He grinned. 'Photographs exist. If you have the pieces, it would not be difficult to reassemble the whole room. My hope is that the Nazis packed them well, since my employer is not interested in recreations. The original is what matters.'
'Sounds like an interesting man.'
He smiled. 'Nice try . . . again. But I never said
They arrived at the hotel. Upstairs, at her room, Knoll stopped outside her door.
'How early in the morning?' she asked.
'We'll leave at seven-thirty. The clerk downstairs says breakfast is available after seven. The area we seek is not far, about ten kilometers.'
'I appreciate everything you've done. Not to mention saving my life.'
Knoll tipped his head. 'My pleasure.'
She smiled at the gesture.
'You've mentioned your husband, but no one else. Is there a man in your life?'
The question came suddenly. A bit too fast. 'No.' She instantly regretted her honesty.
'Your heart still longs for your ex-husband, doesn't it?'
Not any of this man's business, but for some reason she wanted to answer. 'Sometimes.'
'Does he know?'
'Sometimes.'
'How long has it been?'
'Since what?'
'Since you made love to a man.'
His gaze lingered longer than she expected. This man was intuitive, and it bothered her. 'Not long enough that I'd hop in bed with a total stranger.'
Knoll smiled. 'Perhaps that stranger could help your heart forget?'
'I don't think that's what I need. But thanks for the offer.' She inserted her key and opened the lock, then glanced back. 'I think this is the first time I've ever actually been propositioned.'
'And surely not the last.' He bowed his head and smiled. 'Good night, Rachel.' And he walked off, toward the staircase and his own room.
But something grabbed her attention.
Interesting how rebukes seemed to challenge him.
THIRTY
Sunday, May 18, 7:30 a.m.
Knoll exited the hotel and studied the morning. A cotton fog wrapped the quiet village and surrounding valley. The sky was gloomy, a late-spring sun straining hard to warm the day. Rachel leaned against the car, apparently ready. He walked over. 'The fog will help conceal our visit. Being Sunday is good, too. Most people are in church.'
They climbed into the car.
'I thought you said this was a bastion of paganism,' she said.
'That's for the tourist brochures and travel guides. Lots of Catholics live in these mountains, and have for centuries. They are a religious people.'
The Volvo snarled to life, and he quickly navigated out of Warthberg, the cobbled streets nearly deserted and damp from a morning chill. The road east from town wound up and then down into another fog-draped valley.
'This area reminds me even more of the Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina,' Rachel said. 'They're veiled like this, too.'
He followed the map Chapaev provided and wondered if this was a wild goose chase. How could tons of amber stay hidden for more than half a century? Many had looked. Some had even died. He was well aware of the so-called curse of the Amber Room. But what harm could there be in a quick look into one more mountain? At least the journey would be interesting, thanks to Rachel Cutler.
Over a crest in the road they dropped back into another valley, thick stands of misty beech towering on either side. He came to where Chapaev's road map ended and parked in a pocket of woods. He said, 'The rest of the way is on foot.'
They climbed out and he retrieved a caver's pack from the trunk.
'What's in there?' Rachel asked.
'What we require.' He slid the shoulder straps on. 'Now we are merely a couple of hikers, out for the day.'
He handed her a jacket. 'Hang on to it. You're going to need it once we're underground.'
He'd donned his jacket in the hotel room, the stiletto sheathed on his right arm beneath the nylon sleeve. He led the way into the forest, and the grassy terrain rose as they moved north from the highway. They followed a defined trail that wound the base of a tall range, while offshoots traced paths higher along wooded slopes toward the summits. Dark entrances to three shafts loomed in the distance. One was chained shut with an iron gate, a sign--GEFAHR-ZUTRITT VERBOTEN-EXPLOSIV--posted on the rough granite.
'What does that say?' Rachel asked.
'Danger. No Admittance. Explosives.'
'You weren't kidding about that.'
'These mountains were like bank vaults. The Allies found the German national treasury in one. Four hundred tons of art from Berlin's Kaiser Friedrich Museum was stashed here, too. The explosives were better than troops and watch dogs.'
'Is some of that art what Wayland McKoy's after?' she asked.
'From what you told me, yes.'
'You think he'll have any luck?'
'Hard to say. But I seriously doubt millions of dollars in old canvases are still waiting around here to be found.'
The smell of damp leaves was thick in the heavy air.
'What was the point?' Rachel asked as they walked. 'The war was lost. Why hide all that stuff?'
'You have to think like a German in 1945. Hitler ordered the army to fight to the last man or be executed. He believed if Germany held out long enough the Allies would eventually join him against the Bolsheviks. Hitler knew how much Churchill hated Stalin. He also read Stalin correctly and accurately predicted what the Soviets had in mind for Europe. Hitler thought Germany could remain intact by playing off the Soviets. He reasoned the Americans and the British would eventually join him against the Communists. Then, all those treasures could be saved.'
'Foolishness,' Rachel said.
'Madness is a better description.'
Sweat beaded on his brow. His leather boots were stained from dew. He stopped and surveyed the various shaft entrances in the distance, along with the sky. 'None point east. Chapaev said the opening faced east. And according to him it should be marked BCR-65.'
He moved deeper into the trees. Ten minutes later, Rachel pointed and yelled, 'There.'
He stared ahead. Through the trees, another shaft entrance was visible, the opening barred by iron. A rusty sign affixed to the bars read BCR-65. He checked the sun. East.
Son of a bitch.
They approached close and he slid off the cave pack. He glanced around. No one was in sight, and no sounds disturbed the silence beyond the birds and an occasional rustle from fox squirrels. He examined the bars and gate. All the iron was purpled from heavy oxidation. A steel chain and hasp lock held the gate firmly shut. The chain and lock were definitely newer. Nothing unusual, though. German federal inspectors routinely resecured the shafts. He slipped bolt cutters from the cave pack.
'Nice to see you're prepared,' Rachel said.
