the Amber Room

Grumer in the cavern again, brushing letters from the sand. 'Okay, McKoy. If you want my help, I'll do what I can.'

Rachel gave him a strange gaze, her thoughts easy to read. Yesterday he'd wanted to go home and leave all this intrigue to the authorities. Yet here he was, volunteering to represent Wayland McKoy, piloting his own chariot of fire across the sky at the whim of forces he did not understand and could not control.

'Good,' McKoy said. 'I can use the help. Grumer, make yourself useful and arrange rooms for these folks at the Garni. Put them on my tab.'

Grumer did not appear pleased at being ordered around, but the German did not argue, and he headed for the phone.

'What's the Garni?' Paul asked.

'Where we're staying in town.'

Paul motioned to Grumer. 'He there, too?'

'Where else?'

Paul was impressed with Stod. It was a considerable city interlaced with venerable thoroughfares that seemed to have been taken straight from the Middle Ages. Row after row of black-and-white half-timbered buildings lined the cobbled lanes, pressed tight like books on a shelf. Above everything, a monstrous abbey capped a steep mountain spur high--the slopes leading up thick with larch and beech trees bursting in a spring flourish.

He and Rachel drove into town behind Grumer and McKoy, their path winding deep into the old town, ending just before the Hotel Garni. A small parking lot reserved for guests waited farther down the street, toward the river, just outside the pedestrian-only zone.

Inside the hotel he learned that McKoy's party dominated the fourth floor. The entire third floor had already been reserved for investors arriving tomorrow. After some haggling by McKoy and palm pressing of a few euros, the clerk made a room available on the second floor. McKoy asked if they wanted one or two rooms, and Rachel had immediately said one.

Upstairs, their suitcases had barely hit the bed before Rachel said, 'Okay, what are you up to, Paul Cutler?'

'What are you up to? One room. I thought we were divorced. You like to remind me about it enough.'

'Paul, you're up to something, and I'm not letting you out of my sight. Yesterday you were busting a gut to go home. Now you volunteer to represent this guy? What if he's a crook?'

'All the more reason he needs a lawyer.'

'Paul--'

He motioned to the double bed. 'Night and day?'

'What?'

'You going to keep me in your sight night and day?'

'It's not anything we both haven't seen before. We were married ten years.'

He smiled. 'I might get to like this intrigue.'

'Are you going to tell me?'

He sat on the edge of the bed and told her what happened in the underground chamber, then showed her the wallet, which he'd kept all afternoon in his back pocket. 'Grumer dusted the letters away on purpose. No doubt about it. That guy is up to something.'

'Why didn't you tell McKoy?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. I thought about it. But, like you say, he may be a crook.'

'You're sure the letters were O-I-C?'

'As best I could make out.'

'You think this has anything to do with Daddy and the Amber Room?'

'There's no connection at this point, except Karol was real interested in what McKoy was doing. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything.'

Rachel sat down beside him. He noticed the cuts and scrapes on her arms and face that had scabbed over. 'This guy McKoy latched on to us kind of quick,' she said.

'We may be all he's got. He doesn't seem to like Grumer much. We're just two strangers who came out of the woodwork. No interest in anything. No ax to grind. I guess we're deemed safe.'

Rachel cradled the wallet and studied closely the scraps of decaying paper. 'Ausgegeben 15-3-51. Verfallt 15-3-55. Gustav Muller. Should we get somebody to translate?'

'Not a good idea. Right now, I don't trust anyone, present company excepted of course. I suggest we find a German-English dictionary and see for ourselves.'

Two blocks west of the Garni they found a translation dictionary in a cluttered gift shop, a thin volume apparently printed for tourists with common words and phrases.

'Ausgegeben means 'issued,' ' he said. 'Verfallt, 'expires,' 'ends.' ' He looked at Rachel. 'The numbers have to be dates. The European way. Backwards. Issued March 15, 1951. Expires March 15, 1955. Gustav Muller.'

'That's postwar. Grumer was right. Somebody beat McKoy to whatever was there. Sometime after March 1951.'

'But what?'

'Good question.'

'It had to be serious. Five bodies with holes in their heads?'

'And important. All three trucks were clean. Not a scrap of anything left to find.'

He tossed the dictionary back on the shelf. 'Grumer knows something. Why go to all the trouble of taking pictures then dusting the letters away? What's he documenting? And who for?'

'Maybe we should tell McKoy?'

He thought about the suggestion, then said, 'I don't think so. Not yet, at least.'

THIRTY-NINE

10:00 p.m.

Suzanne pushed through a velvet curtain separating the outer gallery and portal from the inner nave. The Church of St. Gerhard was empty. A message board outside proclaimed the sanctuary open until 11 P.M., which was the central reason she'd chosen the place for the meeting. The other was locale--blocks from Stod's hotel district, on the edge of old town, far away from the crowds.

The building's architecture was clearly Romanesque with lots of brick and a lofty front adorned by twin towers. Lucid, spatial proportions dominated. Blind arcades loomed in playful patterns. A beautifully adorned chancel stretched from the far end. The high altar, sacristy, and choir stalls were empty. A few candles flickered from a side altar, their glint like stars on the gilded ornamentation high overhead.

She walked forward and stopped at the base of a gilded pulpit. Chiseled figures of the Four Evangelists encircled her. She glanced at the steps leading up. More figures lined both sides. Allegories of Christian values. Faith, Hope, Charity, Prudence, Fortitude, Temperance, and Justice. She recognized the carver instantly. Riemenschneider. Sixteenth century. The pulpit above was empty. But she could imagine the bishop addressing the congregation, extolling the virtues of God and the advantages in believing.

She crept to the nave's far end, her eyes and ears alert. The quiet was unnerving. Her right hand was stuffed in her jacket pocket, ungloved fingers wrapped around a Sauer .32 automatic, a present from Loring three years back out of his private collection. She'd almost brought the new CZ-75B Loring gave her. It had been her suggestion that Christian be given one identical. Loring had smiled at the irony. Too bad Knoll would never get a chance to use his.

The corner of her eye caught a sudden movement. Her fingers tightened around the gun stock, and she spun.