The Amber Room

by Steve Berry

  “let’s go,” Paul mouthed. He pulled Rachel to her feet and they raced toward the door. The bullets had pierced the curtain and found stone. He hoped Knoll and the woman would be too preoccupied with each other to bother with them. Or maybe they’d team up against what might be deemed a common enemy. He wasn’t going to stay around and find out which route they took.

  They made it to the door.

  His shoulder pounded with pain, but adrenaline streaking through his veins worked like anesthetic. Out in the corridor, beyond the church, he said, “We can’t go back into the courtyard—we’ll be sitting ducks.”

  He turned toward a stairway leading up.

  “Come on,” he said.

  Knoll saw Danzer leap into a dark archway, but the pillars, podium, and altar impeded a clear shot, the long shadows no help either. At the moment, though, he was more interested in who was behind the curtain. He’d entered the church that way himself, climbing the wooden stairway at the passage’s end to the choir.

  He cautiously approached the curtain and peered behind, gun ready.

  Nobody was there.

  He heard a door open, then close. He quickly stepped over to Grumer’s body and withdrew the stiletto. He cleaned the blade and slipped the knife up his sleeve.

  Then he parted the curtain and followed.

  Paul led the way up the staircase, giving the heavily framed ghostly images of kings and emperors that lined the way only a passing glance. Rachel hustled behind him.

  “That bastard killed Daddy,” she said.

  “I know, Rachel. But right now we’re in sort of a mess.”

  He turned on the landing and nearly leaped up the last flight. Another dark corridor waited at the top. He heard a door open behind them. He froze, stopping Rachel, covering her mouth with his hand. Footsteps came from below. Slow. Steady. Their way. He motioned for quiet, and they tiptoed to the left—the only way to go—toward a closed door at the far end.

  He tried the latch handle.

  It opened.

  He inched the door inward and they slipped inside.

  Suzanne stood in a dark cubicle behind the high altar, the sweet scent of incense strong from two metal pots against the wall. Colorful priestly vestments hung in two rows on metal racks. She needed to finish what Knoll had started. The son of a bitch had certainly one-upped her. How he found her was of concern. She was careful leaving the hotel, checking her backside repeatedly on the way up to the abbey. No one had followed her, of that she was certain. No. Knoll was in the church, waiting. But how? Grumer? Possibly. It worried her that Knoll somehow knew her business so intimately. She’d wondered why there’d been no hot pursuit from the mine earlier, Knoll’s show of disappointment as she sped away not nearly as satisfying as she’d expected.

  She stared back out through the archway.

  He was still in the church, and she needed to find him and settle this matter. Loring would want that. No more loose ends. None at all. She peered out and watched as Knoll disappeared through a curtain.

  A door opened, then closed.

  She heard footsteps climbing stairs.

  Sauer in hand, she cautiously headed for the source of the sound.

  Knoll heard faint steps above. Whoever it was had gone up the staircase.

  He followed, gun ready.

  Paul and Rachel stood inside a cavernous space, a freestanding sign proclaiming in GermanMARMOREN KAMMER , the English beneath readingMARBLE HALL . Pilastered marble columns, evenly spaced around the four walls, rose at least forty feet, each one decorated in gold leaf, the surrounding colors a soft peach and light gray. Magnificent frescoes of chariots, lions, and Hercules decorated the ceiling. A three-dimensional architectural painting framed the room, creating an illusion of depth to the walls. Incandescent light splashed across the ceiling. The motif might have been interesting if not for the fact that someone with a gun was probably coming after them.

  He led the way as they scampered across checkerboard tile, bisecting a brass floor grille that rushed warm air up into the hall. Another ornate door waited at the opposite end. As far as he could see, it was the only other way out.

  The door they entered through suddenly creaked inward.

  Instantly, Paul opened the door in front of him and they slipped out onto a rounded terrace. Beyond a thick stone balustrade, blackness extended to the broad tangle of Stod below. The velvet bowl overhead was thick with stars. Behind them, the abbey’s well-lit amber-and-white facade loomed stark against the night. Stone lions and dragons stared down and seemed to keep watch. A chilling breeze swept over them. The ten-person-wide terrace rounded in a horseshoe to another door at the opposite end.

  He led Rachel around the loop to the far door.

  It was locked.

  Back across, the door they’d just come through began to open. He quickly looked around and saw there was nowhere to go. Over the railing was nothing but a sheer drop hundreds of meters down to the river.

  Rachel seemed to sense their quandary, too, and she looked at him, fear filling her eyes, surely thinking the same thing he was.

  Were they going to die?

  FORTY-SIX

  Knoll opened the door and saw that it led out to an open terrace. He stood still. Danzer was still lurking somewhere behind him. But maybe she’d fled the abbey. No matter. As soon as he determined who else had been in the church, he’d head straight to her hotel. If he didn’t find her there, he’d find her somewhere else. She would not be disappearing this time.

  He peered around the edge of the thick oak door and surveyed the terrace. No one was there. He stepped out and closed the door, then crossed the wide loop. Halfway, he stole a quick glance over the side. Stod blazed to the left, the river ahead, a long drop down. He reached the other door and determined it was locked.

  Suddenly, the door from the Marble Hall, at the other end of the loop, swung open and Danzer leaped out into the night. He lunged behind the stone rail and thick spindles.

  Two muffled shots streaked his way.

  The bullets missed.

  He returned fire.

  Danzer sent another round his way. Stone splinters from the ricochet momentarily blinded him. He crawled to the door nearest him. The iron lock was furred in rust. He fired two shots into the handle and the latch gave way.

  He yanked open the door and quickly crawled inside.

  Suzanne decided enough. She saw the door at the other end of the horseshoe open. No one walked inside, so Knoll must have crawled. The confines were tightening, and Knoll was far too dangerous to keep openly pursuing him. She now knew that he was on the abbey’s upper stories, so the smart move was to backtrack and head down to town before he had a chance to find his way out. She needed to get out of Germany, preferably back to Castle Loukov and the safety of Ernst Loring. Her business here was finished. Grumer was dead, and, as with Karol Borya, Knoll had saved her the trouble. The excavation site seemed secure. So what she was now doing seemed foolish.

  She turned and raced back through the Marble Hall.

  Rachel clung to the cold stone spindle. Paul dangled beside her, desperately gripping his own spindle. It had been her idea to leap over the railing and hang on just as someone exited the far door. Below her boots was a cascading blackness. A strong wind buffeted their bodies. Her grip was weakening by the second.

  They’d listened in horror as bullets careened off the terrace and out into the chilly night, hoping that whoever was following them did not glance over the side. Paul had managed a look as the near door’s lock was shot through and someone crawled inside. “Knoll,” he’d mouthed. But for the last minute—silence. Not one sound.

  Her arms ached. “I can’t hold on much longer,” she whispered.

  Paul ventured another look. “There’s nobody there. Climb.” He swung his right leg out, then pulled himself up and over the railing. He reached down and helped her up. Once on firm ground, they both leaned against the cold stone and stared down at the river below.
/>   “I can’t believe we did that,” she said.

  “I’ve got to be out of my damn mind to be in the middle of this.”

  “As I remember, you’re the one who dragged me up here.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Paul inched the half-closed door open and she followed him inside. The room was an elegant library lined floor to ceiling with inlaid bookshelves of shiny walnut, everything gilded in baroque style. They passed through a wrought-iron gate and quickly crossed a slick parquet floor. Two huge wooden globes flanked either side, set in recesses between the shelves. The warm air smelled of musty leather. A yellow rectangle of light extended from a doorway at the far end where the top of another staircase was visible.

  Paul motioned ahead. “That way.”

  “Knoll came in here,” she reminded.

  “I know. But he had to have taken off after that shootout.”

  She followed Paul out of the library and down the staircase. A darkened corridor below immediately wound to the right. She hoped there was a door somewhere that led back to the inner courtyard. At the bottom she saw Paul turn, then a black shadow shot from the darkness and Paul’s body folded to the floor.

  A gloved hand encircled her neck.

  She was lifted from the last step and slammed against the wall. Her vision blurred, then refocused, and she was staring straight into the feral eyes of Christian Knoll, a knife blade pinched into the bottom of her chin.

  “That your ex-husband?” His words came in a throaty whisper, his breath warm. “Come to your rescue?”

  Her eyes stole a look at Paul sprawled across the stone. He wasn’t moving. She looked back at Knoll.

  “You may find this hard to believe, but I have no complaint with you, Frau Cutler. Killing you would certainly be the most efficient thing to do, but not necessarily the smartest. First your father dies, then you. And so close together. No. As much as I might want to rid myself of a nuisance, I cannot kill you. So, please. Go home.”

  “You killed . . . my father.”

  “Your father understood the risks he took in life. Even seemed to appreciate them. You should have taken the advice he offered. I am quite familiar with Phäethon’s story. A fascinating tale about impulsive ways. The helplessness of the elder generation trying to teach the younger. What did the Sun God tell Phäethon? ‘Look in my face and if you could, look in my heart, see there a father’s anxious blood and passion.’ Heed the warning, Frau Cutler. My mind can easily change. Would you want those precious children of yours to cry tears of amber if a lightning bolt struck you dead?”

  She suddenly visualized her father lying in the casket. She’d buried him in his tweed jacket, the same one he’d worn to court the day she changed his name. She’d never believed that he merely fell down the stairs. Now his killer was here, pressed against her. She shifted and tried to knee Knoll in the crotch, but the hand around her neck tightened, and the knife tip broke the skin.

  She gasped and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Now, now, Frau Cutler. None of that.”

  Knoll released his right hand from her throat, but kept the blade firm to her chin. He let his palm travel the length of her body to her crotch, and he cupped her in a tight clasp. “I could tell that you found me intriguing.” His hand drifted up and massaged her breasts through the sweater. “A shame I don’t have more time.” He suddenly clamped tight on her right breast and twisted.

  The pain stiffened her.

  “Take my advice, Frau Cutler. Go home. Have a happy life. Raise your kids.” His head motioned to Paul. “Please your ex-husband and forget about all this. It does not concern you.”

  She managed through the pain to say again, “You . . . killed my . . . father.”

  His right hand released her breast and throttled her neck. “The next time we meet, I will slit your throat. Do you understand?”

  She said nothing. The knife tip moved deeper. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.

  “Do you understand?” Knoll slowly asked.

  “Yes,” she mouthed.

  He withdrew the blade. Blood trickled from the wound in her neck. She stood rigid against the wall. She was concerned about Paul. He still hadn’t moved.

  “Do as I say, Frau Cutler.”

  He turned to leave.

  She lunged at him.

  Knoll’s right hand arched up and the knife handle caught her square below the right temple. Her eyes flashed white. The corridor spun. Bile erupted in her throat. Then she saw Marla and Brent rushing toward her, arms outstretched, their mouths moving but the words inaudible as blackness overtook them.

  PART FOUR

  FORTY-SEVEN

  11:50 p.m.

  Suzanne raced down the incline back to stod. Along the way she passed three late-night strollers to whom she paid no attention. Her only concern at the moment was to get back to the Gebler, grab her belongings, and disappear. She needed the safety of the Czech border and Castle Loukov, at least until Loring and Fellner could resolve this matter, member to member.

  Knoll’s sudden appearance had again caught her off guard. The bastard was determined, she’d give him that. She decided not to underestimate him a third time. If Knoll was in Stod, she needed to get out of the country.

  She found the street below and trotted toward her hotel.

  Thank god she’d packed. Everything was ready to go, her plan all along had been to leave after tending to Alfred Grumer. Fewer streetlamps illuminated the way than earlier, but the Gebler’s entrance was well lit. She entered the lobby. A night clerk behind the front desk was pounding a keyboard and never looked up. Upstairs, she shouldered her travel bag and threw some euros on the bed, more than enough to cover the bill. No time for any formal checkout.

  She took a moment and caught her breath. Maybe Knoll didn’t know where she was staying. Stod was a big town with lots of inns. No, she decided. He knew and was probably headed here right now. She thought back to the abbey’s terrace. Knoll was after whoever else had been in the church. And that other presence was likewise of concern to her. But she wasn’t the one who tossed a knife into Grumer’s chest. Whatever he or she saw was more Knoll’s problem than hers.

  In her travel bag she found a fresh clip for the Sauer and popped it into place. She then pocketed the gun. Downstairs, she stepped quickly through the lobby and out the front door. She looked right, then left. Knoll was a hundred yards away, moving straight in her direction. When he spotted her, he started to run. She bolted ahead, down a deserted side street, and rounded a corner. She kept running and quickly turned two more corners. Maybe she could lose Knoll in the maze of venerable buildings that all looked alike.

  She stopped. Her breathing came hard.

  Footsteps echoed from behind.

  Coming closer.

  In her direction.

  Knoll’s breath condensed in the dry air. His timing had been nearly perfect. A few moments more and he would have caught the bitch.

  He turned a corner and halted.

  Only silence.

  Interesting.

  He gripped the CZ and stepped cautiously forward. He’d studied the layout of the old part of town yesterday from a map obtained at the tourist bureau. The buildings covered blocks interrupted by narrow cobbled streets and even tighter alleys. Steep roofs, dormer windows, and arcades adorned with mythological creatures loomed everywhere. It would be easy to get lost in the warren of sameness. But he knew exactly where Danzer’s slate-gray Porsche was parked. He’d found it yesterday on a reconnaissance mission, knowing that she would certainly have a quick means of transportation nearby.

  So he started in that direction, the same direction the running footsteps had initially been headed.

  He stopped fast.

  Still, only silence.

  No more soles slapping cobblestone in the distance.

  He inched forward and turned a corner. The street ahead was a straight line, the only glow breaking the darkness loomed at the far end. Halfway, an in
tersection appeared. The lane to the right stretched about thirty meters, dead-ending into what looked like the back of a shop. A small black Dumpster rested just to the right, a parked BMW to its left. It was more an alley than a street. He stepped to the end and checked the car. Locked. He lifted the Dumpster lid. Empty except for newspapers and a few trash bags that smelled of rotting fish. He tried the doorknobs for the building. Locked.

  He stepped back to the main street, gun in hand, and turned right.

  Suzanne waited a full five minutes before slithering out from under the BMW. She’d wiggled beneath, thankful for her petite size. Just in case, though, the 9mm was ready. But Knoll had not looked underneath, seemingly satisfied the car doors were locked, the alley apparently empty.

  She retrieved her travel bag from the Dumpster where she’d stashed it under some newspapers. A lingering odor of fish accompanied the leather bag. She pocketed the Sauer and decided to use another route to her car, perhaps even leaving the damn thing and renting another in the morning. She could always come back later and retrieve the Porsche after this was settled. An Acquisitor’s job was to do what his or her employer desired. Even though Loring had told her to handle things at her discretion, the situation with Knoll and the risk of drawing attention was escalating. Also, killing her opponent was proving far more difficult than she’d first imagined.

  She stopped in the alley before the intersection and listened a few seconds more.

  No footsteps could be heard.

  She scooted out and instead of turning right as Knoll had done, she went left.

  From a darkened doorway, a fist slammed her forehead. Her neck whipped back, then recoiled. The pain momentarily froze her, and a hand encircled her throat. Her body was lifted, then pounded into a damp stone wall. A sickening smile filled Christian Knoll’s Nordic face.