Berry, Steve - the Amber Room

She pushed through the doors and followed the maze of corridors to Paul's office. She'd called before leaving her chambers, so he was expecting her. She went straight in, closed the door, and announced, "I'm going to Germany."

Paul looked up. "You're what?"

"I didn't stutter. I'm going to Germany."

"To find Chapaev? He's probably dead. He didn't even return your father's last letter."

"I need to do something."

Paul stood from the desk. "Why do you always have to do something?"

"Daddy knew about the Amber Room. I owe it to him to check it out."

"Owe it to him?" His voice was rising. "You owe it to him to respect his last wish, which was to stay out of whatever it was. If anything, by the way. Damn, Rachel, you're forty years old. When are you going to grow up?"

She stayed surprisingly calm, considering how she felt about his lectures. "I don't want to fight, Paul. I need you to look after the children. Will you do that?"

"Typical, Rachel. Fly off the handle. Do the first thing that comes to mind. No thought. Just do it."

"Will you watch the kids?"

"If I said no, would you stay?"

"I'd call your brother."

Paul sat back down. His expression signaled surrender.

"You can stay at the house," she said. "It'll be easier on the kids. They're still pretty upset over Daddy."

"They'd be even more upset if they knew what their mother was doing. And have you forgotten about the election? It's less than eight weeks away, and you have two opponents working their asses off to beat you, now with Marcus Nettles's money."

"Screw the election. Nettles can have the damn judgeship. This is more important."

"What's more important? We don't even know what this is. What about your docket? How can you just up and leave?"

She notched two points for a nice try, but that wasn't going to discourage her. "The chief judge understood. I told him I needed some time to grieve. I haven't taken a vacation in two years. I have the leave accrued."

Paul shook his head. "You're going on a wild goose chase to Bavaria for an old man who's probably dead, looking for something that's probably lost forever. You're not the first one to search for the Amber Room. People have devoted their whole lives to looking, and found nothing."

She wasn't going to budge. "Daddy knew something important. I can feel it. This Chapaev may know also."

"You're dreaming."

"And you're pathetic." She instantly regretted the words and tone. There was no need to hurt him.

"I'm going to ignore that because I know you're upset," he slowly said.

"I'm leaving tomorrow evening on a flight to Munich. I need a copy of Daddy's letters and the articles from his files."

"I'll drop them off on the way home." His voice was filled with total resignation.

"I'll call from Germany and let you know where I'm staying." She headed for the door. "Pick up the kids at day care tomorrow."

"Rachel."

She stopped but did not turn back.

"Be careful."

She opened the door and left.

PART TWO

TWENTY-ONE

Thursday, May 15, 10:15 a.m.

Knoll left his hotel and caught a marta train to the Fulton County Courthouse. The KGB information sheet he'd pilfered from the St. Petersburg records depository indicated that Rachel Cutler was a lawyer and an office address was provided. But a visit to the law firm yesterday revealed that she'd left the firm four years earlier after being elected a superior court judge. The receptionist was more than courteous, providing the new phone number and office location at the courthouse. He decided that a call might bring a quick rebuke. A face-to-face unannounced visit seemed the best approach.

Five days had elapsed since he'd killed Karol Borya. He needed to ascertain what, if anything, the daughter knew about the Amber Room. Perhaps her father had mentioned something over the years. Perhaps she knew about Chapaev. A long shot, but he was rapidly running out of leads, and he needed to exhaust all the possibilities. A trail that once seemed promising was growing cold.

He boarded a crowded elevator and rose to the courthouse's sixth floor. The corridors were lined with crowded courtrooms and busy offices. He wore the light gray business suit, striped shirt, and pale yellow silk tie bought yesterday at a suburban men's store. He'd intentionally kept the colors soft and conservative.

He pushed through glass doors marked CHAMBERS OF THE HONORABLE RACHEL CUTLER and stepped into a quiet anteroom. A thirtyish black female waited behind a desk. The nameplate read, SAMI LUFFMAN. In his best English, he said, "Good morning."

The woman smiled and returned the greeting.

"My name is Christian Knoll." He handed her a card, similar to the one used with Pietro Caproni, except this one proclaimed only ART COLLECTOR, not academician, and bore no address. "I was wondering if I could speak to Her Honor?"

The woman accepted the card. "I'm sorry, Judge Cutler is not in today."

"It's quite important I speak to her."

"May I ask if this concerns a pending case in our court?"

He shook his head, cordial and innocent. "Not at all. It is a personal matter."

"The judge's father died last weekend and--"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, feigning emotion. "How terrible."

"Yes, it was awful. She's very upset and decided to take a little time off."

"That's so unfortunate, for both her and me. I am in town only until tomorrow and was hoping to talk to Judge Cutler before I leave. Perhaps you could forward a message and she could call my hotel?"

The secretary seemed to be considering the request, and he took the moment to study a framed photograph hanging behind her on the papered wall. A woman was standing before another man, right arm raised as if taking an oath. She had shoulder-length dark brown hair, an upturned nose, and intense eyes. She wore a black robe, so it was hard to tell about her figure. Her smooth cheeks were flushed with a tinge of rouge and her slight smile appeared appropriate for the solemn circumstance. He motioned to the photo. "Judge Cutler?"

"When she was sworn in, four years ago."

It was the same face he'd seen at Karol Borya's funeral Tuesday, standing in front of the assembled mourners, hugging two small children, a boy and a girl.

"I could give Judge Cutler your message, but I don't know if you would hear from her."

"Why is that?"

"She's leaving town later today."

"A long journey?"

"She's going to Germany."

"Such a wonderful place." He needed to know where, so he tried the three major points of entry. "Berlin is exquisite this time of year. As are Frankfurt and Munich."

"She's going to Munich."

"Ah! A magical city. Perhaps it will help with her grief?"

"I hope so."

He'd learned enough. "I thank you, Ms. Luffman. You have been most helpful. Here is the information on my hotel." He fabricated a place and room number, no need now for contact. "Please let Judge Cutler know I came by."

"I'll try," she said.

He turned to leave but gave the framed photograph on the wall one last look, freezing the image of Rachel Cutler in his mind.

He left the sixth floor and descended to street level. A bank of pay phones spread across one wall. He stepped over and dialed overseas to the private line in Franz Fellner's study. It was almost 5 P.M. in Germany. He wasn't sure who would answer or even who he was reporting to now. Power was clearly in transition--Fellner was phasing himself out while Monika assumed control. But the old man was not the type to let go easily, especially with something like the Amber Room at stake.

"Guten tag," Monika answered after two rings.

"You on secretary duty today?" he asked in German.