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that surprised her. "All right. Why not. We'll go together. I'm staying at the Hotel Waldeck. A couple of blocks that way." "I'm across the street from the Waldeck at the Elisabeth."

She shook her head and smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Knoll watched Rachel Cutler disappear into the crowd.

That went quite well.

He tossed a few euros on the table and left the cafe. He rounded several corners and recrossed the Marienplatz. Past the food market, busy with early diners and revelers, he headed for Maximilian strasse, an elegant boulevard lined with museums, government offices, and shops. The pillared portico of the National Theater rose ahead. In front, a line of taxis wrapped the statue of Max Joseph, Bavaria's first king, patiently waiting for fares from the evening's early performance. He crossed the street and walked to the fourth taxi in line. The driver was standing outside, arms folded, propped against the Mercedes' exterior.

"Good enough?" the driver asked in German.

"More than enough."

"My performance afterwards convincing?"

"Outstanding." He handed the man a wad of euros.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Christian."

"You, too, Erich."

He knew the driver well, having used him before when in Munich. The man was both reliable and corruptible, two qualities he sought in all his operatives. "You getting soft, Christian?"

"How so?"

"You only wanted her frightened, not killed. So unlike you."

He smiled. "Nothing like a brush with death to breed trust."

"You want to fuck her or something?"

He didn't want to say much more, but he also wanted the man available in the future. He nodded and said, "A good way to get into the pants."

The driver counted off the bills. "Five hundred euros is a lot for a piece of ass." But he considered the Amber Room and the ten million euros it would bring him. Then reconsidered Rachel Cutler and her attractiveness, which had lingered after she'd left.

"Not really."

Chapter Thirteen

TWENTY-FIVE

Atlanta, Georgia

12:35 p.m.

Paul was concerned. He'd skipped lunch and stayed in the office, hoping Rachel

would call. It was after 6:30P.M. in Germany. She'd mentioned the possibility of staying in Munich one night before heading to Kehlheim. So he wasn't sure if she'd call today, or tomorrow after she made it south to the Alps, or if she'd call at all. Rachel was outspoken, aggressive, and tough. Always had been. That independent spirit was what made her a good judge. But it also made her hard to know, and even harder to like. Friends didn't come easy. But down deep, she was warm and caring. He knew that. Unfortunately, the two of them were like grease and fire. But were they, really? They both thought a quiet dinner at home better than a crowded restaurant. A video rental preferable to the theater. An afternoon with the kids at the zoo heaven, compared with a night out on the town. He realized she missed her father. They'd been close, particularly after the divorce. Karol had tried hard to get them back together.

What had the old man's note said?

Maybe give Paul another chance.

But it was no use. Rachel was determined that they were to live apart. She'd rebuffed every attempt he made at a reconciliation. Maybe it was time he obliged her and gave

up. But there was something there. Her lack of a social life. Her reliance and trust in him. And how many men possessed a key to their ex-wife's house? How many still shared the title to property? Or continued to maintain a joint account for stocks? She'd never once insisted that their Merrill Lynch account be closed, and he'd managed it the last three years without her ever questioning his judgment.

He stared at the phone. Why hadn't she called? What was going on? Some man, Christian Knoll, was supposedly looking for her. Perhaps he was dangerous. Perhaps not. All the information he possessed was the word of a rather attractive brunette with bright blue eyes and shapely legs. Jo Myers. She'd been calm and collected, handling his questions well, her answers quick and to the point. It was almost as if she could sense his apprehension toward Rachel, the doubts he harbored about her traveling to Germany. He'd volunteered a little too much, and that fact bothered him. Rachel had no business in Germany. Of that he was sure. The Amber Room was not her concern, and it was doubtful Danya Chapaev was even still alive.

He reached across his desk and retrieved his former father-in-law's letters. He found the note penned to Rachel and scanned down the page about