Preston Child - Mystery of the Amber Room

“Is there a storm coming or something?” she asked the barman.

“I don’t think so. There are not nearly enough clouds for that,” he replied, leaning forward to peek upward from under the straw roof. “But the cold will be coming in soon, I think.”

Nina laughed at the thought.

“And how could would that be?” she giggled. At the bartender's puzzled frown, she filled him in why she found their idea of chill amusing. “Oh, I'm from Scotland, see?”

“Ah!” he laughed. “I see! That is why you talk like Billy Connelly! And why you,” he frowned sympathetically at her red skin with specific attention, “lost a fight against the sun on your first day here.”

“Aye,” Nina agreed, pouting at the defeat as she looked her arms over once more. “Bali hates me.”

He laughed and shook his head. “No! Bali loves beauty. Bali loves beauty!” he cried and ducked under the counter, only to emerge with the sherry bottle. He poured her another glass. “On the house, compliments of Bali.”

“Thank you,” Nina smiled.

The new-found relaxation unquestionably served her mood well. Not once since she and Sam had arrived two days before had she lost her temper, except of course when she had cursed the sun that had lashed her. Away from Scotland, away from her home in Oban, she felt as if more profound matters could simply not reach her. Especially here, where the Equator was north of her instead of south, for once, she felt well out of the reach of any kind of mundane or serious matter.

Bali was hiding her securely. Nina enjoyed the strangeness, how unlike Europe the islands were, even if she loathed the sun and the incessant waves of heat that turned her throat into a desert and made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. Not that she had anything specific to hide from, but Nina needed a change of pace for her own good. Only then would she be on top of her game when she returned home.

After learning that Sam was alive and seeing him again, the feisty academic had promptly decided to make the most of his company now that she knew he was not lost to her after all. Seeing him step out of the shadows at Dave Purdue's estate, Wrichtishousis , taught her to appreciate the present and nothing else. When she had thought he was dead, she had learned the meaning of finality and regret and vowed to never endure that pain again — the pain of not knowing. His absence from her life had convinced Nina that she loved Sam, even if she could not imagine being tied down in a serious relationship with him.

These days Sam was different to some extent. Naturally, he would be, having been spirited away on board a devilish Nazi ship that had imprisoned his very being in its bizarre webbing of unholy physics. How long he had been flung from wormhole to wormhole was unclear, but one thing was clear — it had altered the world renowned journalist's view of the improbable.

Nina listened to the dwindling conversation of the patrons, wondering what Sam was up to. Having his camera with him only assured her that he would be away for a while, probably getting lost in the beauty of the islands and not keeping track of the time.

“Last one,” the bartender smiled and offered to pour her another.

“Oh, no, thanks. On an empty stomach this stuff is like Rohypnol,” she chuckled. “I think I will call it a day.”

She hopped off her bar stool and gathered up her amateur snorkeling gear, slinging it over her shoulder as she waved goodbye to the bar staff. At the room she shared with Sam, there was no trace of him yet, which was to be expected, yet Nina could not help but feel ill at ease about Sam wandering off. She brewed herself a cup of tea and waited, looking out through the wide glass sliding door where the gauzy white drapes rippled in the sea breeze.

“I can't,” she groaned. “How can people just sit around like this? Jesus, I'll lose my mind.”

Nina closed the windows and got dressed in her khaki cargo pants, hiking boots and packed her small satchel with a switchblade, compass, towel and a bottle of fresh water. Determined, she set off toward the thickly forested area behind the holiday resort where a hiking trail led to a local village. At first, the overgrown sandy path meandered through a glorious cathedral of jungle trees, full of colorful birds and crisp, clear streams. For several minutes, the bird calls were almost deafening, but eventually, the chirps diminished as if they were restricted to the vicinity she had just emerged from.

Before her, the path ran straight uphill, and the plant life here was far less lush. Nina realized that the birds had stayed behind and that she was now trudging through an eerily quiet place. Far in the distance, she could hear the voices of people in heated debate echo across the flat terrain that stretched from the edge of the hill where she was standing. Down below in the small village, women wailed and cowered while the men of the tribe were shouting defensively at one another. In the middle of it all, one man sat in the sand — an intruder.

“Sam!” Nina gasped. “Sam?”

She began to walk down the hill toward the settlement. The distinct smell of fire and meat filled the air as she came closer, keeping her eyes on Sam. He sat with his legs crossed and had his right hand on the crown of another man, repeating one word over and over in a foreign language. The disturbing sight scared Nina, but Sam was her friend, and she hoped to assess the situation before the mob became violent.

“Hello!” she said as she entered the center clearing. The villagers reacted with raw hostility, immediately shouting at Nina and waving their arms wildly to chase her off. With arms outstretched she tried to gesture that she was not an enemy.

“I’m not here to cause any harm. That,” she pointed to Sam, “is my friend. I will take him away, alright? Alright?” Nina sank to her knees to exhibit a submissive body language, moving toward Sam.

“Sam,” she said as she reached out to him. “My God! Sam, what is wrong with your eyes?”

His eyes had rolled back in their sockets as he chanted one word over and over.

“Kalihasa! Kalihasa!”

“Sam! Dammit, Sam, wake the hell up! You’re going to get us killed!” she shouted.

“You cannot wake he,” a man, who must have been the chief of the tribe told Nina.

“Why not?” she frowned.

“Because he dead.”

Nina felt her hair stand on end in the dry heat of the late afternoon. Above the village, the sky turned into a pallid yellow, resembling the highly pregnant skies of Atherton, where she had once visited as a child during an electrical storm.

She scowled in disbelief, looking sternly at the chief. “He is not dead. He is alive and breathing… right there! What is he saying?”

The old man sighed as if he had seen the same scene one too many times in his life.

“Kalihasa. He tells man under he hand to die in he name.”

The other man next to Sam started convulsing, yet the raging onlookers did not take one step forward to help their fellow. Nina shook Sam violently, but the chief pulled her away in alarm.

“What?” she shouted at him. “I will stop this! Let me go!”

“Dead gods talking. You must listen,” he warned.

“Are you all out of your minds?” she cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “Sam!” Nina was terrified, yet she kept reminding herself that it was Sam — her Sam and that she had to keep him from killing the native. The chief held her by the wrist to stop her from interfering. His grip was unnaturally strong for such a frail-looking old man.

In the sand in front of Sam, the native man screamed in agony as Sam kept repeating his iniquitous chant. Blood trickled from Sam's nose and dripped on his chest and thighs, prompting the villagers to voice a chorus of terror. Women wept, and children screamed, upsetting Nina to tears. Shaking her head profusely, the Scottish historian let out a hysterical scream, gathering her strength. She bolted forward with all her strength, breaking the hold of the chief's grasp.