The Amber Room (34 page)

Her arms ached. “I can’t hold on much longer,” she whispered.

Paul ventured another look. “There’s nobody there. Climb.” He swung his right leg out, then pulled himself up and over the railing. He reached down and helped her up. Once on firm ground, they both leaned against the cold stone and stared down at the river below.

“I can’t believe we did that,” she said.

“I’ve got to be out of my damn mind to be in the middle of this.”

“As I remember, you’re the one who dragged me up here.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Paul inched the half-closed door open and she followed him inside. The room was an elegant library lined floor to ceiling with inlaid bookshelves of shiny walnut, everything gilded in baroque style. They passed through a wrought-iron gate and quickly crossed a slick parquet floor. Two huge wooden globes flanked either side, set in recesses between the shelves. The warm air smelled of musty leather. A yellow rectangle of light extended from a doorway at the far end where the top of another staircase was visible.

Paul motioned ahead. “That way.”

“Knoll came in here,” she reminded.

“I know. But he had to have taken off after that shootout.”

She followed Paul out of the library and down the staircase. A darkened corridor below immediately wound to the right. She hoped there was a door somewhere that led back to the inner courtyard. At the bottom she saw Paul turn, then a black shadow shot from the darkness and Paul’s body folded to the floor.

A gloved hand encircled her neck.

She was lifted from the last step and slammed against the wall. Her vision blurred, then refocused, and she was staring straight into the feral eyes of Christian Knoll, a knife blade pinched into the bottom of her chin.

“That your ex-husband?” His words came in a throaty whisper, his breath warm. “Come to your rescue?”

Her eyes stole a look at Paul sprawled across the stone. He wasn’t moving. She looked back at Knoll.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I have no complaint with you, Frau Cutler. Killing you would certainly be the most efficient thing to do, but not necessarily the smartest. First your father dies, then you. And so close together. No. As much as I might want to rid myself of a nuisance, I cannot kill you. So, please. Go home.”

“You killed . . . my father.”

“Your father understood the risks he took in life. Even seemed to appreciate them. You should have taken the advice he offered. I am quite familiar with Phäethon’s story. A fascinating tale about impulsive ways. The helplessness of the elder generation trying to teach the younger. What did the Sun God tell Phäethon? ‘Look in my face and if you could, look in my heart, see there a father’s anxious blood and passion.’ Heed the warning, Frau Cutler. My mind can easily change. Would you want those precious children of yours to cry tears of amber if a lightning bolt struck you dead?”

She suddenly visualized her father lying in the casket. She’d buried him in his tweed jacket, the same one he’d worn to court the day she changed his name. She’d never believed that he merely fell down the stairs. Now his killer was here, pressed against her. She shifted and tried to knee Knoll in the crotch, but the hand around her neck tightened, and the knife tip broke the skin.

She gasped and sucked in a deep breath.

“Now, now, Frau Cutler. None of that.”

Knoll released his right hand from her throat, but kept the blade firm to her chin. He let his palm travel the length of her body to her crotch, and he cupped her in a tight clasp. “I could tell that you found me intriguing.” His hand drifted up and massaged her breasts through the sweater. “A shame I don’t have more time.” He suddenly clamped tight on her right breast and twisted.

The pain stiffened her.

“Take my advice, Frau Cutler. Go home. Have a happy life. Raise your kids.” His head motioned to Paul. “Please your ex-husband and forget about all this. It does not concern you.”

She managed through the pain to say again, “You . . . killed my . . . father.”

His right hand released her breast and throttled her neck. “The next time we meet, I will slit your throat. Do you understand?”

She said nothing. The knife tip moved deeper. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.

“Do you understand?” Knoll slowly asked.

“Yes,” she mouthed.

He withdrew the blade. Blood trickled from the wound in her neck. She stood rigid against the wall. She was concerned about Paul. He still hadn’t moved.

“Do as I say, Frau Cutler.”

He turned to leave.

She lunged at him.

Knoll’s right hand arched up and the knife handle caught her square below the right temple. Her eyes flashed white. The corridor spun. Bile erupted in her throat. Then she saw Marla and Brent rushing toward her, arms outstretched, their mouths moving but the words inaudible as blackness overtook them.

11:50 p.m.

Suzanne raced down the incline back to stod. Along the way she passed three late-night strollers to whom she paid no attention. Her only concern at the moment was to get back to the Gebler, grab her belongings, and disappear. She needed the safety of the Czech border and Castle Loukov, at least until Loring and Fellner could resolve this matter, member to member.

Knoll’s sudden appearance had again caught her off guard. The bastard was determined, she’d give him that. She decided not to underestimate him a third time. If Knoll was in Stod, she needed to get out of the country.

She found the street below and trotted toward her hotel.

Thank god she’d packed. Everything was ready to go, her plan all along had been to leave after tending to Alfred Grumer. Fewer streetlamps illuminated the way than earlier, but the Gebler’s entrance was well lit. She entered the lobby. A night clerk behind the front desk was pounding a keyboard and never looked up. Upstairs, she shouldered her travel bag and threw some euros on the bed, more than enough to cover the bill. No time for any formal checkout.

She took a moment and caught her breath. Maybe Knoll didn’t know where she was staying. Stod was a big town with lots of inns. No, she decided. He knew and was probably headed here right now. She thought back to the abbey’s terrace. Knoll was after whoever else had been in the church. And that other presence was likewise of concern to her. But she wasn’t the one who tossed a knife into Grumer’s chest. Whatever he or she saw was more Knoll’s problem than hers.

In her travel bag she found a fresh clip for the Sauer and popped it into place. She then pocketed the gun. Downstairs, she stepped quickly through the lobby and out the front door. She looked right, then left. Knoll was a hundred yards away, moving straight in her direction. When he spotted her, he started to run. She bolted ahead, down a deserted side street, and rounded a corner. She kept running and quickly turned two more corners. Maybe she could lose Knoll in the maze of venerable buildings that all looked alike.

She stopped. Her breathing came hard.

Footsteps echoed from behind.

Coming closer.

In her direction.

Knoll’s breath condensed in the dry air. His timing had been nearly perfect. A few moments more and he would have caught the bitch.

He turned a corner and halted.

Only silence.

Interesting.

He gripped the CZ and stepped cautiously forward. He’d studied the layout of the old part of town yesterday from a map obtained at the tourist bureau. The buildings covered blocks interrupted by narrow cobbled streets and even tighter alleys. Steep roofs, dormer windows, and arcades adorned with mythological creatures loomed everywhere. It would be easy to get lost in the warren of sameness. But he knew exactly where Danzer’s slate-gray Porsche was parked. He’d found it yesterday on a reconnaissance mission, knowing that she would certainly have a quick means of transportation nearby.

So he started in that direction, the same direction the running footsteps had initially been headed.

He stopped fast.

Still, only silence.

No more soles slapping cobblestone in the distance.

He inched forward and turned a corner. The street ahead was a straight line, the only glow breaking the darkness loomed at the far end. Halfway, an intersection appeared. The lane to the right stretched about thirty meters, dead-ending into what looked like the back of a shop. A small black Dumpster rested just to the right, a parked BMW to its left. It was more an alley than a street. He stepped to the end and checked the car. Locked. He lifted the Dumpster lid. Empty except for newspapers and a few trash bags that smelled of rotting fish. He tried the doorknobs for the building. Locked.

He stepped back to the main street, gun in hand, and turned right.

Suzanne waited a full five minutes before slithering out from under the BMW. She’d wiggled beneath, thankful for her petite size. Just in case, though, the 9mm was ready. But Knoll had not looked underneath, seemingly satisfied the car doors were locked, the alley apparently empty.

She retrieved her travel bag from the Dumpster where she’d stashed it under some newspapers. A lingering odor of fish accompanied the leather bag. She pocketed the Sauer and decided to use another route to her car, perhaps even leaving the damn thing and renting another in the morning. She could always come back later and retrieve the Porsche after this was settled. An Acquisitor’s job was to do what his or her employer desired. Even though Loring had told her to handle things at her discretion, the situation with Knoll and the risk of drawing attention was escalating. Also, killing her opponent was proving far more difficult than she’d first imagined.

She stopped in the alley before the intersection and listened a few seconds more.

No footsteps could be heard.

She scooted out and instead of turning right as Knoll had done, she went left.

From a darkened doorway, a fist slammed her forehead. Her neck whipped back, then recoiled. The pain momentarily froze her, and a hand encircled her throat. Her body was lifted, then pounded into a damp stone wall. A sickening smile filled Christian Knoll’s Nordic face.

“How stupid do you take me for?” Knoll said, inches from her.

“Come on, Christian. Can’t we settle this? I meant what I said back at the abbey. Let’s go back to your room. Remember France? That was fun.”

“What’s so important that you have to kill me?” His grip tightened.

“If I say, you’ll let me go?”

“I am in no mood, Suzanne. My orders are to do as I please, and I believe you know what pleases me.”

Buy some time, she thought. “Who else was in the church?”

“The Cutlers. It seems they have a continuing interest. Care to enlighten me?”

“How would I know?”

“I believe you know a lot more than you are willing to state.” He squeezed harder.

“Okay. Okay, Christian. It’s the Amber Room.”

“What of it?”

“That chamber was where Hitler hid it. I had to be sure, that’s why I’m here.”

“Sure of what?”

“You know Loring’s interest. He’s looking for it, just like Fellner. We’re just privileged to information you don’t have.”

“Such as?”

“You know I can’t say. This isn’t fair.”

“And blowing me up is? What is going on, Suzanne? This is no ordinary quest.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Let’s go back to your room. We’ll talk after. Promise.”

“I’m not feeling amorous right now.”

But the words had the desired effect. The hand around her throat relaxed just enough for her to pivot off the wall and knee him solidly in the groin.

Knoll crumpled in pain.

She kicked him once more between the legs, driving the toe of her boot into his cupped hands. Her adversary crashed to the cobbles and she rushed away.

Blinding pain racked Knoll’s groin. Tears welled in his eyes. The bitch had done it again. Quick as a cat. He’d relaxed only a second to readjust his grip. But enough for her to strike.

Damn.

He stared up to see Danzer disappearing down the street. His groin ached. He was having trouble breathing, but he could probably still take a shot at her. He reached for the pistol in his pocket, then stopped.

No need.

He’d tend to her tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 21, 1:30 a.m.

Rachel opened her eyes. Her head pounded. Her stomach churned as if from seasickness. The stench of vomit rose from her sweater. Her chin ached. She gently traced the outline of a blood pimple, then remembered the knifepoint boring in.

Hovering over her was a man dressed in the brown cassock of a monk. His face was old and withered, and he watched her intently with anxious watery eyes. She was propped against the wall, in the corridor where Knoll had attacked her.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You tell us,” said Wayland McKoy.

She looked beyond the monk and tried to focus. “I can’t see you, McKoy.”

The big man stepped closer.

“Where’s Paul?” she asked.

“Over there, still out. Got a nasty blow to the head. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just have one monster headache.”

“I bet you do. The monks heard some shots from the church. They found Grumer, then you two. Your room keys led them to the Garni and I hustled up here.”

“We need a doctor.”

“That monk is a doctor. He says your head’s fine. No cracks.”

“How about Grumer?” she asked.

“Aggravatin’ the devil, probably.”

“It was Knoll and the woman. Grumer came up here to meet with her again and Knoll killed him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard got what he deserved. Any reason why you two didn’t invite me?”

She massaged her head. “You’re lucky we didn’t.”

Paul groaned a few feet away. She pulled herself across the stone floor. Her stomach started to calm down. “Paul, you all right?”

He was rubbing the left side of his head. “What happened?”

“Knoll was waiting for us.”

She slid close and checked his head.

“How did your chin get cut?” McKoy asked her.