The Amber Room Page 0,29

before pushing through the swinging door. He filled two glasses with ice and poured some tea. He also deposited the still marinating fillet in the refrigerator. He actually wasn't hungry anymore, his mind racing, like in the old days. He glanced down at the file folder with articles still lying on the counter.

"Mr. Borya?" Knoll called out.

The voice was accompanied by footsteps. Perhaps it was better the articles not be seen. He quickly yanked open the freezer and slid the folder onto the top rack next to the ice maker. He slammed the door shut just as Knoll pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen. "Yes, Herr Knoll?"

"Might I use your rest room?"

"Down hall. Off the den."

"Thank you."

He didn't believe for a moment that Knoll needed to use the bathroom. More likely he needed to change a tape in a pocket recorder without the worry of interruption, or use the pretense as an opportunity to look around. It was a trick he'd utilized many times in the old days. The German was becoming annoying. He decided to have a little fun. From the cabinet beside the sink he retrieved the laxative his aging intestines forced him to take at least a couple of times a week. He trickled the tasteless granules into one of the tea glasses and stirred them in. Now the bastard really would need a bathroom.

He brought the chilled glasses into the den. Knoll returned and accepted the tea, downing several long swallows.

"Excellent," Knoll said. "Truly an American beverage. Iced tea."

"We proud of it."

"We? You consider yourself American?"

"Here many years. My home now."

"Is not Belarus independent again?"

"Leaders there no better than Soviets. Suspend constitution. Mere dictators." "Did not the people give the Belarussian president that latitude?"

"Belarus is more like province of Russia, not true independence. Slavery takes centuries to shed."

"You do not seem to care for Germans or Communists."

He was tiring of the conversation, remembering how much he hated Germans. "Sixteen months in death camp can change your heart."

Knoll finished the tea. The ice cubes jangled as the glass banged the coffee table. He went on, "The Germans and Communists rape Belarus and Russia. Nazis used Catherine Palace as barracks, then for target practice. I visit after war. Little left of regal beauty. Did not the Germans try and destroy Russian culture? Bombed palaces to rubble to teach us a lesson."

"I am not a Nazi, Mr. Borya, so I cannot answer your question."

A moment of strained silence passed. Then Knoll asked, "Why don't we quit sparring. Did you find the Amber Room?"

"As I said, room lost forever."

"Why don't I believe you?"

He shrugged. "I'm old man. Soon I die. No reason to lie."

"Somehow I doubt that last observation, Mr. Borya."

He grabbed Knoll's gaze with his own. "I tell you story-maybe it help with your search. Months before Mauthausen fell, Goring came to camp. He forced me to help torture four Germans. Goring had them tied naked to stakes in freezing cold. We poured water over them till dead."

"And the purpose?"

"Goring wanted das Bernstein-zimmer. The four men were some who evacuate amber panels from Konigsberg before Russians invade. Goring wanted Amber Room, but Hitler got it first."

"Any of the soldiers reveal information?"

"Nothing. Just yell 'Mein Führer'until freeze to death. I still see their frozen faces in my dreams sometimes. Strange, Herr Knoll, in a sense I owe my life to a German." "How so?"

"If one of four talk, Goring would have tied me to stake and kill same way." He was tired of remembering. He wanted the bastard out of his house before the laxative took effect. "I hate Germans, Herr Knoll. I hate Communists. I told KGB nothing. I tell you nothing. Now, go."

Knoll seemed to sense that further inquiry would be fruitless, and he stood. "Very well, Mr. Borya. Let it not be said I pressed. I will bid you a good night." They walked to the foyer, and he opened the front door. Knoll stepped outside, turned, and extended his hand to shake. A casual gesture, seemingly more out of politeness than duty.

"A pleasure, Mr. Borya."

He thought again about the German soldier, Mathias, as he'd stood naked in the freezing cold, and how he'd responded to Goring.

He spat on the outstretched palm.

Knoll said nothing, nor did he move for a few seconds. Then, calmly, the German slipped a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped the spittle away as the door slammed in his face.

Chapter Eight

FOURTEEN

9:35 p.m.

Borya once again scanned the article fromInternational