She lingered at the back of the group, listening to the guide, staring up at the blaze of