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enter the Christinenhof. There was nowhere to hide in the cramped lobby.

He was relieved when she casually rolled up her jacket collar and strolled back down the street. He headed for the front door and cautiously peered out. Danzer entered another hotel just down the street, the Gebler, as the sign out front announced, its cross-beamed facade sagging from the weight of centuries. He'd passed it on his way to the Christinenhof. It made sense she'd stay there. Nearby, convenient. He retreated back into the lobby and watched through the window, trying not to appear conspicuous to the few people loitering around. Fifteen minutes passed, and still she did not reappear.

He smiled.

Confirmation.

She was there.

THIRTY-EIGHT

1:15 p.m.

Paul studied alfred grumer with his lawyer eyes, examining every facet of the man's face, gauging a reaction, calculating a likely response. He, McKoy, Grumer, and Rachel were back in the shed outside the mine. Rain peppered the tin roof. Nearly three hours had passed since the initial find, and McKoy's mood, like the weather, had only dampened.

"What the fuck's going on, Grumer?" McKoy said.

The German was perched on a stool. "Two possible explanations. One, the trucks were empty when they were driven in the cavern. Two, somebody beat us inside."

"How could somebody beat us to it? It took four days to bore into that chamber, and the other way out is sealed shut with tons of crap."

"The violation could have happened long ago."

McKoy took a deep breath. "Grumer, I have twenty-eight people flyin' in here tomorrow. They've invested a shitload of money into this rat hole. What am I suppose to say to 'em? Somebody beat us to it?"

"The facts are the facts."

McKoy shot from the chair, rage in his eyes. Rachel cut him off. "What good is that going to do?"

"It'd make me feel a whole lot better."

"Sit down," Rachel said.

Paul recognized her court voice. Strong. Firm. A tone that allowed no hint of doubt. A tone she'd used too many times in their own home.

The big man backed off. "Jesus Christ. This is some shit." He sat back down. "Looks like I might need a lawyer. The judge here certainly can't do it. You available, Cutler?"

He shook his head. "I do probates. But my firm has a lot of good litigators and contractlaw specialists."

"They're all across the pond and you're here. Guess who's elected."

"I assume all the investors signed waivers and acknowledgments of the risk?" Rachel asked.

"Lot of damn good that'll do. These people have money and lawyers of their own. By next week, I'll be waist deep in legal bullshit. Nobody'll believe I didn't know this was a dry hole."

"I don't agree with you," Rachel said. "Why would anyone assume you'd dig knowing there was nothing to find? Sounds like financial suicide."

"Maybe that little hundred-thousand-dollar fee I'm guaranteed whether we find anythin' or not?"

Rachel turned toward Paul. "Maybe you should call the firm. This guy does need a lawyer."

"Look, let me make somethin' clear," McKoy said. "I have a business to run back home. I don't do this for a livin'. It costs to do this kind of shit. On the last dig, I charged the same fee and made it back with more. Those investors got a good return. Nobody complained."

"Not this time," Paul said. "Unless those trucks are worth something, which I doubt. And that's assuming you can even get them out of there."

"Which you can't," Grumer said. "That other cavern is impassable. It would cost millions to clear it."

"Fuck off, Grumer."

Paul stared at McKoy. The big man's expression was familiar, a combination of resignation and worry. Lots of clients looked that way at one time or another. Actually, though, he wanted to stay around. In his mind he saw Grumer in the cavern again, brushing letters from the sand. "Okay, McKoy. If you want my help, I'll do what I can."

Rachel gave him a strange gaze, her thoughts easy to read. Yesterday he'd wanted to go home and leave all this intrigue to the authorities. Yet here he was, volunteering to represent Wayland McKoy, piloting his own chariot of fire across the sky at the whim of forces he did not understand and could not control.

"Good," McKoy said. "I can use the help. Grumer, make yourself useful and arrange rooms for these folks at the Garni. Put them on my tab."

Grumer did not appear pleased at being ordered around, but the German did not argue, and he headed for the phone.

"What's the Garni?" Paul asked.

"Where we're staying in town."

Paul