Fellner pointed. “Where do the two other sets of doors lead?”
“This room is actually in the center of my private gallery. We walled the sides and placed the doors and windows exactly as in the original. Instead of rooms in the Catherine Palace, these doors flow to other private collection areas.”
“How long has the room been here?” Fellner asked.
“Fifty years.”
“Amazing you have been able to conceal it,” Monika said. “The Soviets are difficult to deceive.”
“Father fostered good relations with both the Soviets and the Germans during the war. Czechoslovakia provided a convenient route for the Nazis to funnel currency and gold to Switzerland. Our family aided many such transfers. The Soviets, after the war, enjoyed the same courtesy. The price of that favor was the freedom to do as we pleased.”
Fellner grinned. “I can imagine. The Soviets could ill afford you to inform the Americans or the British about what was transpiring.”
“There is an old Russian saying, ‘But for the bad, it would not be good.’ It refers to the ironic tendency of how Russian art seems to spring from turmoil. But it likewise explains how this was made possible.”
Suzanne watched Fellner and Monika approach the chest-high cases lining two of the amber walls. Inside were an assortment of objects. A seventeenth-century chessboard with pieces, an eighteenth-century samovar and flask, a woman’s toilet case, a sand glass, spoons, medallions, and ornate boxes. All of amber, crafted, as Loring explained, by either Königsberg or Gda´nsk artisans.
“The pieces are lovely,” Monika said.
“Like thekunstkammer of Peter the Great’s time, I keep my amber objects in my room of curiosity. Most were collected by Suzanne or her father. Not for public display. War loot.”
The old man turned toward Suzanne and smiled. He then looked back toward their guests.
“Shall we retire to my study, where we can sit and talk a bit more?”
Suzanne took a seat beyond Monika, Fellner, and Loring. She preferred to watch from the side, allowing her boss this moment of triumph. A steward had just withdrawn after serving coffee, brandy, and cake.
“I always wondered about Josef’s loyalties,” Fellner said. “He survived the war remarkably well.”
“Father hated the Nazis,” Loring said. “His foundries and factories were placed at their disposal, but it was an easy matter to forge weak metal, or produce bullets that rusted, or guns that did not like the cold. It was a dangerous game—Nazis were fanatical about quality, but his relationship with Koch helped. Rarely was he questioned about anything. He knew the Germans would lose the war, and he foretold the Soviet takeover of Eastern Europe, so he worked covertly with Soviet intelligence throughout.”
“I never realized,” Fellner said.
Loring nodded. “He was a Bohemian patriot. He simply operated in his own way. After the war, the Soviets were grateful. They needed him, too, so he was left alone. I was able to continue that relationship. This family has worked closely with every Czechoslovakian regime since 1945. Father was right about the Soviets. And so, I might add, was Hitler.”
“What do you mean?” Monika asked.
Loring brought the fingers of both hands together in his lap. “Hitler always believed the Americans and British would join him in a war against Stalin. The Soviets were Germany’s real enemy, and he believed Churchill and Roosevelt felt the same way. That’s why he hid so much money and art. He intended to retrieve it all, once the Allies joined him in a new alliance to defeat the USSR. A madman for sure, but history has proved a lot of Hitler’s vision correct. When Berlin was blockaded by the Soviets in 1948, America, England, and Germany immediately joined against the Soviets.”
“Stalin scared everybody,” Fellner said. “Moreso than Hitler. He murdered sixty million to Hitler’s ten. When he died in 1953, we all felt safer.”
After a moment Loring said, “I assume Christian reported the skeletons found in the cavern at Stod?”
Fellner nodded.
“They worked the site, foreigners hired in Egypt. There was a huge shaft then, only the outer entrance dynamited shut. Father found it, cleared the opening, and removed the crumbled panels. He then sealed the chamber with the bodies inside.”
“Josef killed them?”
“Personally. While they slept.”
“And you’ve been killing people ever since,” Monika said.
Loring faced her. “Our Acquisitors assured that the secret remained safe. I do have to say, the ferocity and determination with which people have searched surprised us. Many became obsessed with finding the amber panels. Periodically, we would leak false leads, rumors to keep searchers moving in a different direction. You might recall an article inRabochaya Tribuna from a few years back. They reported Soviet military intelligence had located the panels in a mine near an old tank base in East Germany, about two hundred fifty kilometers southeast of Berlin.”
“I have that article,” Fellner said.
“All false. Suzanne arranged a leak to the appropriate people. Our hope was that most people would use common sense and give up the search.”
Fellner shook his head. “Too valuable. Too intriguing. The lure is almost intoxicating.”
“I understand completely. Many times I venture into the room to simply sit and stare. The amber is almost therapeutic.”
“And priceless,” Monika said.
“True, my dear. I read something once about war loot—artifacts made of precious stones and metals—the writer postulated that they would never have survived the war intact, the sum of their individual parts being far greater than the whole. One commentator, I believe in theLondon Times , wrote that the fate of the Amber Room could be gauged similarly. He concluded only objects like books and paintings, whose total configuration, as opposed to the actual raw material used in their composition, would survive a war.”
“Did you help with that postulation?” Fellner asked.
Loring lifted his coffee from the side table and smiled. “The writer conceived that on his own. But we did make sure the article received wide circulation.”
“So what happened?” Monika asked. “Why was it necessary to kill all those people?”
“In the beginning, we had no choice. Alfred Rohde supervised the loading of the crates in Königsberg and was aware of their ultimate destination. The fool told his wife, so Father eliminated both before they told the Soviets. By then, Stalin had empaneled a commission to investigate. The Nazi ruse at Königsberg Palace did not deter the Soviets at all. They believed the panels still existed and they searched with a vengeance.”
“But Koch survived the war and talked to the Soviets,” Fellner said.
“That’s true. But we funded his legal defense until the day he died. After the Poles convicted him of war crimes, the only thing that kept him from the gallows was a Soviet veto. They thought he knew where the Amber Room was hidden. The reality was that Koch knew only the trucks left Königsberg headed west, then south. He knew nothing of what happened later. It was our suggestion that he tantalize the Soviets with the prospects of finding the panels. Not until the 1960s did they finally agree to terms. His life was spared in return for the information, but it was an easy matter then to blame everything on time. The Königsberg of today is far different from the one that existed during the war.”
“So, by funding Koch’s legal defense, you assured his loyalty. He’d never betray his only revenue source, nor would he ever play the trump card, since there would be no reason to trust the Soviets to keep their word.”
Loring smiled. “Exactly, old friend. The gesture also kept us in constant contact with the only living person we knew of who could provide any meaningful information on the panels’ location.”
“One also that would be difficult to kill without drawing undue attention.”
Loring nodded. “Thankfully, Koch cooperated and never revealed anything.”
“And the others?” Monika asked.
“Occasionally some ventured close, and it became necessary for accidents to be arranged. Sometimes we dispensed with caution and simply killed them, particularly when time was of the essence. Father conceived the ‘curse of the Amber Room’ and fed the story to a reporter. Typical of the press, and please forgive my insolence, Franz, but the phrase caught on quickly. Made good headlines, I presume.”
“And Karol Borya and Danya Chapaev?” Monika asked.
“These two were the most troublesome of all, though I did not fully realize until just recently. They were close to the truth. In fact, they may well have stumbled onto the same information we found after the war. For some reason they kept the information to themselves, guarding what they considered to be secret. It appears hatred for the Soviet system may have contributed to their attitude.
“We knew about Borya from his work with the Soviet’s Extraordinary Commission. He eventually immigrated to the United States and disappeared. Chapaev’s name was familiar, too. But he melted into Europe. Since there was no apparent danger from either, we left them alone. Until, of course, Christian’s recent intervention.”
“Now they are silenced forever,” Monika said.
“The same thing you would have done, my dear.”
Suzanne watched Monika bristle at Loring’s rebuke. But he was right. The bitch would surely kill her own father to protect her vested interests.
Loring broke the moment and said, “We learned of Borya’s whereabouts about seven years ago quite by accident. His daughter was married to a man named Paul Cutler. Cutler’s father was an American art enthusiast. Over the course of several years, the senior Cutler made inquires across Europe about the Amber Room. Somehow he tracked down a relative of one of the men who worked here at the estate on the duplicate. We now know that Chapaev provided Borya with the name, and Borya asked Cutler to make inquiries. Four years ago those inquiries reached a point that forced us to act. So a plane was exploded. Thanks to lax Italian police authorities, and some well-placed contributions, the crash was attributed to terrorists.”
“Suzanne’s handiwork?” Monika asked.
Loring nodded. “She’s quite gifted in that regard.”
“Does the clerk in St. Petersburg work for you?” Fellner asked.
“Of course. The Soviets, for all their inefficiency, had a nasty tendency to write everything down. There are literally millions of pages of records, no telling what is in them, and no way to efficiently scan them all. The only way to ensure against curious minds stumbling across something interesting was to pay the clerks for attentiveness.”
Loring finished his coffee, then set the porcelain cup and saucer aside. He looked straight at Fellner. “Franz, I am telling you all this as a show of good faith. Regretfully, I let the present situation get out of hand. Suzanne’s attempt on Christian’s life and their joust yesterday in Stod is evidence of how this could continue to escalate. That might eventually bring unwanted attention to both of us, not to mention the club. I thought that if you knew the truth we could stop the battling. There is nothing to find regarding the Amber Room. I am sorry about what happened to Christian. I know Suzanne did not want to do it—she acted on my orders—what I thought necessary at the time.”
“I, too, regret what has happened, Ernst. I will not lie and say that I am glad you have the panels. I wanted them. But a part of me is joyous they are safe and intact. I always feared the Soviets would locate them. They are no better than Gypsies when it comes to preserving treasure.”
“Father and I both felt the same. The Soviets allowed such a deterioration of the amber that it is almost a blessing the Germans stole it. Who knows what would have happened if the Amber Room’s future had been left to Stalin or Khrushchev? The Communists were far more concerned with building bombs than preserving heritage.”
“You propose some sort of truce?” Monika asked.
Suzanne almost smiled at the bitch’s impatience. Poor darling. No unveiling of the Amber Room lay in her future.
“That is exactly what I desire.” Loring turned. “Suzanne, if you please.”
She stood and walked to the study’s far corner. Two pine cases rested on the parquet floor. She carried them by rope handles to where Franz Fellner sat.
“The two bronzes you have admired so greatly all these years,” Loring said.
Suzanne lifted the lid to one of the crates. Fellner fished the vessel from a bed of shredded cedar and admired it in the light. Suzanne knew the piece well. Tenth century. Liberated by her from a man in New Delhi who stole both from a village in southern India. They remained among India’s most coveted lost objects, but had safely rested in Castle Loukov the past five years.
“Suzanne and Christian battled hard for those,” Loring said.
Fellner nodded. “Another fight we lost.”
“They are yours now. As an apology for what has happened.”
“Herr Loring, forgive me,” Monica said quietly. “But I make the decisions relative to the club now. Ancient bronzes are intriguing, but they do not hold the same interest for me. I’m wondering how this matter needs to be handled. The Amber Room has long been one of the most sought-after prizes. Are the other members to be told?”
Loring frowned. “I would prefer the issue remain among us. The secret has stayed safe a long time, and the fewer who know the better. But, under the circumstances, I will defer to your decision, my dear. I trust the remaining members to keep the information confidential, as with all acquisitions.”
Monika sat back in her chair and smiled, apparently pleased with the concession.
“There is one other item I want to address,” Loring said, this time specifically to Monika. “As with you and your father, things will eventually change here, as well. I have left instructions in my will that Suzanne shall take over this estate, my collections, and my club membership, once I am gone. I have also left her enough cash to adequately handle any need.”
Suzanne enjoyed the look of shock and defeat that invaded Monika’s face.
“She will be the first Acquisitor ever elevated to club membership. Quite an accomplishment, would you not say?”