'Paul Cutler here is my legal counsel,' McKoy said.
He turned at the mention of his name.
'Mr. Cutler is available to assist
He smiled at the group, uncomfortable with the loose representations but powerless to say anything. He acknowledged the crowd, then turned back to the doorway.
The woman was gone.
FORTY-THREE
Suzanne scampered out of the hotel. She'd seen and heard enough. McKoy, Grumer, and both Cutlers were there and apparently busy. By her count, five workers were there, as well. According to Grumer's information, that left two other people on the payroll, probably at the site standing guard.
She'd caught Paul Cutler's momentary glance, but his notice shouldn't be a problem. Her physical appearance was far different from last week in his Atlanta office. To be safe, she'd stayed in the shadows and lingered only a few moments, long enough to see what was going on and take inventory. She'd taken a chance going to the Garni, but she didn't trust Alfred Grumer. He was too German, too greedy. A million euros? The fool must be dreaming. Did he think her benefactor that gullible?
Outside, she hustled back to her Porsche, then sped east to the excavation and parked in thick woods about a half kilometer away. After a quick hike, she found a work shed and shaft entrance. The generators outside hummed. No trucks, cars, or people were visible.
She slipped into the open shaft and followed a trail of bulbs to a semidarkened gallery. Three halogen light bars were dark, the only available illumination was what spilled from a cavernous chamber beyond. She crept over and tested the air above one of the lights. Warm. She looked down and discovered that the trio of lamps had been unplugged.
In the shadows across the gallery she caught the glimpse of a form lying prone. She stepped close. A man in coveralls lay in the sand. She tried a pulse. Weak, but there.
She glanced into the chamber through an opening in the rock. A shadow danced across the far wall. She crouched low and slipped inside. No shadows betrayed her entrance, the powderlike sand cushioning each step. She decided not to ready her gun until she saw who was there.
She made it to the nearest truck and bent down, looking out from beneath the chassis. A pair of legs and boots stood on the side of the farthest truck. The feet moved right. Casual, unhurried. Her presence was obviously unknown. She stood still and decided to stay anonymous.
The legs stopped toward the rear of the farthest transport.
Canvas cracked. Whoever it was must be looking in a truck bed. She used the moment to slip around to the front end of the closest transport and dash to the hood of the next truck. Whoever it was now stood catty-corner to her on the opposite side. She carefully peered around at the figure twenty feet away.
Christian Knoll.
A chill swept through her.
Knoll checked inside the last truck bed. empty. These trucks had been picked clean. There was nothing in any of the cabs or beds. But who'd done that? McKoy? No way. He'd heard nothing in town about a significant find. Besides, there'd be remnants. Packing crates. Filler material. Yet nothing was here. And would McKoy leave a rich site guarded by only one easily overpowered man if he'd found a fortune in stolen art? The more logical explanation was these trucks were empty when McKoy breached the chamber.
But how?
And the bodies. Were they robbers from decades ago? Perhaps. Nothing unusual about that. Many of the Harz chambers had been pillaged, most by U.S. and Soviet armies that raped the region after the war, some later by scavengers and treasure hunters before the government took control of the area. He stepped to one of the bodies and stared down at the blackened bones. This whole scenario was strange. Why was Danzer so interested in what was obviously nothing? Interested enough to cultivate a covert source that wanted a million euros merely as a downpayment for information.
What kind of information?
A feeling surged through him. One he'd learned to trust. One that told him in Atlanta that Danzer was on his trail. One that told him now that somebody else was in the chamber.
He told himself to keep his moves casual. A sudden turn would spook his visitor. Instead, he slowly strolled down the length of the truck and led whoever it was farther from the entrance, placing himself in between. The intruder, though, intentionally avoided the light bars, allowing no shadow to betray any movement. He stopped and crouched, staring beneath the three transports for legs and feet.
There were none.
Suzanne stood rigid before one of the crushed wheel assemblies. She'd followed Knoll deeper into the chamber and heard when his footsteps stopped. He was making no effort to mask sound, and that worried her. Did he sense her? Like in Atlanta? Maybe he was looking underneath the trucks as she'd done. If so, there'd be nothing to see. But he wouldn't hesitate long. She was not used to such an adversary. Most of her opponents did not possess the cunning of Christian Knoll. And once he ascertained it was her, there'd be hell to pay. Surely by now he'd learned about Chapaev, realized the mine had been a trap, and narrowed the list of likely suspects who would have set that trap to one.
Knoll's path across the chamber was also cause for concern.
He was leading her in. The bastard knew.
She withdrew the Sauer, her finger instantly wrapped around the trigger.
Knoll twisted his right arm and released the stiletto. He palmed the lavender-jade handle and prepared himself. He stole another look beneath the trucks. No feet. Whoever it was obviously had used the wheel mounts as protection. He decided to act and pivoted off the rusted hood of the nearest transport and landed on the other side.
Suzanne Danzer stood twenty feet away, hugging a rear wheel mount. Shock filled her face at the sight of him. Her gun came up and leveled. He leaped in front of the adjacent transport. Two muffled shots exited the barrel, the bullets ricocheting off the rock wall.
He rose up and hurled the stiletto.
Suzanne dived to the ground, anticipating the knife. It was Knoll's trademark, and the tip had glistened in the light as he landed for the first assault. She realized that her shots would only be enough to momentarily distract him, so when Knoll rebounded, cocked his wrist, and propelled the blade her way, she was ready.
The stiletto swooshed past, slicing into the petrified canvas of the nearest transport's bed, its blade piercing the thin layer of rigid cloth down to the handle. There'd be only a second before he charged. She fired another shot in Knoll's direction. Again, the bullet damaged only rock.
'Not this time, Suzanne,' Knoll slowly said. 'You're mine.'
'You're unarmed.'
'Are you sure?'
She stared down at her gun, wondering how many shots were left in the clip. Four? Her eyes scanned the chamber, her mind reeling. Knoll was between her and the only way out. She needed something to stop the bastard long enough to allow her to escape this rat cage. Her eyes surveyed the rock walls, trucks, and lights.
The lights.
Darkness would be her ally.
She quickly popped the clip from the pistol and replaced it with the spare from her pocket. Now she had seven shots. She aimed at the nearest light bar and fired. Lamps exploded in an electrical shower of sparks and
