The Amber Room Page 0,108

and American armies. Best estimates state three trucks were involved. Nothing can be confirmed, however.

Josef Loring died in 1967. His son, Ernst, inherited the family fortune. Neither has ever spoken publicly on the subject of the Amber Room.

"You knew?" Paul said. "All that Monday and yesterday was an act? You've been after the Amber Room all along?"

"Why'd you think I let you hang around? Two strangers appear out of nowhere. You think I'd have wasted two seconds with you if the first things out of your mouth weren't 'We're looking for the Amber Room,' and 'Who the hell's Loring?' " "Fuck you, McKoy," Paul said, surprised at his own language. He couldn't recall cursing so crudely, or as much as he had the past few days. Apparently, this North Carolina redneck was wearing off on him.

"Who wrote this?" Rachel asked, motioning to the paper.

"Rafal Dolinski, a Polish reporter. He did a lot of work on the Amber Room. Kind of obsessed with the subject, if you ask me. When I was over here three years ago, he approached me. He's the one who got me all hyped up over amber. He'd done a lot of research and was writin' an article for some European magazine. He was hopin' for an interview with Loring to cinch some interest by a publisher. He sent a copy of this entire thing to Loring, along with a request to talk. The Czech never responded, but a month later Dolinski was dead." McKoy paused, then looked straight at Rachel. "Blown up in a mine near Warthberg."

Paul said, "Goddammit, McKoy. You knew all this and didn't tell us. Now Grumer's dead."

"Shit on Grumer. He was a greedy, lyin' bastard. He got himself killed by sellin' out. That's not my problem. I didn't tell him any of this on purpose. But somethin' was tellin' me this was the right chamber. Ever since the radar soundings. Could be a rail car, but if not, it could be three trucks with the Amber Room inside. When I saw those damn things Monday, waitin' in the dark, I thought I'd hit the mother lode." "So you bilked investors for the opportunity to find out if you're right," Paul said. "I figured either way, they'd win. Paintings or amber. What do they care?" "You're a damn good actor," Rachel said. "Fooled me."

"My reaction when I saw the trucks empty wasn't an act. I was hopin' my gamble had paid off and the investors wouldn't mind a little change in booty. I was bankin' that Dolinski was wrong and the panels were never found by Loring, or anyone else. But when I saw that other sealed entrance and the empty beds, I knew I was in deep shit." "You're still in deep shit," Paul said.

McKoy shook his head. "Think about it, Cutler. Somethin's happenin' here. This isn't some dry hole. That chamber back there was not meant to be found. We just stumbled onto it, thanks to good ole modern technology. Now, all at once, somebody is awfully interested in what we're doin', and they're awfully interested in what Karol Borya and Chapaev knew. Interested enough to kill 'em. Maybe they were interested enough to kill your parents."

Paul stared hard at McKoy.

"Dolinski told me about a lot of folks who ended up dead searchin' for the amber. Stretches all the way back to just after the war. Spooky as hell. Now he may well be one of 'em."

Paul did not argue the point. McKoy was right. Something definitely was going on and it involved the Amber Room. What else could it be? There were simply too many coincidences.

"Assuming you're right, what do we do now?" Rachel finally asked in a voice that signaled resignation.

McKoy's response was quick. "I'm going to the Czech Republic and talk to Ernst Loring. I think it's about time somebody did."

"We're going, too," Paul said.

"We are?" Rachel asked.

"You're damn right. Your father and my parents may have died over this. I've come this far. I plan to finish."

Rachel's look was curious. Was she discovering something about him? Something she may never have noticed before. A determination that hid beneath a deep veneer of controlled calm. Maybe she was. He was certainly discovering something about himself. The experience last night had jolted him. The rush when he and Rachel fled from Knoll. The terror in dangling from a balcony hundreds of feet above a blackened German river. They'd been lucky to escape with only a couple knots on their