The Amber Room Page 0,19
her father's sophisticated air, but in two ways they were much alike-both were cold and driven. Newspapers linked her with man after man, wondering who might eventually snag her and the resulting fortune, but he knew that no one would ever control her. Fellner had been meticulously grooming her the past few years, readying her for the day when she'd take over his communications empire along with his passion for collecting, a day that would surely soon arrive. She'd been educated outside Germany in England and the United States, adopting an even sharper tongue and brassy attitude along the way. But being rich and spoiled hadn't helped her personality either.
She reached out and patted his right sleeve. "No stiletto tonight?"
"Do I need it?"
She pressed close. "I can be quite dangerous."
Her arms went around him. Their mouths fused, her tongue searching with excitement. He enjoyed her taste and savored the passion she freely offered. When she withdrew, she bit his lower lip hard on the way. He tasted blood.
"Yes, you can." He dabbed the wound with a handkerchief.
She reached out and unzipped his trousers.
"I thought you said Herr Fellner was waiting."
"There's plenty of time." She pushed him down on the floor, directly atop her grandfather's grave. "And I didn't wear any underwear."
Chapter Six
TEN
Knoll followed Monika across the castle's ground floor to the collection hall. The space consumed the better part of the northwest tower and was divided into a public room, where Fellner displayed his notable and legal items, and the secret room, where only he, Fellner, and Monika ventured.
They entered the public hall and Monika locked the heavy wooden doors behind them. Lighted cases stood in rows like soldiers at attention and displayed a variety of precious objects. Paintings and tapestries lined the walls. Frescoes adorned the ceiling with images depicting Moses giving laws to the people, the building of Babel, and the translation of the Septuagint.
Fellner's private study was off the north wall. They entered, and Monika strolled across the parquet to a row of bookcases, all inlaid oak and gilded in heavy baroque style. He knew the volumes were all collectibles. Fellner loved books. His ninth-century Beda Venerabilis was the oldest and most valuable he possessed, Knoll had been lucky enough to find a stash in a French parish rectory a few years back, the priest more than willing to part with them in return for a modest contribution to both the church and himself.
Monika withdrew a black controller from her jacket pocket and clicked the button. The center bookcase slowly revolved on its axis. White light spilled from a room beyond. Franz Fellner was standing amidst a long windowless space, the gallery cleverly hidden between the junction of two grand halls. High-pitched ceilings and the castle's oblong shape provided more architectural camouflage. Its thick stone walls were all soundproofed and a special handler filtered the air.
More collection cases stood in staggered rows, each illuminated by carefully placed halogen lights. Knoll wove a path through the cases, noticing some of the acquisitions. A jade sculpture he'd stolen from a private collection in Mexico, not a problem since the supposed owner had likewise stolen it from the Jalapa City Museum. A number of ancient African, Eskimo, and Japanese figurines retrieved from an apartment in Belgium, war loot thought long destroyed. He was especially proud of the Gauguin sculpture off to the left, an exquisite piece he'd liberated from a thief in Paris.
Paintings adorned the walls. A Picasso self-portrait. Correggio'sHoly Family. Botticelli'sPortrait of a Lady. Dürer'sPortrait of Maximillian I. All originals, thought lost forever.
The remaining stone wall was draped in two enormous Gobelin tapestries, looted by Hermann Goring during the war, recovered from another supposed owner two decades ago, and still hotly sought by the Austrian government.
Fellner stood beside a glass case containing a thirteenth-century mosaic depicting Pope Alexander IV. He knew it to be one of the old man's favorites. Beside him was
the enclosure with the Faberge match case. A tiny halogen light illuminated the strawberry red enamel. Fellner had obviously polished the piece. He knew how his employer liked to personally prepare each treasure, more insurance to prevent strange eyes from seeing his acquisitions.
Fellner was a lean hawk of a man with a craggy face the color of concrete and emotions to match. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that framed suspicious eyes. Surely, Knoll had often thought, they once bore the bright-eyed look of an idealist. Now they carried the pallor of a man approaching