“Christian. Welcome back. Sit. Tell me everything that happened.” Fellner’s tone was upbeat, his face alight with a warm smile.
He and Monika sat. He reported what he’d learned about Danzer and her meeting the night before with a man named Grumer.
“I know him,” Fellner said. “Herr DoktorAlfred Grumer. An academic whore. Moves from university to university. But is connected in the German government and sells that influence. Not surprising a man like McKoy would attach himself to him.”
“Obviously Grumer is Danzer’s source at the site,” Monika said.
“I agree,” Fellner said. “And Grumer wouldn’t be around unless there was a profit to be made. This may be more interesting than first thought. Ernst is intent on this. He called again this morning inquiring. Apparently he’s concerned for your good health, Christian. I told him we had not heard from you in days.”
“All of this certainly fits the pattern,” Knoll said.
“What pattern?” Monika asked.
Fellner grinned at his daughter. “Perhaps it is time,liebling, you know it all. What do you say, Christian?”
Monika looked perturbed. He loved her obvious confusion. The bitch needed to realize she didn’t know everything.
Fellner slid open one of the drawers and extracted a thick file. “Christian and I have followed this for years.” Across the desk he spread an assortment of newspaper clippings and magazine articles.
“The first death we know of was in 1957. A German reporter from one of my Hamburg newspapers. He came here, looking for an interview. I indulged him, he was remarkably well informed, and a week later he was hit by a bus in Berlin. Witnesses swore he was pushed.
“The next death came two years later. Another reporter. Italian. A car forced him off an alpine road. Two more deaths in 1960, a drug overdose and a robbery gone wrong. From 1960 to 1970 there were a dozen more all over Europe. Reporters. Insurance adjusters. Police investigators. Their demises ranged from supposed suicides to three outright murders.
“My dear, all these people were looking for the Amber Room. Christian’s predecessors, my first two Acquisitors, kept a close watch on the press. Anything that might seem related was thoroughly investigated. In the 1970s and ‘80s the incidents waned. Only six we know of during those twenty years. The last was a Polish reporter killed in a mine explosion three years ago.” He looked at Monika. “I’m not sure of the exact location, but it was near where Christian’s mishap occurred.”
“I’d wager in the same mine,” Knoll said.
“Very strange, wouldn’t you say? Christian finds a name in St. Petersburg, Karol Borya, the next thing we know the man’s dead along with his former colleague.Liebling, Christian and I have long thought Loring knows far more of the Amber Room than he wants to admit.”
“His father loved amber,” Monika said. “So does he.”
“Josef was a secretive man. Moreso than Ernst. It was hard to ever know what he was thinking. Many times we talked on the subject of the Amber Room. I even offered a joint venture once—an all-out search for the panels—but he refused. Called it a waste of time and money. But something about his denials bothered me. So I started keeping this file, checking everything I could. I learned there were too many deaths, too many coincidences for it all to be random. Now Suzanne is trying to kill Christian. And paying a million euros for mere information on a treasure dig.” Fellner shook his head. “I would say the trail we thought ice cold has warmed considerably.”
Monika gestured to the clippings fanned on the desk. “You think all those people were murdered?”
“Is there any other logical conclusion?” Fellner said.
Monika stepped close to the desk and thumbed through the articles. “We were on target with Borya, weren’t we?”
“I would say so,” Knoll said. “How, I’m not sure. But it was enough for Suzanne to kill Chapaev and try to eliminate me.”
“That dig site could be important,” Fellner said. “I think the time for sparring is over. You have my permission, Christian, to handle the situation at will.”
Monika stared at her father. “I thought I was to be in charge.”
Fellner smiled. “You must indulge an old man one last quest. Christian and I have worked this for years. I feel we may be on to something. I ask your permission,liebling , to intrude on your domain.”
Monika managed a weak smile, clearly not pleased. But, Knoll thought, what could she say? Never had she openly defied her father, though privately she’d many times vented her anger over his perpetual patience. Fellner was raised in the old school, where men ruled and women gave birth. He commanded a financial empire that dominated the European communications market. Politicians and industrialists courted his favor. But his wife and son were dead, and Monika was the only remaining Fellner. So he’d been forced to mold a woman intohis image of a man. Luckily, she was tough. And smart.
“Of course, Father. Do as you wish.”
Fellner reached over and cupped his daughter’s hand. “I know you don’t understand. But I love you for your deference.”
Knoll couldn’t resist. “Something new.”
Monika shot him a hard glance.
Fellner chuckled. “Quite right, Christian. You know her well. You two will make quite a team.”
Monika retreated to a chair.
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 assure you, I will not forget either.”
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 shimmering brass 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 Japanese pair. They all seemed eager and anticipatory.
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 hell, 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 ‘fuck you’ every other word like I heard yesterday, okay?” McKoy repeatedly assured 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 isHerr Doktor Alfred Grumer, professor of art antiquities at the University of Mainz.Herr Doktor 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 class. 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 classical 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 Nazis created an entire administrative department that did nothing but steal. Hitler wanted to build a supershowcase—the Führermuseum—to be the largest collection of art in the world. He intended to locate this museum in Linz, Austria, his birthplace. TheSonderauftrag 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 assault 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 Nazis 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 Nazi 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 shifted 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. Hell, 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 spacious 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.