“Couldn’t sleep?” he whispered.
McKoy reeled back with a start and whirled around. “Goddammit, Cutler,” he mouthed. “You scared the fuck out of me.” The big man wore a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater.
He pointed to McKoy’s bare feet. “We’re starting to think alike. That’s scary.”
“A little redneck wouldn’t hurt you a bit, city lawyer.”
They stepped into the shadow of the Witches’ Room and spoke in hushed whispers.
“You curious, too?” Paul asked.
“Damn right. Two fuckin’ million. Loring jumped on that like flies on shit.”
“Wonder what he knows?”
“I don’t know. But it’s somethin’. Trouble is, this Bohemian Louvre is so full of crap, we may never find out.”
“We could get lost in this maze.”
Suddenly, something clattered down the hall. Like metal to stone. He and McKoy leaned their heads out and glanced left. A dim yellow rectangle of light spilled from the Romanesque Room at the far end.
“I vote we go see,” McKoy said.
“Why not? We’ve come this far.”
McKoy led the way down the carpet runner. At the open door of the Romanesque Room they both froze.
“Oh, shit,” Paul said.
Knoll had watched through the judas hole as Paul Cutler donned his clothes and crept out. Rachel Cutler had never heard her ex-husband leave and was still asleep under the covers. He’d been waiting for hours before making his move, allowing ample time for everyone to retire for the night. He planned to start with the Cutlers, move to McKoy, then Loring and Danzer, particularly enjoying the last two—savoring the moment of their deaths—exacting compensation for the murders of Fellner and Monika. But Paul Cutler’s unexpected leaving had raised a problem. From what Rachel described, her ex-husband wasn’t the adventurous type. Yet here he was, venturing off barefoot in the middle of the night. Certainly not heading for the kitchen and a midnight snack. He was most likely snooping. He’d have to tend to him later.
After Rachel.
He crept down the passage, following a trail of bare bulbs. He found the first exit and tripped the spring-loaded switch. A slab of stone swung open and he stepped into one of the empty fourth-floor bedrooms. He crossed to the hall door and hustled back to the room where Rachel Cutler slept.
He entered and locked the door behind him.
Approaching the Renaissance fireplace, he located the switch disguised as a piece of gilded molding. He’d not entered from the secret passages for fear of making too much noise, but he might need to make a hasty exit. He tripped the switch and left the concealed door half open.
He inched over to the bed.
Rachel Cutler still slept peacefully.
He twisted his right arm and waited for the stiletto to slither down into his palm.
“It’s a friggin’ secret door,” McKoy said.
Paul had never seen one before. Old movies and novels proclaimed their existence, but right before his eyes, thirty feet away, a section of stone wall was swung open on a center pivot. One of the wooden display cases was firmly affixed to it, three feet on either side allowing entrance into a lit room beyond.
McKoy stepped forward.
Paul grabbed him. “You crazy?”
“Do the math, Cutler. We’re supposed to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean our host didn’t leave this open by accident. Let’s not disappoint him.”
Paul believed going any farther was foolish. He’d pushed things coming downstairs to start with, but now he wasn’t sure about following the situation to its conclusion. Maybe he should just go back upstairs to Rachel. But his curiosity told him to go on.
So he followed McKoy.
In the room beyond, more lighted cases lined the walls and center. Paul strolled through the maze in awe. Antico statues and busts. Egyptian and Near East carvings. Mayan etchings. Antique jewelry. A couple of paintings caught his eye. A seventeenth-century Rembrandt he knew was stolen from a German museum thirty years ago and a Bellini taken from Italy about the same time. Both were among the world’s most sought-after art treasures. He recalled a seminar at the High Museum on the topic.
“McKoy, this stuff is all stolen.”
“How do you know?”
He stopped in front of one chest-high case that displayed a blackened skull resting on a glass pedestal. “This is Peking Man. Nobody has seen it since World War Two. And those two paintings over there are definitely stolen. Shit. What Grumer said was right. Loring is part of that club.”
“Calm down, Cutler. We don’t know that. This guy may just have a little private stash he keeps to himself. Let’s not go off half-cocked.”
He stared ahead at a set of open, white-enameled double doors. He noticed the whiskey-colored mosaic walls beyond. He stepped forward. McKoy followed. In the doorway they both went motionless.
“Oh, fuck,” McKoy whispered.
Paul gazed at the Amber Room. “You got that right.”
The visual spectacle was broken by two people who entered through another set of open double doors to the right. One was Loring. The other, the blond woman from Stod. Suzanne. Both held pistols.
“I see you accepted my invitation,” Loring said.
McKoy stiffened. “Didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Loring motioned with the gun. “What do you think of my treasure?”
McKoy stepped farther inside. The woman’s grip on her gun tightened, barrel jutted forward. “Stay cool, little lady. Just goin’ to admire the handiwork.” McKoy approached one of the amber walls.
Paul turned to the woman Knoll had called Suzanne. “You found Chapaev through me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Cutler. The information was most helpful.”
“You killed that old man for this?”
“No,Pan Cutler,” Loring said. “She killed for me.”
Loring and the woman stayed to the far side of the thirty-foot-square room. Double doors opened out of three walls, windows lined the fourth, but Paul assumed they were fake. This chamber was clearly an inside one. McKoy continued to admire the amber, massaging its smoothness. If not for the seriousness of their predicament, Paul would have been in awe, as well. But not too many probate lawyers found themselves in a Czech castle with two semiautomatic handguns pointed at them. Definitely not a course on this in law school.
“Tend to it,” Loring softly said to Suzanne.
The woman left. Loring stayed across the room and kept his gun trained. McKoy moved close to Paul.
“We will wait here, gentlemen, until Suzanne fetches the other Cutler.”
McKoy stepped close.
“What the shit we do now?” Paul whispered.
“Hell if I know.”
Knoll slowly peeled back the comforter and crawled onto the bed. He nestled close to Rachel and gently massaged her breasts. She responded to his touch, sighing gently, still half asleep. He let his hand roam down the length of her body and discovered she was naked beneath the shirt. She slid over and cuddled close.
“Paul,” she whispered.
He wrapped his hand around her throat, rolled her over onto her back, and then slipped on top. Rachel’s eyes went wide with fear. He brought the stiletto to her throat, gently probing the scab from last night’s encounter with the tip. “You should have taken my advice.”
“Where’s Paul?” she managed to mouth.
“I have him.”
She started to struggle. He pressed the blade flat against her throat. “Sit still, Frau Cutler, or I will twist the edge to your skin. Do you understand?”
She stopped moving.
He motioned with his head toward the open panel, relaxing his grip slightly to allow a look. “He’s in there.” He retightened the lock on her throat and moved the knife down her shirt, flicking off each button. Then he parted the folds. Her bare chest heaved. He lightly traced the outline of one nipple with the knifepoint. “I watched earlier from behind the wall. Your lovemaking is intense.”
She spat on him.
He backhanded her face. “Insolent bitch. Your father did the same thing and you saw what happened to him.”
He slugged her in the stomach and heard the breath leave her. He delivered another blow to her face, this time with his fist. His hand returned to her throat. Her eyes rolled in a daze. He pinched her cheeks and shook her head from side to side.
“You love him? Why risk his life? Pretend you are a whore, the price of my pleasure . . . a life. It will not be unpleasant.”
“Where . . . is . . . Paul?”
He shook his head. “Such stubbornness. Channel all that anger into passion and your Paul will see morning.”
His groin throbbed, ready for action. He returned the knife to her chin and pressed.
“Okay,” she finally said.
He hesitated. “I am withdrawing the knife. But one millimeter of movement and I will kill you. Then him.”
He slowly released his hand and the knife. He unbuckled his belt and was about to wiggle out of his pants when Rachel screamed.
“How’d you get the panels, Loring?” McKoy asked.
“A gift from heaven.”
McKoy chuckled. Paul was impressed with how cool the big man was staying. Glad somebody was calm. He was scared to death.
“I assume you plan to use that gun at some point. So humor a condemned man and answer a few questions.”
“You were right earlier,” Loring said. “Trucks left Königsberg in 1945 with the panels. They were eventually loaded onto a train. That train stopped in Czechoslovakia. My father tried then to secure the panels, but couldn’t. Field Marshal von Schörner was loyal to Hitler and could not be bought. Von Schörner ordered the crates trucked west to Germany. They were to go to Bavaria, but only made it as far as Stod.”
“My cavern?”
“Correct. Father found the panels seven years after the war.”
“And shot the help?”
“A necessary business decision.”
“Rafal Dolinski another necessary business decision?”
“Your reporter friend did contact me and provided a copy of his narrative. Too informative for his own good.”
“What about Karol Borya and Chapaev?” Paul asked.
“Many have sought what you see before you,Pan Cutler. Would you not agree it is a treasure worth dying for?”
“My parents included?” Paul asked.
“We became aware of your father’s inquiries across Europe, but finding that Italian was a bit too close. That was our first and only breach of secrecy. Suzanne dealt with both the Italian and your parents. Unfortunate, but another necessary business decision.”
He lunged toward the old man. The gun jutted forward and took aim. McKoy grabbed him by the shoulder. “Calm down, Rocket Man. Gettin’ yourself shot isn’t going to solve a thing.”
He struggled to get free. “Wringing his goddamned neck would.” Anger seethed through him. He never thought himself capable of such rage. He wanted to kill Loring, regardless of the consequences, and enjoy every second of the bastard’s torment. McKoy forced him to the other side of the room. Loring inched to the opposite amber wall. McKoy’s back was to Loring when the big man whispered, “Stay cool. Follow my lead.”
Suzanne switched on an overhead chandelier and flooded the foyer and staircase with light. There was no danger of the staff interfering with the night’s activities, Loring had specifically instructed that no one reenter the main wing after midnight. She’d already thought about body disposal, deciding to bury all three in the woods beyond the castle before morning. She slowly climbed the stairs and reached the fourth-floor landing, gun in hand. A scream suddenly pierced the silence from the direction of the Wedding Chamber. She raced down the hall, past the open banister, to the oak door.
She tried the handle. Locked.
Another scream came from inside.
She fired two shots at the ancient latch. The wood splintered. She kicked the door. Once. Twice. Another shot. A third kick and the door flung inward. In the semidarkened chamber she saw Christian Knoll on the bed, Rachel Cutler struggling beneath him.
Knoll saw her, then slugged Rachel hard in the face. He then reached for something on the bed. She saw the stiletto come up in his hand. She aimed and fired, but Knoll rolled off the far side of the bed and her bullet missed. She noticed the open panel near the fireplace. The bastard was using the back passages. She dived to the floor, shielding herself behind a chair, knowing what was coming.
The stiletto zoomed across the darkness and ripped into the upholstery, mere inches away. She fired two more shots in Knoll’s direction. Four muffled shots came back, obliterating the back of the chair. Knoll was armed. This was too close. She sent another shot at Knoll, then crawled to the open doorway and rolled out into the hall.
Two more shots from Knoll ricocheted off the doorjamb.
Outside, she stood and started running.
“I have to get to Rachel,” Paul whispered, still seething.
McKoy’s back remained to Loring. “Get out of here when I make a move.”
“He has a gun.”
“I’m bettin’ the bastard won’t shoot in here. He’s not goin’ to risk a hole in the amber.”
“Don’t count on it—”
Before he could question further what McKoy intended, the big man turned to Loring. “I guess my two million is gone, huh?”
“Unfortunately. But bold of you to try.”
“Comes from my mother’s side. She worked the cucumber fields in eastern North Carolina. Didn’t take shit off nobody.”
“How charming.”
McKoy inched closer. “What makes you think people don’t know we’re here?”
Loring shrugged. “A risk I am prepared to take.”
“My people know where I am.”
Loring smiled. “I doubt that,Pan McKoy.”
“How about a deal?”
“Not interested.”
McKoy suddenly lunged at Loring, crossing the ten feet that separated them as fast as his beefy frame allowed. As the old man fired, McKoy winced, then screamed, “Go, Cutler!”
Paul darted for the double doors leading out of the Amber Room, glancing back momentarily to see McKoy crumble to the parquet and Loring readjust his aim. He leaped from the room, rolled across the stone floor, then stood and raced through the darkened gallery, out the opening into the Romanesque Room.
He expected Loring to be following, more shots on the way, but the old man certainly couldn’t move fast.