the Amber Room

'Fuck you, McKoy,' Paul said, surprised at his own language. He couldn't recall cursing so crudely, or as much as he had the past few days. Apparently, this North Carolina redneck was wearing off on him.

'Who wrote this?' Rachel asked, motioning to the paper.

'Rafal Dolinski, a Polish reporter. He did a lot of work on the Amber Room. Kind of obsessed with the subject, if you ask me. When I was over here three years ago, he approached me. He's the one who got me all hyped up over amber. He'd done a lot of research and was writin' an article for some European magazine. He was hopin' for an interview with Loring to cinch some interest by a publisher. He sent a copy of this entire thing to Loring, along with a request to talk. The Czech never responded, but a month later Dolinski was dead.' McKoy paused, then looked straight at Rachel. 'Blown up in a mine near Warthberg.'

Paul said, 'Goddammit, McKoy. You knew all this and didn't tell us. Now Grumer's dead.'

'Shit on Grumer. He was a greedy, lyin' bastard. He got himself killed by sellin' out. That's not my problem. I didn't tell him any of this on purpose. But somethin' was tellin' me this was the right chamber. Ever since the radar soundings. Could be a rail car, but if not, it could be three trucks with the Amber Room inside. When I saw those damn things Monday, waitin' in the dark, I thought I'd hit the mother lode.'

'So you bilked investors for the opportunity to find out if you're right,' Paul said.

'I figured either way, they'd win. Paintings or amber. What do they care?'

'You're a damn good actor,' Rachel said. 'Fooled me.'

'My reaction when I saw the trucks empty wasn't an act. I was hopin' my gamble had paid off and the investors wouldn't mind a little change in booty. I was bankin' that Dolinski was wrong and the panels were never found by Loring, or anyone else. But when I saw that other sealed entrance and the empty beds, I knew I was in deep shit.'

'You're still in deep shit,' Paul said.

McKoy shook his head. 'Think about it, Cutler. Somethin's happenin' here. This isn't some dry hole. That chamber back there was not meant to be found. We just stumbled onto it, thanks to good ole modern technology. Now, all at once, somebody is awfully interested in what we're doin', and they're awfully interested in what Karol Borya and Chapaev knew. Interested enough to kill 'em. Maybe they were interested enough to kill your parents.'

Paul stared hard at McKoy.

'Dolinski told me about a lot of folks who ended up dead searchin' for the amber. Stretches all the way back to just after the war. Spooky as hell. Now he may well be one of 'em.'

Paul did not argue the point. McKoy was right. Something definitely was going on and it involved the Amber Room. What else could it be? There were simply too many coincidences.

'Assuming you're right, what do we do now?' Rachel finally asked in a voice that signaled resignation.

McKoy's response was quick. 'I'm going to the Czech Republic and talk to Ernst Loring. I think it's about time somebody did.'

'We're going, too,' Paul said.

'We are?' Rachel asked.

'You're damn right. Your father and my parents may have died over this. I've come this far. I plan to finish.'

Rachel's look was curious. Was she discovering something about him? Something she may never have noticed before. A determination that hid beneath a deep veneer of controlled calm. Maybe she was. He was certainly discovering something about himself. The experience last night had jolted him. The rush when he and Rachel fled from Knoll. The terror in dangling from a balcony hundreds of feet above a blackened German river. They'd been lucky to escape with only a couple knots on their heads. But he was determined now to learn what had happened to Karol Borya, his parents, and Chapaev.

'Paul,' Rachel said, 'I don't want something like last night to happen again. This is foolish. We have two children. Remember what you tried to tell me last week and in Warthberg. I agree with you now. Let's go home.'

His gaze bored into her. 'Go. I'm not stopping you.'

The sharpness of his tone and quickness of his response unnerved him. He recalled mouthing similar words to her three years ago when she told him she was filing for divorce. Bravado at the time. Words said only for her benefit. Proof that he could handle the situation. This time the words were more. He was going to Czech, and she could go with him or go home. He really didn't care which.

'Ever thought about somethin', Your Honor?' McKoy suddenly said.

Rachel looked at him.

'Your father kept Chapaev's letters and copied the ones he sent back. Why? And why leave 'em for you to find? If he really didn't want you involved, he would have burned the damn things and taken the secret to his grave. I didn't know that old man, but I can think like him. He was a treasure hunter once. He'd want the amber found, if there was any way possible. And you're the only one he trusted with the information. Granted, he went through his asshole to get to his appetite in sendin' the message, but the message is still loud and clear. 'Go find it, Rachel.' '

He was right, Paul thought. That's exactly what Borya had done. He'd never really considered it before now.

Rachel grinned. 'I think my daddy would have liked you, McKoy. When do we leave?'

'Tomorrow. Right now, I've got to handhold the partners to buy us a little more time.'

FORTY-NINE

Nebra, Germany

2:10 p.m.

Knoll sat in the silence of a tiny hotel room and thought about die Retter der Verlorenen Antiquitaten, the Retrievers of Lost Antiquities. They were nine of the wealthiest men in Europe. Most were industrialists, but there were two financiers, a land baron, and one doctor among its current membership. Men with little to do except search the world for stolen treasure. Most of them were well-known private collectors, and their interests varied: old Masters. Contemporary. Impressionist. African. Victorian. Surrealist. Neolithic. Diversity was what made the club interesting. It also defined specific territories where a member's Acquisitor concentrated his or her collecting. Most times, those territorial lines were not crossed. Occasionally, members vied with one another to see who could locate the same object faster. A race for acquisition, the challenge lying in finding what was thought lost forever. In short, the club was an outlet. A way for rich men to dispense a competitive spirit that rarely knew any bounds.

But that was okay. He knew no bounds either and liked it that way.

He thought back to last month's gathering.

Club meetings rotated between members' estates, the locales varying from Copenhagen south to Naples. It was customary that an unveiling occur at each gathering, preferably a find by the host's Acquisitor. Sometimes that wasn't possible and other members would volunteer an unveiling, but Knoll knew how each member longed to show off something new when it was their turn to entertain. Fellner particularly liked the attention. As did Loring. Just another facet of their intense competition.

Last month had been Fellner's turn. All nine members had traveled to Burg Herz, but only six Acquisitors had been free to attend. That was not unusual, since quests took precedence over the courtesy of appearing at another Acquisitor's unveiling. But jealousy could also account for an absence. Exactly, he assumed, why Suzanne Danzer had skipped the affair. Next month was Loring's turn in the rotation and Knoll had planned to return the courtesy, boycotting Castle Loukov. That was a shame, since he and Loring got along well. Loring had several times rewarded him with gifts for acquisitions that ultimately ended up in the Czech's private collection. Club members routinely stroked another's Acquisitor, thereby multiplying by nine the pairs of eyes scouring the world in search of treasure they found particularly enticing. Members routinely traded or sold among themselves. Auctions were common. Items of collective interest were bidded out at the monthly gathering, a way for a member to raise funds from acquisitions of no particular personal interest while keeping the treasures within the group.