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overseas to the private line in Franz Fellner's study. It was almost 5P.M. in Germany. He wasn't sure who would answer or even who he was reporting to now. Power was clearly in transition-Fellner was phasing himself out while Monika assumed control. But the old man was not the type to let go easily, especially with something like the Amber Room at stake. "Guten tag, "Monika answered after two rings.

"You on secretary duty today?" he asked in German.

"About time you called in. It's been a week. Any luck?"

"We should get something straight. I don't check in like a schoolboy. Give me a job and leave me alone. I'll call when necessary."

"Touchy, aren't we?"

"I require no supervision."

"I'll remind you of that the next time you're between my legs."

He smiled. Hard to back her down. "I found Borya. He said he knew nothing." "And you believed him?"

"Did I say that?"

"He's dead, right?"

"A tragic fall down the stairs."

"Father will not like this."

"I thought you were in charge?"

"I am. And frankly it matters not. But Father's right-you take too many risks." "I took no unnecessary risks."

In fact, he'd been quite cautious. Careful on his first visit to touch nothing other than the tea glass, which he removed on the later visit. And when he returned the second time his hands were gloved.

"Let's say I decided the course necessary under the circumstances."

"What did he do, insult your pride?"

Amazing how she could read him even from four thousand miles away. He never realized himself to be so transparent. "That's unimportant."

"One day your luck will run out, Christian."

"You sound like you look forward to the day."

"Not really. You'll be hard to replace."

"In which way?"

"Every way, you bastard."

He smiled. Good to know he got under her skin, too. "I've learned Borya's daughter is on her way to Munich. She might be going to see Chapaev."

"What makes you think that?"

"The way Borya dodged me, and something he said about the panels." Maybe better stay lost.

"The daughter could simply be vacationing."

"I doubt that. Too much of a coincidence."

"You going to follow her?"

"Later today. There's something I need to handle first."

Chapter Eleven

TWENTY-TWO

Suzanne watched Christian Knoll from across the mezzanine. She was seated inside a crowded waiting room, CLERK OF COURT,TRAFFIC FINES stenciled on the outer glass wall. About seventy-five people waited their turn to approach a Formica counter and dispose of citations, the whole scene chaotic, stale cigarette smoke lingering in the air despite several NO SMOKING signs.

She'd been following Knoll since Saturday. Monday, he'd made two trips to the High Museum of Art and one to a downtown Atlanta office building. Tuesday, he attended Karol Borya's funeral. She'd watched the graveside service from across the street. He'd done little yesterday, a trip to the public library and a shopping mall, but today he was up early and on the move.

Her short blond hair was stuffed beneath a tendriled, brownish-red wig. Extra

makeup splotched her face, and her eyes were shielded by a pair of cheap sunglasses. She wore tight jeans, a collarless 1996 Atlanta Olympics jersey, and tennis shoes. A cheap black bag was slung over one shoulder. She fit right in with the crowd, a People magazine open in her lap, her eyes constantly shifting from the page to the phone bank across the hectic mezzanine.

Five minutes ago she'd followed Knoll to the sixth floor and watched while he entered Rachel Cutler's chambers. She recognized the name and knew the connection. Knoll was obviously not giving up, most likely now reporting to Monika Fellner what he learned. That bitch would definitely be a problem. Young. Aggressive. Hungry. A worthy successor to Franz Fellner, and a nuisance in more ways than one.

Knoll hadn't stayed long in Rachel Cutler's office, certainly not long enough to meet with her. So she'd backed off, fearful he might notice her presence, unsure if the disguise would be effective camouflage. She'd worn a different ensemble each day, careful not to repeat anything he might recognize. Knoll was good. Damn good. Fortunately, she was better.

Knoll hung up the phone and headed for the street.

She tossed the magazine aside and followed.

Knoll flagged a cab and rode back to his hotel. He'd sensed somebody Saturday night

at Borya's house after he twisted the old man's neck. But he definitely detected Suzanne Danzer on Monday, and every day since. She'd disguised herself well. But too many years in the field had honed his abilities. Little escaped him now. He'd almost been expecting her. Ernst Loring, Danzer's employer, wanted the Amber