The Amber Room Page 0,21

the Eastern European steel and

arms market. Ernst Loring was Fellner's main rival in collecting. He was a Czech, the son of Josef Loring, possessed of an air of superiority bred since youth. Like Pietro Caproni, a man definitely accustomed to having his way.

"Josef was a determined man. Ernst, unfortunately, did not inherit his father's character. I wonder about him," his employer said. "Something has always troubled me about him-that irritating cordiality he thinks I accept." Fellner turned to his daughter. "What about it,liebling? Should Christian head for America?" Monika's face stiffened. At these moments she was most like her father. Inscrutable. Guarded. Furtive. Certainly, in the years ahead, she'd do him proud. "I want the Amber Room."

"And I want it for you,liebling. I've searched forty years. But nothing. Absolutely nothing. I've never understood how tons of amber could simply vanish." Fellner turned toward him. "Go to Atlanta, Christian. Find Karol Borya, this `Yxo. See what he knows."

"You realize that if Borya is dead we are out of leads. I have checked the depositories in Russia. Only the one in St. Petersburg has any information of note." Fellner nodded.

"The clerk in St. Petersburg is certainly on someone's payroll. He was once again attentive. That's why I kept the sheets."

"Which was wise. I'm sure Loring and I are not the only ones interested inyantarnaya komnata. What a find that would be, Christian. You'd almost want to tell the world." "Almost. But the Russian government would want it returned, and if found here, the Germans would surely confiscate. It would make an excellent bargaining chip for the return of treasure the Soviets carted away."

"That's whyweneed to find it," Fellner said.

He leveled his gaze. "Not to mention the bonus you promised."

The old man chuckled. "Quite right, Christian. I have not forgotten."

"Bonus, Father?"

"Ten million euros. I promised years ago."

"And I'll honor it," Monika made clear.

Damn right she would, Knoll thought.

Fellner stepped from the display case. "Ernst Loring is surely looking for the Amber Room. He could well be the benefactor of that technocrat in St. Petersburg. If so, he knows about Borya. Let's not delay on this, Christian. You need to stay a step ahead." "I intend to."

"Can you handle Suzanne?" the old man quizzed, a mischievous smile on his gaunt face. "She will be aggressive."

He noticed Monika openly bristle at the mention. Suzanne Danzer worked for Ernst Loring. Highly educated and possessed of a determined intent that could be lethal if necessary, only two months back she'd raced him across southwestern France looking for a pair of nineteenth-century jeweled Russian wedding crowns. More "beautiful loot" hidden away for decades by poachers. Danzer had won that race, finding the crowns with an old woman in the Pyrenees near the Spanish border. The woman's husband had liberated them from a Nazi collaborator after the war. Danzer had been unrelenting in securing the prize, a trait he greatly admired.

"I would expect no less of her," he said.

Fellner extended his hand. "Good hunting, Christian."

He accepted the gesture, then turned to leave, heading for the far wall. A rectangle parted in the stone as the bookcase on the other side swung open again. "And keepmeinformed," Monika called out.

ELEVEN

Woodstock, England

10:45 p.m.

Suzanne Danzer sat up from the pillow. The twenty-year-old slept soundly beside

her. She took a moment and studied his lean nakedness. The young man projected the assurance of a show horse. What a pleasure it had been screwing him. She stood from the bed and crept across hardwood planks. The darkened bedroom was on the third floor of a sixteenth-century manor house, the estate owned by Audrey Whiddon. The old woman had served three terms in the House of Commons and eventually acquired the title of lady, purchasing the manor house at foreclosure after the previous owner defaulted on a minor mortgage. The elder Whiddon still sometimes visited, but Jeremy, her only grandson, was now its main resident. How easy it had been to latch on to Jeremy. He was flighty and spirited, more interested in ale and sex than finance and profit. Two years at Oxford and already dropped twice for academic deficiencies. The old lady loved him dearly and used what influences she still retained to get the boy back in, hoping for no more disappointments, but Jeremy seemed unaccommodating.

Suzanne had been searching nearly two years for the last snuffbox. Four constituted the original collection. There was a gold box with a mosaic on the cover. An oval one trimmed with translucent green and red berries. Another fashioned