Berry, Steve - the Amber Room

Knoll stood and yanked him from the floor. A fist slammed into his jaw, sending him reeling into the center of the room. He was dazed, trying hard to focus on the spinning furniture and the tall man approaching. Forty-one years old, and this was his first fistfight. Odd, he thought, the sensation of being slugged. Suddenly, the image of Knoll's naked ass on top of Rachel flashed through his mind. He caught hold of himself, grabbed a breath, and lunged, met only by another fist to the stomach.

Damn. He was losing the fight.

Knoll caught him by the hair.

"You interrupted my pleasure, and I do not like being interrupted. Did you not notice Fraulein Danzer on the way in? She interrupted also."

"Fuck you, Knoll."

"So defiant. And brave. But weak."

Knoll released his grip and slugged him. Blood gushed from his nose. The momentum of the blow sent Paul tumbling through the open doorway, out into the hall. He was having trouble seeing out of his right eye.

He couldn't take much more.

Rachel was vaguely aware that something was happening, but it was all so confusing. One moment it seemed as if Paul were making love to her, and the next she heard fighting and bodies being flung across the room. Then a voice.

She raised up.

Paul's face came into view, then another.

Knoll.

Paul was clothed, but Knoll was naked from the waist down. She tried to assimilate the information, making sense of what at first seemed impossible.

She heard Knoll's voice.

"You interrupted my pleasure, and I do not like being interrupted. Did you not notice Fraulein Danzer on the way in? She interrupted also."

"Fuck you, Knoll."

"So defiant. And brave. But weak."

Then Knoll slugged Paul in the face. Blood splattered and Paul rolled out into the hall. Knoll followed. She tried to stand from the bed, but collapsed to the floor. She slowly pulled herself across the parquet toward the doorway. Along the way she crossed a pair of pants, some shoes, and something hard.

She reached down. There were two guns. She ignored both and kept crawling. At the doorway she pulled herself up to her feet.

Knoll was moving toward Paul.

Paul realized this was the end. He could hardly breathe from the blows to his chest, his lungs were constricted, most likely several ribs were broken. His face ached beyond belief and he was having trouble seeing. Knoll was merely toying with him. He was no match for this professional. He staggered to his feet, using the stone banister for support, not unlike the banister from the night before at the abbey high above Stod. He gazed down four stories and felt like vomiting. The glow from the bright crystal chandelier burned his eyes, and he squinted. His body was suddenly yanked back and twirled around. Knoll's smiling face gleamed at him.

"Had enough, Cutler?"

All he could think to do was spit in Knoll's face. The German jumped back and then lunged at him, ramming a fist into his stomach. Spit and blood coughed up as he gasped for air. Knoll brought another blow down across the nape of his neck, slamming him to the floor. Knoll reached down and pulled him to his feet. His legs were rubber. He propped him against the railing, then stepped back and twitched his right arm.

A knife appeared.

Rachel watched through fogged eyes as Knoll battered Paul. She wanted to help but barely had the strength to stand. Her face ached, the swelling on her right cheek beginning to affect her vision. Her head pounded. Everything was blurred and spinning. Her stomach tossed like on a boat on a stormy sea.

Paul's body crumbled to the floor. Knoll reached down and yanked him to his feet. She suddenly thought of the two guns and stumbled back to the center of the bedchamber. She groped the floor until she found one of the pistols, then staggered back to the doorway.

Knoll had stepped away from Paul, his back to her. A knife appeared in the German's hand and she knew there'd be only a second to react. Knoll moved toward Paul, the blade rising. She pointed the gun and, for the first time in her life, pulled a trigger. The bullet left the barrel, not with a retort, but with the muffled pop like when balloons burst at one of the kids' birthday parties.

The bullet plowed into Knoll's back.

He stumbled and turned, then moved toward her with the knife.

She fired again. The gun bucked in her hand, but she held tight.

Then again.

And again.

Bullets ripped through Knoll's chest. She thought of what must have happened in the bed and lowered her aim, firing three more shots at his exposed crotch. Knoll screamed, but somehow kept standing. He stared down at blood pouring from his wounds. He staggered toward the banister. She was about to fire again when Paul suddenly lunged forward, shoving the half-naked German over the top and out into the open air of the four-story foyer. She fell toward the railing and glanced over just as Knoll's body found the chandelier and ripped the massive crystal fixture from the ceiling. Blue sparks exploded, Knoll and glass free-falling to the marble below, a thud from the body accompanying the shattering of glass, the crystal flung about and then tinkling to the floor like the applause that lingered after a symphony's climax.

Then, silence. Not a sound.

Below, Knoll did not move.

She looked at Paul. "You okay?"

He said nothing, but wrapped his arm around her. She reached over and gently caressed his face. "Does it hurt as bad as it looks?" she asked.

"Damn right."

"Where's McKoy?"

Paul heaved a deep breath. "Took a bullet . . . so I could get to you. Last I saw he was . . . bleeding all over the Amber Room."

"The Amber Room?"

"Long story. Not now."

"I guess I'm going to have to take back all the nasty things I said about that big fool."

"I guess you are," a voice suddenly said from below.

She glanced over the rail. McKoy stumbled into the dim foyer, holding his bloodied left shoulder.

"Who's this?" he asked, pointing to the body.

"The bastard who killed my father," Rachel called down.

"Seems that score's settled. Where's the woman?"

"Dead," Paul said.

"Good fuckin' riddance."

"Where's Loring?" Paul asked.

"I strangled the motherfucker."

Paul winced from the pain. "Good fuckin' riddance. You okay?"

"Nothin' a good surgeon can't fix."

Paul managed a weak smile. He looked at Rachel. "I think I'm beginning to like that guy."

She smiled back, the first in a while. "Me, too."

EPILOGUE

St. Petersburg, Russia

September 2

Paul and Rachel stood at the front of a side chapel. Italian marble surrounded them in elegant tones of sienese yellow with Russian malachite intermixed. Slanting rays from the morning sun cast a towering iconostasis beyond the priest in a glinting hue of sparkling gold.

Brent stood to the left of his father, Marla beside her mother. The patriarch pronounced the marriage vows in a solemn voice, the occasion enhanced by a chanting choir. St. Isaac's Cathedral was empty except for the wedding party and Wayland McKoy. Paul's eyes were drawn to a stained-glass window centered in a wall of icons. Christ standing tall after the Resurrection. A new beginning. How appropriate, he thought.

The priest finished the vows and bowed his head as the service ended.

He gently kissed Rachel and whispered, "I love you."

"And I you," she said.

"Ah, go ahead, Cutler, give her a good lip lock," McKoy said.