Preston Child - Mystery of the Amber Room

Just short of the boathouse Purdue realized that his arm was burning. A warm streak of blood ran down his elbow and hand as he raced for the shelter of the building, but another lousy surprise awaited him when he finally got to look back. Detlef was not pursuing him at all. Not considering him a risk any more, Detlef had holstered his Glock and made for the rickety garage.

“Oh no!” Purdue gasped. He knew, though, that it would be impossible for Detlef to get to Nina through the narrow gap between the chained doors. His impressive size did have its downsides, and that was a saving grace for the petite and feisty Nina, who was inside, hotwiring the car with sweaty hands and barely any light.

Distressed and wounded, Purdue watched helplessly as Detlef checked the lock and the chain to ascertain if anyone could have breached it. ‘He probably thinks I am here alone. God, I hope so,’ Purdue thought. While the German was occupied with the garage doors, Purdue slipped into the house to retrieve as many of their belongings as he could carry. Nina's laptop bag contained her passport as well, and Sam's he found in the journalist's room on the chair beside the bed. From the German's wallet, Purdue appropriated cash and a gold AMEX credit card.

If Detlef believed that Purdue had left Nina in town and would get back to finish the battle with him, that would have been great; the billionaire hoped as he watched the German mull the situation over from the kitchen window. Purdue felt his arm numbing all the way into his fingers already, and the loss of blood was making him light-headed, so he utilized the strength he had left to sneak back to the boat house.

“Hurry Nina,” he whispered, taking off his glasses to clean them and wipe the sweat from his face with his shirt. To Purdue's relief, the German decided not to pursue the futile venture of trying to get into the garage, mostly because he did not have the padlock key. As he replaced his glasses, he saw Detlef heading his way. ‘He is coming to make sure I am dead!’

From behind the large widower, the sound of an ignition firing echoed through the evening. Detlef swung around and hurried back to the garage, drawing his gun. Purdue was determined to keep Detlef away from Nina, even if it cost him his life. Again he emerged from the grass and shouted, but Detlef ignored him as the car attempted to start again.

“Don’t flood it, Nina!” was all Purdue could cry as Detlef’s massive hands locked onto the chain and started prying apart the doors. The chain would not give. It was study and thick, much more secure than the flimsy iron doors. Behind the doors, the engine revved again but died a moment later. Just the sound of the clattering doors under the furious strength of the German rung through the afternoon air now. A metallic tear shrieked as Detlef disassembled the entire set-up by ripping the doors from their flimsy hinges.

“Oh my God!” Purdue groaned, desperate to save his beloved Nina, but lacking the strength to run. He watched the doors fly off like leaves shed from a tree as the engine roared once more. Gaining in revolutions, the Volvo screamed under Nina's foot and rocketed forward as Detlef tossed aside the second door.

“Thanks, mate!” Nina said as she floored the accelerator and released the clutch.

Purdue only saw Detlef’s frame collapse as the old car struck him full on, flinging his body a few feet away under the force of its velocity. The boxy, ugly brown sedan slid over the muddy grass lawn, careening toward where Purdue was flagging her down. Nina opened the passenger door as she ground the vehicle to a near halt, just long enough for Purdue to throw himself into the seat before she took off for the street.

“Are you alright? Purdue! Are you okay? Where did he hit you?” she kept shouting over the laboring engine.

“I’ll be fine, my dear,” Purdue smiled timidly as he gripped his arm. “It is a bloody stroke of luck that the second round missed my skull.”

“It is a stroke of luck that I learned to hotwire a car to impress a shit hot Glasgow hooligan when I was seventeen!” she added proudly. “Purdue!”

“Just keep driving, Nina,” he replied. “Just get us over the border to Ukraine as fast as you can.”

“Provided Kiril’s old clunker can handle the trip,” she sighed, checking the fuel gauge threatening to hit the Reserve line. Purdue flashed Detlef’s credit card and grinned through the pain as Nina let out a roar of victorious laughter.

“Give me that!” she smiled. “And get some rest. I will get you some bandage as soon as we hit the next town. From there we don't stop until we get within distance of the Devil's Cooking Pot and get Sam back.”

Purdue did not get that last bit. He had already fallen asleep.

In Riga, Latvia, Klaus, and his small crew moored for the next leg of their journey. There was little time to get everything ready for the acquisition and transport of the Amber Room panels. There was not much time to waste, and Kemper was a very impatient man. He barked orders out on the deck while Sam listened from his steel prison. Kemper's choice of words hounded Sam immensely — hive — the thought made him shudder, but more so because he did not know what Kemper was up to and that was enough reason for emotional turmoil.

Sam had to concede; he was afraid. Plain and simple, image and self-respect aside, he was terrified of what was coming. Based on the little information he had been given, it already felt like he was doomed beyond salvation this time. Many times before he had escaped what he had feared to be certain death, but this time felt different.

‘You can’t give up, Cleave,’ he scolded himself from the pit of depression and hopelessness. ‘This defeatist shit is not for the likes of you. What harm could possibly trump the hell on board of that teleporting ship you were trapped on? Do they even have the slightest idea of the things you endured while it made its hellish voyage over and over through the same traps of physics?' But when Sam gave his own coaching some thought, he soon realized that he could not remember what happened on the DKM Geheimnis during his detention there. What he did recall was the deep despair it cultivated deep in his soul, the only remnant of the whole affair he could still consciously feel.

Above him, he could hear the men unload heavy equipment onto what must have been some large heavy-duty vehicle. Had he not known better, Sam would have guessed it was a tank. Rapid footsteps approached the door of his room.

‘Now or never,’ he told himself, gathering his courage to make an escape attempt. If he could manipulate those coming to get him, he could make his way off the boat stealthily. The locks clicked from the outside. His heart pounded wildly as he got ready to pounce. When the door opened, Klaus Kemper himself stood in it, smiling. Sam lunged forward to tackle the loathsome captor. Klaus uttered, “24-58-68-91.”

Sam's attack instantly ended, and he fell to the floor at the feet of his target. A deep scowl painted Sam's brow with confusion and fury, but as much as he tried, he could not move a muscle. All he could hear above his bare and bruised frame was the triumphant snickering of a very dangerous man who harbored deadly information.

“I tell you what, Mr. Cleave,” Kemper said in that tone of annoying tranquility. “Because you have shown so much determination I will fill you in on what just happened to you. But!” he patronized like a forthcoming teacher bestowing mercy on a transgressing student. “But…you have to agree to give me no more reasons to have to worry about your relentless and ridiculous efforts at fleeing my company. Let's just call it… professional courtesy. You cease your childish behavior and in turn, I will grant you the interview of the ages.”