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south to Italy. It will get cool before we make it to Kehlheim."

She'd wondered earlier why he'd worn a long-sleeved shirt and long pants. She'd dressed in a pair of khaki walking shorts and short-sleeved button-down. Suddenly she realized this was the first time she'd driven anywhere with a man other than Paul since the divorce. It was always the children, her father, or a girlfriend. "I meant what I said yesterday. I am sorry about your father," Knoll said. "He was very old."

"The terrible thing about parents. One day we lose them."

He sounded like he meant it. Expected words. Surely said out of courtesy. But she appreciated the sentiment.

And found him even more intriguing.

Chapter Fourteen

TWENTY-EIGHT

11:45 a.m.

Rachel studied the old man who opened the door. He was short with a narrow face topped by shaggy silver hair. Graying peach fuzz dusted his withered chin and neck. His frame was spare, his skin the shade of talcum, the face wizened like a walnut. He was at least eighty, and her first thought was of her father and how much the man reminded her of him.

"Danya Chapaev? I'm Rachel Cutler. Karol Borya's daughter."

The old man stared deep. "I see him in your face and eyes."

She smiled. "He'd be proud of that fact. May we come in?"

"Of course," Chapaev said.

She and Knoll entered the tiny house. The one-story building was formed from old timber and aging plaster, Chapaev's the last of several chalets that straggled from

Kehlheim on a wooded lane.

"How did you find my place?" Chapaev asked. His English was much better than her father's.

"We asked in town where you lived," she said.

The den was homey and warm from a small fire that crackled in a stone hearth. Two lamps burned beside a quilt sofa, where she and Knoll sat. Chapaev slipped down into a wooden rocking chair facing them. The scent of cinnamon and coffee drifted in the air. Chapaev offered a drink, but they declined. She introduced Knoll, then told Chapaev about her father's death. The old man was surprised by the news. He sat in silence for a while, tears welling up in his tired eyes.

"He was a good man. The best," Chapaev finally said.

"I'm here, Mr. Chapaev-"

"Danya, please. Call me Danya."

"All right. Danya. I'm here because of the letters you and my father sent to each other

about the Amber Room. I read them. Daddy said something about the secret you two share and being too old now to go and check. I came to find out what I could." "Why, child?"

"It seemed important to Daddy."

"Did he ever speak with you about it?"

"He talked little about the war and what he did afterwards."

"Perhaps he had a reason for his silence."

"I'm sure he did. But Daddy's gone now."

Chapaev sat silent, seeming to contemplate the fire. Shadows flickered across his

ancient face. She glanced at Knoll, who was watching their host closely. She'd been forced to say something about the letters, and Knoll had reacted. Not surprising, since she'd intentionally withheld the information. She figured there'd be questions later. "Perhaps it's time," Chapaev softly said. "I wondered when. Maybe now is the moment."

Beside her, Knoll sucked a long breath. A chill tingled down her spine. Was it possible this old man knew where the Amber Room was located?

"Such a monster, Erich Koch," Chapaev whispered.

She did not understand. "Koch?"

"A gauleiter," Knoll said. "One of Hitler's provincial governors. Koch ruled Prussia and Ukraine. His job was to squeeze every ton of grain, every ounce of steel, and every slave laborer he could from the region."

The old man sighed. "Koch used to say that if he found a Ukrainian fit to sit at his table, he'd shoot him. I guess we should be grateful for his brutality. He managed to convert forty million Ukrainians, who greeted the invaders as liberators from Stalin, into seething partisans who hated Germans. Quite an accomplishment." Knoll said nothing.

Chapaev went on. "Koch toyed with the Russians and the Germans after the war, using the Amber Room to stay alive. Karol and I watched the manipulation, yet could say nothing."

"I don't understand," she said.

Knoll said, "Koch was tried in Poland after the war and sentenced to die as a war criminal. The Soviets, though, repeatedly postponed his execution. He claimed to know where the Amber Room was buried. It was Koch who ordered it removed from Leningrad and moved to Konigsberg in 1941. He also ordered its evacuation west in 1945. Koch used his supposed knowledge to stay alive, reasoning that