The Amber Room Part 29

Fellner said, "Christian, return to Stod and find out what is going on. Handle Suzanne however you desire. Before I die I want to know about the Amber Room, one way or the other. If you have any doubts, remember that mine shaft and your ten million euros."

He stood. "I a.s.sure you, I will not forget either."

FORTY-TWO.

Stod 1:45 p.m.

The garni's grand salon was full. Paul stood off to the side next to Rachel, watching the drama unfold. Certainly, if ambience counted, the room's decor should definitely help Wayland McKoy. Colorful, thickly framed maps of old Germany hung from oak-paneled walls. A s.h.i.+mmering bra.s.s chandelier, burnished antique chairs, and a richly designed Oriental carpet rounded out the atmosphere.

Fifty-six people filled the chairs, their faces a mixture of wonder and exhaustion. They'd been bussed straight from Frankfurt, after arriving by air four hours ago. Their ages varied from early thirties to mid-sixties. Race varied, too. Most were white, two black couples, both older, and one j.a.panese pair. They all seemed eager and antic.i.p.atory.

McKoy and Grumer stood at the front of the long room along with five of the excavation's employees. A television with VCR rested on a metal stand. Two somber men sat in the rear, notebooks in hand, and appeared to be reporters. McKoy wanted to exclude them, but both flashed identification from ZDF, a German news organization that had optioned the story, and insisted on staying. "Just watch what you say," Paul had warned.

"Welcome, partners," McKoy said, smiling like a television evangelist. A murmur of conversation receded.

"There's coffee, juice, and danish outside. I know you've had a long journey and are tired. Jet lag's h.e.l.l, right? But I'm sure you're also anxious to hear how things are goin'."

The direct approach had been Paul's idea. McKoy had favored stalling, but Paul had argued that would do nothing but arouse suspicions. "Keep the tone pleasant and mild," he'd warned. "No 'f.u.c.k you' every other word like I heard yesterday, okay?" McKoy repeatedly a.s.sured him he was housebroken, fully schooled on how to handle a crowd.

"I know the question on all your minds. Have we found anythin'? No, not yet. But we did make progress yesterday." He motioned to Grumer. "This is Herr Doktor Herr Doktor Alfred Grumer, professor of art antiquities at the University of Mainz. Alfred Grumer, professor of art antiquities at the University of Mainz. Herr Doktor Herr Doktor is our resident expert on the dig. I'll let him explain what happened." is our resident expert on the dig. I'll let him explain what happened."

Grumer stepped forward, looking the part of an elderly professor in a tweed wool jacket, corduroy pants, and knit tie. He stood with his right hand stuffed in his trouser pocket, his left arm free. With a disarming smile he said, "I thought I would tell you a little something about how this venture came about.

"Looting art treasure is a time-honored tradition. The Greeks and Romans always stripped a defeated nation of their valuables. Crusaders during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries pilfered all across Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Western European churches and cathedrals continue to be adorned with their plunder.

"In the seventeenth century, a more refined method of stealing began. After a military defeat the great royal collections--there were no museums in those days--were purchased rather than stolen. An example. When Tsarist armies occupied Berlin in 1757, Frederick II's collections were not touched. To have tampered with them would have been regarded as barbaric, even by the Russians, who were themselves deemed barbarians by Europeans.

"Napoleon was perhaps the greatest looter of all. Germany's, Spain's, and Italy's museums were stripped clean so the Louvre could be stocked full. After Waterloo, at the Congress of Vienna in 1815, France was ordered to return the stolen art. Some was, but a lot remained the property of France and can still be seen in Paris."

Paul was impressed with how Grumer handled himself. Like a teacher in cla.s.s. The group seemed fascinated by the information.

"Your President Lincoln issued an order during the American Civil War that called for the protection of Southern cla.s.sical works of art, libraries, scientific collections, and precious instruments. A conference in Brussels in 1874 endorsed a similar proposal. Nicholas II, the Russian Tsar, proposed even more ambitious protections, which were approved at the Hague in 1907, but these codes proved of limited value during the two world wars following.

"Hitler completely ignored the Hague Convention and mimicked Napoleon. The n.a.z.is created an entire administrative department that did nothing but steal. Hitler wanted to build a supershowcase--the Fuhrermuseum--to be the largest collection of art in the world. He intended to locate this museum in Linz, Austria, his birthplace. The Sonderauftrag Linz Sonderauftrag Linz, Hitler called it. Special Mission Linz. It was to become the heart of the Third Reich, designed by Hitler himself."

Grumer paused a moment, seemingly allowing the information to be absorbed.

"Plunder for Hitler, though, served another purpose. It demoralized the enemy, and this was especially true in Russia, where the Imperial palaces around Leningrad were decimated in full view of local townspeople. Not since the Goths and Vandals had Europe witnessed so spiteful an a.s.sault on human culture. Museums all over Germany were stocked full with stolen art, particularly the Berlin museums. It was in the waning days of the war, with the Russians and Americans close, that a trainload of this art was evacuated from Berlin south to the Harz Mountains. Here, in this region where we are right now."

The television sprang to life with a panning image of a mountain range. Grumer pointed a controller and paused the video on a forested scene.

"The n.a.z.is loved hiding things underground. The Harz Mountains now surrounding us were used extensively, since they were the closest underground depositories to Berlin. Examples of what was found after the war proves this point. The German national treasury was hidden here along with over a million books, paintings of all descriptions, and tons of sculptures. But perhaps the strangest cache was found not far from here. An American team of soldiers reported finding a fresh brick wall, nearly two meters thick, five hundred meters into the mountain. It was removed, and a locked steel door waited on the other side."

Paul watched the partners' faces. They were riveted. He was, too.

"Inside, the Americans found four enormous caskets. One was decorated with a wreath and n.a.z.i symbols, the name Adolf Hitler on the side. German regimental banners draped the other three coffins. A jeweled scepter and orb, two crowns, and swords were also found. The whole thing had a theatrical arrangement, like a shrine. Imagine what these soldiers thought. Here was the tomb of Hitler. But, alas, it wasn't. Instead the coffins contained the remains of Field Marshal von Hindenburg, Hindenburg's wife, Frederick the Great, and Frederick William I."

Grumer pointed the remote control and released the video. The color image s.h.i.+fted to the inside of the underground chamber. McKoy had traveled to the site earlier and remade the video from yesterday, an edited version to buy a little time with the partners. Grumer now used that video to explain the digging, the three transports, and the bodies. Fifty-six pairs of eyes were glued to the screen.

"Finding these trucks is most exciting. Obviously, something of great value was moved here. Trucks were a precious commodity, and to forfeit three in a mountain meant a lot was at stake. The five bodies only add to the mystery."

"What did you find inside the trucks?" came the first question from the audience.

McKoy stepped to the front. "They're empty."

"Empty?" several asked at once.

"That's right. All three beds were bare." McKoy motioned to Grumer, who popped in another videotape.

"This is not unusual," Grumer said.

An image rematerialized, an area of the chamber intentionally not filmed on the first tape.

"This shows the other entrance to the chamber." Grumer pointed at the screen. "We hypothesize there may be another chamber past this point. That's where we will now dig."

"You're telling us the trucks are empty," an older man asked.

Paul realized that this was the hard part. The questions. Reality. But they'd gone over everything, he and Rachel prepping McKoy like a witness about to be cross-examined. Paul had approved the strategy of saying there may be another chamber. h.e.l.l, there might be. Who knows? At least it would keep the partners happy a few days until McKoy's crew could burrow into the other entrance and learn for sure.

McKoy fended off the challenges well, each inquiry answered completely and with a smile. The big man was right. He did know how to work a crowd. Paul's eyes constantly scanned the s.p.a.cious salon, trying to gauge the individual reaction.

So far, so good.

Most seemed satisfied with the explanation.

Toward the back of the room, at the double doorway leading out to the lobby, he noticed a woman slip in. She was short, with medium-length blond hair, and stayed in the shadows, making it hard to distinguish her face. Yet there was something familiar about her.

"Paul Cutler here is my legal counsel," McKoy said.

He turned at the mention of his name.

"Mr. Cutler is available to a.s.sist Herr Doktor Herr Doktor Grumer and myself in the event we have any legal difficulties at the site. We don't expect any, but Mr. Cutler, a lawyer from Atlanta, has graciously volunteered his time." Grumer and myself in the event we have any legal difficulties at the site. We don't expect any, but Mr. Cutler, a lawyer from Atlanta, has graciously volunteered his time."

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 p.r.o.ne. 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 cus.h.i.+oning 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 cha.s.sis. 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.

[image]

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.

[image]

Suzanne stood rigid before one of the crushed wheel a.s.semblies. 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 h.e.l.l 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d knew.

She withdrew the Sauer, her finger instantly wrapped around the trigger.

[image]

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 m.u.f.fled shots exited the barrel, the bullets ricocheting off the rock wall.

He rose up and hurled the stiletto.

[image]

Suzanne dived to the ground, antic.i.p.ating the knife. It was Knoll's trademark, and the tip had glistened in the light as he landed for the first a.s.sault. She realized that her shots would only be enough to momentarily distract him, so when Knoll rebounded, c.o.c.ked 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 smoke. She rose and darted for the opening, firing at the other light bar. Another blinding explosion flared, then extinguished and the chamber was plunged into total darkness. She set her course just as the last bits of light faded and hoped she ran straight.

If not, a wall of rock would be waiting for her.

[image]

Knoll dashed for the stiletto as the first light bar exploded. He realized there'd be only a few more seconds of vision, and Danzer was right, without the knife he was unarmed. A gun would be nice. He'd foolishly left the CZ-75B in his hotel room, thinking it not necessary for this short foray. He actually preferred the stealth of a blade to a gun, but fifteen rounds would have come in handy right now.

He yanked the stiletto free of the canvas and turned. Danzer was racing for the opening to the shaft. He readied himself for another throw.

A light bar exploded in a blinding flash.

Then the room congealed into darkness.

[image]

Suzanne ran straight ahead and bisected the opening leading out to the gallery. Ahead, the main shaft was strung with bulbs. She focused on the glow closest to her and raced straight for it, then charged down the narrow shaft, using her gun to rake the bulbs clean and extinguish the trail.

[image]

Knoll was blinded by the last flash. He closed his eyes and told himself to stand still, stay calm. What had Monika said about Danzer earlier?

Mousy little thing.