'It would help.'
THIRTY-FOUR
Warthberg, Germany
8:45 p.m.
Rachel strolled into the restaurant and followed Paul to a table, savoring the warm air laced with a scent of cloves and garlic. She was starving and feeling better. The full bandage from the hospital had been replaced with gauze and tape to the side of her head. She wore a pair of chinos and a long-sleeved shirt Paul bought at a local store, her tattered clothes from this morning no longer wearable.
Paul had checked her out of the hospital two hours ago. She was fine except for the bump on her head and a few cuts and scrapes. She'd promised the doctor to take it easy the next couple of days, Paul telling him they were headed back to Atlanta anyway.
A waiter stepped over, and Paul asked what type wine she'd like.
'A good red would be nice. Something local,' she said, remembering last night's dinner with Knoll.
The waiter departed.
'I called the airline,' Paul said. 'There's a flight out of Frankfurt tomorrow. Pannik said he could arrange to get us to the airport.'
'Where is the inspector?'
'Went back to Kehlheim to see about the investigation on Chapaev. He left a phone number.'
'I can't believe all my stuff's gone.'
'Knoll obviously wanted nothing left to trace you.'
'He appeared so sincere. Charming, in fact.'
Paul seemed to sense the attraction in her voice. 'You liked him?'
'He was interesting. Said he was an art collector looking for the Amber Room. '
'That appeals to you?'
'Come on, Paul. Wouldn't you say that we live a mundane life? Work and home. Think about it. Traveling the world, looking for lost art--that would excite anyone.'
'The man left you to die.'
Her face tightened. That tone of his did it every time. 'But he also saved my life in Munich.'
'I should have come with you to start with.'
'I don't recall inviting you.' Her irritation was building. Why did it swell so easily? Paul was only trying to help.
'No, you didn't invite me. But I still should have come.'
She was surprised by his reaction to Knoll. Hard to tell if he was jealous or concerned.
'We need to go home,' he said. 'There's nothing left here. I'm worried about the children. I can still see Chapaev's body.'
'You believe the woman who came to see you killed Chapaev?'
'Who knows? But she certainly knew where to look, thanks to me.'
Now seemed the right time. 'Let's stay, Paul.'
'What?'
'Let's stay.'
'Rachel, haven't you learned your lesson? People are dying. We need to get out of here, before it's us. You were lucky today. Don't push it. This isn't some adventure novel. This is real. And foolishness. Nazis. Russians. We're out of our league.'
'Paul, Daddy must have known something. Chapaev, too. We owe it to them to try.'
'Try what?'
'There's one trail left to follow. Remember Wayland McKoy. Knoll told me Stod is not far from here. He might be on to something. Daddy was interested in what he was doing.'
'Leave it alone, Rachel.'
'What would it hurt?'
'That's exactly what you said about finding Chapaev.'
She shoved her chair back and stood. 'That's not fair, and you know it.' Her voice rose. 'If you want to go home, go. I'm going to talk to Wayland McKoy.'
A few other diners started to notice. She hoped none of them spoke English. Paul's face carried the usual look of resignation. He'd never really known what to do with her. It was another of their problems. Impetuousness was foreign to his personality. He was a meticulous planner. No detail too small. Not obsessive. Just consistent. Had he ever done a spontaneous thing in his life? Yes. He'd flown here virtually on the spur of the moment. And she was hoping that counted for something.
'Sit down, Rachel,' he quietly said. 'For once could we discuss something rationally?'
She sat. She wanted him to stay, but would never admit it.
'You've got an election campaign to run. Why don't you channel all this energy into that?'
'I have to do this, Paul. Something is telling me to go on.'
'Rachel, in the last forty-eight hours two people have turned up out of nowhere, both looking for the same thing, one possibly a killer, the other callous enough to leave you for dead. Karol is gone. So is Chapaev. Maybe your father was murdered. You were awfully suspicious about that before coming over here.'
'I still am, and that's part of this. Not to mention your parents. They may have been victims also.'
She could almost hear his analytical mind working. Weighing the options. Trying to think of the next argument to convince her to come home with him.
'All right,' he said. 'We'll go to see McKoy.'
'You serious?'
'What I am is crazy. But I don't plan to leave you alone over here.'
She reached over and squeezed his hand. 'You watch my back and I'll watch yours. Okay?'
He grinned. 'Yeah, right.'
'Daddy would be proud.'
'Your father is probably turning in his grave. We're ignoring everything he wanted.'
The waiter arrived with the wine and poured two glasses. She raised her glass. 'To success.'
He returned the toast. 'Success.'
She sipped the wine, pleased Paul was staying. But the vision flashed through her mind once again. What she saw as her flashlight revealed Christian Knoll the second before the explosion. A knife blade gleaming in his hand.
Yet she'd said nothing to Paul or Inspector Pannik. Easy to guess at both their reactions, especially Paul's.
She looked at her ex-husband, remembered her father and Chapaev, and thought of the children.
Was she doing the right thing?
PART THREE
THIRTY-FIVE
Stod, Germany
Monday, May 19, 10:15 a.m.
Wayland McKoy marched into the cavern. Cold damp air enveloped him, and darkness overtook the morning
