The Amber Room Page 0,102

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