The Amber Room (29 page)

“So what do we do now?” Jeffrey asked. “The police aren't of any use to us.”

“Quite the contrary,” Alexander agreed. “But perhaps, just perhaps, greed will work on our behalf.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose that we pose as buyers of ancient religious artifacts and let the thief or his accomplice come to us.”

“You're going to pay to get it back?”

“I am certainly prepared to do so,” Alexander replied.

“But why would anyone who stole something from you try to sell it back to you?”

“Not us in person, of course. We shall have to utilize the services of a front. We shall make other arrangements. Much more discreet.” Alexander leaned forward. “Now here is my plan.”

CHAPTER 26

Kurt settled the last of Erika's suitcases in the trunk of the car, paused, and looked down at the compartment's contents. There were four cases made of battered cardboard and vinyl, two for Erika and two for Ferret. Little enough to show for a pair of lives. Kurt shut the lid with a solid thunk and felt a curtain come down inside himself.

His attention fastened on a newly erected billboard that towered above the road and the colonel's shabby cottage. It proclaimed in giant letters and bright colors the wonders of a certain washing powder. He smiled without humor, compared the capitalist slogan with those of his Communist days. The colors and words were different, but the intent was more or less the same as far as he could see—to convince the unbeliever that something was true. Were they lies? Kurt kicked at the icy ground, remembered a lesson from his early training—the easiest lie to sell was the one wrapped in a covering of truth.

“We're Building the Germany of Our Dreams.” That one had been a favorite during his teen years. For a time it had been plastered almost everywhere. The propagandists had slapped it across acres of buildings. They had competed over who could erect the largest billboard, all in red and white and fiercely, angrily proud. Then had come “There Is One Germany and We Are All Working for Her Development.” As prophetic a statement as he had ever heard, although perhaps not in the form the propagandists had intended. The year before the Wall fell it had been, “Our Ambition Is a Strong and Unified Socialist Germany.” Take out the word socialist, and the ambition had come true.

Ferret scuttled from the cottage. He nodded to the colonel leaning against the doorpost and said something Kurt could not hear. The colonel made no response. Ferret turned with a
minute shrug and hurried down the muddy path. A battered overstuffed briefcase was clasped up close to his chest like a child with a favorite toy.

Ferret approached the car, stopped, and peered up at Kurt through the over-thick lenses. “You know the plan,” Ferret said. It was not a question.

“We have gone over it a dozen times,” Kurt replied. “More.”

“At this stage, I prefer repetition to mistakes.” Bundled within his oversized coat, Ferret looked more than ever like a bespectacled mole. “You will stay here—”

“And await your word,” Kurt interrupted, boredom fighting for place with irritation. “You will call if the amber is found.”

“When,” Ferret corrected. “When the amber is found, and when the agreement is made. Until that moment, you will not allow the colonel out of your sight.”

“Then I shall contact the Schwerin lawyer as we discussed, and then travel to Poland.” Kurt cast a sideways glance back to where the old man hunched in the house's shallow doorway, out of the bitter dawn breeze. The colonel's shanty stooped and swayed beneath its burdens of neglect and age.

Kurt watched the Ferret bundle himself into the passenger's seat. He shut the door, nodded a farewell. Then he turned to where Erika waited by the hood of her car, the little plastic taxi sign now permanently removed. He said, “The final departure.”

“I never thought this day would come,” she replied. “After Birgit found the man, I still could not believe it was real. Even now I wonder.”

“That was her name?” Kurt asked. “Birgit?”

Erika had a momentary start, then saw his smile. “You made a joke.”

“A poor one.”

“It does not matter what you know now. We shall not return.”

“No,” Kurt agreed. “Any regrets?”

She looked out over the icy landscape, admitted, “Some.”

“I was not necessarily speaking of the departure,” Kurt said.

“Nor I.” Erika's gaze returned to him. “Some nights I wonder if anything will ever come of all this.”

“Nights are the time for me to wonder how it will be to live the life of an alien.”

It was Erika's turn to smile. “We have been that since the Wall's collapse. It is our fate. The place we choose to reside no longer matters.”

He walked her around to the driver's side, opened the door, said, “I also find myself wondering about our new residence.”

“Where do you think we shall go?”

Kurt pointed with his chin toward the waiting Ferret. “He likes Argentina. They've fifty years of experience in burying German records.”

“Nazi records, you mean.”

He did not deny it. “Ferret and I, we had contact with them once. Trying to get hold of old documents in another treasure hunt.”

“They did not help, did they?”

Kurt shook his head. “We kept the contact, though. The man let us know he could be used for buying other papers.”

“He said that?”

“Passports, drivers' licenses, even birth certificates if the price was right.” Kurt lifted his eyes to tree boughs slumped beneath their loads of snow and ice. “At the time, of course, we saw no need for such things—”

“And never thought you would,” Erika finished, a wry bite to her words.

“And I suppose you had perfect vision when it came to such events.”

Her good humor remained. “Naturally. That is why I'm here.”

He subsided. “I suppose Buenos Aires would be an acceptable place to have been born.”

“Now that our own homeland is no longer,” Erika agreed,
climbing in and starting the car. She reached for the door, said, “You know, I think I might just learn to like being rich.”

CHAPTER 27

Andrew opened the door for a heavily laden Jeffrey and Katya, then led them through his shop to the back office area. “This the lot?”

“Nineteen books on the crucial subjects,” Jeffrey said, setting down his load next to the oversized art books he had brought by the week before. “Katya's box has some prints and imitation artifacts.”

“To add a bit of atmosphere,” Katya said.

Andrew gave her a look of mock injury. “Atmosphere? And what does my little world have now?”

“A beautiful feel,” Katya replied. “Truly.”

“You know the way to a man's heart,” Andrew said. “Pity about the choice you've made. Choice of men, that is.”

“I think I did rather well,” Katya replied smugly.

Jeffrey was too frantic to share in their banter. “You understand these books are on loan?”

“Not part of the fee, I take it.”

“Not on your life. A couple I had to borrow, several I haven't been able to read yet myself. And some of these have been out of print for over a century.”

“All right, lad,” Andrew replied easily. “Speaking of fee, we haven't gotten around to discussing that.”

“Alexander said to tell you that he is doubly in your debt,” Katya said. “First for trying to assist us, and second for doing so confidentially.”

Andrew thought it over. “Coming from the old gent, I'd say that's not bad, not bad at all.”

“You can add my gratitude to his,” Jeffrey said. “For what it's worth.”

“Ah, well, seeing as how I disagree with the run-of-the-mill lot and their comments, I'd treat that almost as highly as the
other. Maybe even a notch above, seeing as how you're the up and comer.”

“Thanks, Andrew. I won't forget this.”

“ 'Course you won't. I'm not aiming on letting you, now, am I?” Andrew reached into an overstuffed drawer, came up with a set of clippings, passed them around. “Here's the copy and bills for the first set of ads. Cost you a packet, especially the daily rags. The Times wanted eight hundred quid per day.”

“We've got to move ahead as though there were big money behind it.”

“Right you are, then. Here, have a gander at how the lucre's being spent.”

The ad was a standard four-by-eight inches, framed in double black lines. The text took up less than half the space and simply read: “Major international collector seeks to acquire pre-seventeenth-century religious art and artifacts of the first order. Sellers of second-quality items need not apply. Paintings, manuscripts, altars, reliquaries, ornamental works, and other items will be considered. Utmost discretion and confidentiality guaranteed. Payment may be effected worldwide. Interested parties should contact,” and below was given Andrew's name and shop address.

“Perfect,” Jeffrey declared. “Can I keep this one?”

“ 'Course you may, lad. You paid for it.”

“I'm leaving on a buying trip next week. I don't suppose—”

“You'll be hearing from me the instant I pick up the first bit of news, lad. The very instant, don't you worry. As to timing, that's out of our hands, now, isn't it.”

Jeffrey nodded glumly. “Alexander's really taking this hard.”

“Only on account of the weight you two put on reputations and the like.” He caught the look in Jeffrey's eye and added, “Just kidding, lad. Of course he is.”

“You don't speak any other languages, I guess.”

“No, but I understand Yank fairly well. And Sydney Greenfield works in Kentish, which I can get around in.”

“I don't think it's Greenfield.”

“You've said that half a dozen times already. And I've told you I agree with the lady here—we've got to look everywhere. All the same, I do believe you're right. This doesn't look like something our man would be up to. Did I ever tell you he was decorated in the Korean War?”

“Sydney Greenfield?”

“Goes against the grain, doesn't it. But there you are. Ruddy great gong it was, too. Pinned on his chest by the head honcho himself. Said it was for bravery and valor beyond the call of duty, or some such.”

“Are you sure we're talking about the same guy?”

“Hard to believe, I admit. Had a rough time getting the man to speak of it at all. I heard rumors about it for years and finally cornered him at the local. Wouldn't let him go until I had the scoop.”

“What did he say?”

“Told me he didn't remember what he'd actually done,” Andrew replied. “Scared blind, he was. Honest. One minute he was there on the sand, the next he was two miles inland, sitting by a bombed-out farmhouse having a quiet smoke with the boys. Still, they gave him the VC when it was all over. Told me he stood there and let them pin it on his chest, didn't have a clue what all the fuss was about. That's the way to go to war, I told him. Just skip over the nasty bits.”

“I've always liked Sydney,” Katya said. “Did Jeffrey tell you he was completely honest about his dealings in the repaired furniture?”

“Yes he did. Glad to hear it too, I was.” He clapped Jeffrey on the back. “Don't look so glum, lad. From the sounds of it, nobody's actually said Alexander stole the piece, am I right?”

“The implication is enough.”

Andrew nodded. “Yes, and that's why I'd take your word of a debt over a lot of other people's checks. You're a strange one for this trade, though, you and your boss both.”

“Thanks, Andrew.” Jeffrey tightened his scarf. “Now,
remember, the most important thing at this point is to retrieve the chalice.”

“Or reliquary,” Katya corrected.

“Or whatever it is, right. But we'd be interested in looking at anything of really top quality that comes in, especially if its origin is central European.”

“For this cause your boss has gotten himself involved in?”

“If the chalice is recovered,” Katya explained, “we'll have substantial funds available both from the gala itself and promised by new patrons specifically for expanding the Polish religious heritage collection.”

“If it's not,” Jeffrey added, “then paying for such pieces out of the firm's pocket should buy us some breathing space. And time.”

“Hopefully we'll be hearing from the thieves or their fences before long,” Andrew said. “As to this other matter, in such a case as I come up with a few class articles, I imagine I'd be splitting the commissions with you.”

Jeffrey shook his head. “They'd all be yours.”

“That's a good sight more than fair.” Andrew ushered them back to the front. “Any time you feel a touch of the nerves setting in, feel free to give me a call. But best you not be seen around here for a time, in case they're having the premises watched. And don't you worry, lad. You'll be hearing from me the instant I catch wind of anything.”

CHAPTER 28

The waiting was hard. Waiting always was. The word alone meant that control and action and power had slipped from his hands. Kurt had never been good at waiting, and the seven days hung heavy on his hands.

The old colonel moved about his own home like a silent wraith. Kurt wondered about that whenever the old man slipped in and out of view. The colonel carried with him a thoroughly defeated air. He had been so since their arrival, as though telling his secret had robbed him of his final reason to live. He sat now, the strength and ramrod straightness with which he had confronted them upon their arrival a thing of the distant past. He awaited his fate with a helpless air, stooped and old and tired and sad.

The phone call came on the seventh evening at the prearranged time. Even though he had awaited it anxiously, the bell caused Kurt positively to leap from the earth.