Berry, Steve - the Amber Room

The man who quietly entered through the double doors was nearing eighty. He was tall, his hair a lusterless gray, the faded goatee covering his neck and chin withdrawn with age. He possessed a handsome face that, for someone of such obvious wealth and stature, made little impression. Maybe, Paul thought, the mask was intentionally kept free of emotion.

"Good afternoon. I am Ernst Loring. Ordinarily I do not accept uninvited visitors, particularly those who just drive through the gate, but my steward explained your situation, and I have to say, I am intrigued." The older man spoke clear English.

McKoy introduced himself and offered his hand, which Loring shook. "Glad to finally meet you. I've read about you for years."

Loring smiled. The gesture seemed gracious and expected. "You must not believe any of what you read or hear. I am afraid the press likes to make me far more interesting than I truly am."

Paul stepped forward and introduced himself and Rachel.

"A pleasure to meet you both," Loring said. "Why don't we sit? Some refreshments are on the way."

They all took a seat in the neo-Gothic armchairs and sofa that faced the hearth. Loring turned toward McKoy.

"The steward mentioned a dig in Germany. I read a piece on that the other day, I believe. Surely that requires your constant attention. Why are you here and not there?"

"Not a damn thing there to find."

Loring's face showed curiosity, nothing more. McKoy told their host about the dig, the three transports, five bodies, and letters in the sand. He showed Loring the photographs Alfred Grumer had taken along with one more snapped yesterday morning after Paul traced the remaining letters to form LORING.

"Any explanation why the dead guy scrawled your name in that sand?" McKoy asked.

"There is no indication that he did. As you say, this is speculation on your part."

Paul sat silent, content to let McKoy lead the charge, and gauged the Czech's reaction. Rachel seemed to be appraising the older man, too, her look similar to when she watched a jury during a trial.

"However," Loring said, "I can see why you might think that. The original few letters are somewhat consistent."

McKoy grabbed Loring's gaze with his own. " Pan Loring, let me get to the point. The Amber Room was in that chamber, and I think you or your father were there. Whether you still have the panels, who knows? But I think you once did."

"Even if I possessed such a treasure, why would I openly admit that to you?"

"You wouldn't. But you might not want me to release all this information to the press. I signed several production agreements with news agencies around the world. The dig is a definite bust, but this stuff is the kind of dynamite that could allow me to recoup at least some of what my investors are out. I figure the Russians will be really interested. From what I hear they can be, shall we say, persistent in recoverin' their lost booty?"

"And you thought I might be willing to pay for silence?"

Paul couldn't believe what he was hearing. A shakedown? He had no idea McKoy had come to Czech to blackmail Loring. Neither, apparently, did Rachel.

"Hold on, McKoy," Rachel said, her voice rising. "You never said a word about extortion."

Paul echoed her sentiment. "We want no part of this."

McKoy was undeterred. "You two need to get with the program. I thought about it on the way over. This guy isn't goin' to take us on a tour of the Amber Room, even if he does have it. But Grumer's dead. Five other men are dead back in Stod. Your father, your parents, Chapaev, they're all dead. Bodies littered everywhere." McKoy glared at Loring. "And I think this son of a bitch knows a shitload more than he wants us to believe."

A vein pulsed in the old man's temple. "Extraordinary rudeness from a guest, Pan McKoy. You come to my home and accuse me of murder and thievery?" The voice was firm but calm.

"I haven't accused you. But you know more than you're willin' to say. Your name has been mentioned with the Amber Room for years."

"Rumors."

"Rafal Dolinski," McKoy said.

Loring said nothing.

"He was a Polish reporter who contacted you three years back. He sent a narrative of an article he was working on. Nice fellow. Real likable. Very determined. Got blown up in a mine a few weeks later. You recall?"

"I know nothing of that."

"A mine near the one that Judge Cutler here got a real close look at. Maybe even the same one."

"I read about that explosion a few days ago. I did not realize the connection to this moment."

"I bet," McKoy said. "I think the press will love this speculation. Think about it, Loring. It's got all the aroma of a great story. International financier, lost treasure, Nazis, murder. Not to mention the Germans. If you found the amber in their territory, they're goin' to want it back, too. Would make an excellent bargainin' chip with the Russians."

Paul felt he had to say, "Mr. Loring, I want you to know Rachel and I knew nothing of this when we agreed to come here. Our concern is finding out about the Amber Room, to satisfy some curiosity Rachel's father generated, nothing more. I'm a lawyer. Rachel is a judge. We would never be a party to blackmail."

"No need for explanation." Loring said. He turned to McKoy. "Perhaps you are correct. Speculation may be a problem. We live in a world where perception is far more important than reality. I will take this urging more as a form of insurance than blackmail." A smile curled on the old man's thin lips.

"Take it any way you want. All I want is to get paid. I've got a serious cash-flow problem, and a whole lot of things to say to a whole lot of people. The price of silence is risin' by the minute."

Rachel's face tightened. Paul figured she was about to explode. She hadn't liked McKoy from the start. She'd been suspicious of his overbearing ways, concerned about their getting intertwined with his activities. He could hear her now. His doing they were in as deep as they were. His problem to get them out.

"Might I make a suggestion?" Loring offered.

"Please," Paul said, hoping for some sanity.

"I would like time to think about this situation. Surely, you do not plan to travel all the way back to Stod. Stay the night. We'll have dinner and talk more later."

"That would be marvelous," McKoy quickly said. "We were plannin' to find a room somewhere anyway."

"Excellent, I will have the stewards bring your things inside."

FIFTY-THREE

Suzanne opened the bedchamber door. A steward said in Czech, " Pan Loring wants to see you in the Ancestors' Room. He said to take the back passages. Stay out of the main halls."

"He say why?"

"We have guests for the night. It may be related to them."

"Thank you. I'll head downstairs immediately."

She closed the door. Strange. Take the back passages. The castle was reamed with a series of secret corridors once used by aristocracy as a means of escape, now utilized by staff who maintained the castle's infrastructure. Her room was toward the rear of the complex, beyond the main halls and family quarters, halfway to the kitchen and work areas, past the point where the covert passages started.

She left the bedchamber and descended two floors. The nearest entry into the hidden corridors was a small sitting room on the ground floor. She stepped close to a paneled wall. Intricate moldings framed richly stained slabs of grain-free walnut. Above the Gothic fireplace she found a release switch camouflaged as part of the scrollwork. A section of wall beside the fireplace sprang open. She stepped into the passage and pulled the panel shut.

The mazelike route wound in right angles down a narrow, single-person corridor. Outlines of doors in the stone appeared periodically, leading out into either hallways or rooms. She'd played here as a child, imagining herself a Bohemian princess darting for freedom from infidel invaders breaching the castle walls, and so she was familiar with their path.