The Amber Room (30 page)

“You found it, then.” Kurt felt his voice was disembodied, spoken by another—one whose knees had not gone weak at the news and whose heart was not hammering like thunder.

“Did I not just say that?” Erika permitted herself a chuckle. “Though I had to stand and gaze for quite a while before believing it myself.”

“How did it look?”

“Rats,” she said. “Big ones. And bones. Our colonel left no tongues alive to tell tales.”

“I meant the—”

“Don't say it,” Erika warned.

“I was simply going to ask about the merchandise.”

“Unimpressive. Covered in mud. And other things.”

“But you're certain?”

“Ferret is positive. I have come to trust in our little man's judgment. That surprises me almost as much as our find.”

He repeated, “How did it look?”

This time she answered him. “Fistfuls of dark glass, carved with weird designs, covered with the filth of ages. Ferret only let me clean a few, he says each piece was wrapped in tissue paper—”

“Covered with the place-code for putting it back together,” Kurt finished for her. His heart was beating so hard it was difficult to get the words out. “I remember him saying it.”

“Yes, well, for that reason he did not let me clean but a few. And those . . .”

“Well?” Kurt urged.

“I do not wish to sound absurd.”

He bit off the remark that came first to his tongue, said, “Tell me.”

“Great jewels,” she replied. “Glass vessels full of molten gold when held to the light. All the shades of a bronze rainbow. Like nothing I have ever seen in my life.”

“An amber rainbow,” Kurt said. He thought he heard the old colonel stir behind him, give off a ghostly sigh of defeat. But his attention remained fastened upon what he himself would never see.

“I told you it was absurd.”

“You did well,” Kurt replied. “After all, the only glimpse I shall ever have is through your eyes.”

“Perhaps not. I am hoping to convince Ferret that we should keep a few mementos.”

“With one for me, I hope.”

“How not?” She spoke in muffled tones to someone in the room, came back with, “Ferret says now is not the time for idle chatter. He says to contact the lawyer and set up the meeting. Not by phone. It is possible that there are still listening ears.”

“Tomorrow,” Kurt said, the excitement making his voice rise. “I will travel back to Schwerin at first light. There is too much ice on the roads just now to risk driving at night.”

“Tomorrow is fine.”

“She will give those antique dealers the when and where as
we discussed.” Kurt continued talking now simply to hold on to the contact. “At the city whose name I cannot pronounce.”

“Czestochowa,” Erika replied. “You will wait until we have confirmed it all went smoothly.”

“And then travel to Poland.”

“Where we shall not meet.”

“As was agreed,” he said. “It is safer, and yet I worry.”

“By the time you arrive, we will have gone on to Switzerland to await the transfer of funds.” Again the muffled talk, then, “Ferret says that you can trust us.”

“I have no choice.”

“No.” She paused. “But in any case you can. You have my word.”

“It is enough.” And to his surprise, it almost was.

“Ferret says, do you remember where to go upon your arrival?”

“For the hundredth time, yes.”

“We shall call you once the money has been received and pass on the remaining details.” A smile came to her voice. “Palm trees.”

“What?”

“Your dream. Beaches of white sand. Does Argentina have beaches?”

“And coconuts,” Kurt replied, and suddenly wanted to laugh out loud. “And all the rest.”

“You will hear from us,” Erika said.

Kurt hung up the phone and turned back to where the colonel sat in his lone and ragged chair. Kurt looked closer, realized that the old hands were motionless. Kurt moved forward, saw how the jaw had fallen slack. The old colonel's eyes stared sightlessly at the feeble fire. Kurt bent to place one ear next to the frail chest, wondered idly if he should not list the cause of death as a broken heart.

CHAPTER 29

“Regular as clockwork, you are,” Andrew said when he realized it was Jeffrey calling. “Still off on your travels this week?”

“Tomorrow,” Jeffrey replied.

“Won't do me any good to ask where, will it?”

“Not a bit.”

“No, didn't think so.” Andrew gave a jolly sigh. “Have to tell you, lad. I'm having the time of my life reading about all these lovelies. Something I didn't know the first thing about before.”

“A whole new world.”

“That's it exactly. Not to mention the three buys I've made so far. Good bit of brass, they were.”

“Alexander says to tell you they're all really first-rate.”

“Yes, I thought so myself.” His tone sobered. “Nothing on the chalice, I'm afraid.”

Jeffrey did not try to hide his disappointment. “I can't stop hoping.”

“No, nor I. I did come across something rather interesting, though. Found a description and a sketch of what looks like the chalice in question.”

“The one we brought from Cracow or the one we took back?”

“The only one I've seen, whichever one that is. I assume the one you're looking for, I ruddy well hope so, seeing as how that's the one I've got my eyes peeled for. And from what you've said, on the surface there isn't much difference between the two.”

“Sorry. Stupid question.”

“Yes, it was. No matter. Case of nerves does that to a body. Anyway, it says here, hang on, let me see if I can lay my hands on it.” The phone was dropped, then Jeffrey heard the sounds of rummaging. Andrew returned with, “Yes, here it is. Found
it in one of the old tomes you brought by, dated 1820. From the looks of it, the book hasn't been opened in over a century. Says that in 1475 a chalice was designed by this goldsmith called Bertolucci for the Holy See. What a name, the Holy See. Sounds like some great marble bath with a dozen gilded cupids spouting scented water. Anyway, one chalice was made in silver and gold with a secret compartment as a reliquary, while two others were produced at the same time
without
this compartment, so that the reliquary could be secured in the Vatican vaults while a similar chalice was used during Mass and other religious ceremonies.”

Jeffrey felt a peal of hope pick up the pace of heart. “Very interesting.”

“Yes, isn't it just.”

“I don't know what it means, though.”

“No, nor I. Perhaps you ought to run this lot by the old gent, see what he can make of it. Tell him it appears to me that the thick plottens, or whatever it is they say in the spy flicks.”

“I'll do that.”

“Pass on my regards while you're at it.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Don't mention it. This favor I'm doing, turns out it's loads of fun. Not to mention the odd commission.”

“You're a big help, Andrew.”

“Not yet, I'm not. But there's always hope.”

Jeffrey hung up, turned back to where Katya and Alexander waited. “Andrew's found something.”

“So it sounded,” Alexander said.

“One of the older tomes described what appears to be our chalice, and provided a small sketch. Interestingly enough, three chalices were made, only one of which had the secret compartment for the relic. Apparently they were made in Rome. For the Vatican.”

“Rome,” Alexander said. “Our dear friend the Count will be most pleased to hear that he has been vindicated after all.”

Jeffrey nodded. “He was so sure he had seen it before.”

“The man has a positively incredible memory. People take him for a fool all too often, but behind that clownish exterior rests a brilliant mind, one that has lofted him up from obscurity to immense wealth.”

“And his interest in antiques is borderline fanatic,” Jeffrey added.

“What was it he said,” Katya asked, “something about having seen the same chalice in Italy?”

“I don't have to remind you,” Jeffrey mimicked, “of the exclusive circles I travel in while visiting Rome.”

“Let's take this one step at a time,” Katya suggested. “We've learned that there is definitely a chalice with a secret compartment and two other chalices very similar to it.”

“And the chalices were made in Rome for the Vatican,” Alexander added. “Or at least so this book has declared.”

“We need to follow up on this,” Jeffrey agreed.

“Indeed. Do these chalices exist, and is one of them still in the Vatican collection? That's what we need to know next,” Alexander said.

“I know my way around the university libraries,” Katya offered. “I could check to see if this reliquary is catalogued anywhere in the official Vatican collections.”

“Splendid,” Alexander declared. “Jeffrey, when we arrive in Cracow tomorrow, while you begin your work on the next shipment, I shall make my report to Rokovski.”

“Not Karlovich?”

Alexander shook his head. “The less I see of that man, the better. There is something about him which I find positively disagreeable.” He looked at Katya. “My dear, I shall need you to assist Mrs. Grayson from time to time in the shop.”

“And to spend every possible moment in the library stacks,” Katya added for him.

“Precisely. I shall return the day after tomorrow. Unless your research requires more time, the following day you shall travel out to assist Jeffrey.”

“I'll start first thing tomorrow morning,” she assured him.

“Excellent.” Alexander patted his knees with evident satisfaction. “This is most reassuring. I was positive that the crafting of the piece I returned was so exquisite as to make it impossible for it to be modern imitation.”

“And now there are three,” Katya said.

“Perhaps.” Alexander nodded. “If so, it explains the situation at least in part.”

Jeffrey asked, “But why would anyone have switched them?”

“That,” Alexander agreed, “is a question we must diligently pursue.”

****

Jeffrey rented a car upon their arrival at the Cracow airport. The driver Alexander had used in the past was now working daily for Gregor, either transporting purchased antiques or aiding with one of the numerous children's projects. Alexander acted as navigator on their drive into the night-darkened town, guiding him through streets whose names had been rendered out-of-date by the demise of Communism.

“Good evening, Alexander,” Gregor said in greeting when they arrived at his minuscule apartment. “Welcome back.”

“Hello, Cousin,” Alexander replied wearily, returning the formal double kiss. “You are looking well.”

“Thank you, I am feeling marvelously fit for a winter's eve.” Gregor turned to Jeffrey and smiled warmly. “My dear young friend, what a joy it is to see you again. Come in, come in.”

Once they were seated and the formalities of offering tea were completed, Gregor turned his attention to Alexander. “Tell me how you have been, Cousin.”

Alexander made a visible effort to push aside the flight fatigue. “We continue to receive an excellent response from the gala, I am happy to say. A number of new patrons have joined our cause.”

“That was not what I was asking, but I am glad for you nonetheless.”

Alexander looked at him sharply. “Why do I detect a note of condemnation in your voice?”

“I do not seek to condemn,” Gregor replied.

“Criticize then. It is there clear as day.”

Gregor sipped at his tea before replying quietly, “We are told in Proverbs not to boast about the day. The Hebrew word is
hellal
, which means praise when applied to God, but boast when applied to man. Do you see? When we place ourselves in the spotlight, we assume a strength we do not have. We are indulging in self-worship, or self-praise. We have robbed the Master of what He gave to us only on loan, and claimed it for ourselves.”

“I do not think I seek to praise myself,” Alexander protested, his voice lacking its customary strength. “And neither does the bishop. I have spent considerable time with him recently. He is a most admirable man, and he speaks of God in terms which are much easier for me to follow than those of others whom I do not care to name.”

“My dear cousin,” Gregor replied. “I seriously doubt that the Lord will deem to speak to your heart through the bishop.”

Alexander looked genuinely peeved. “Why on earth not? Besides you and Jeffrey here, the bishop is the person with whom I feel most comfortable discussing this whole affair.”

“Precisely for that reason do I think He will select another.”

Alexander showed alarm. “You don't suggest I contact one of those glossy television pundits, do you?”

“I think you should do away entirely with the thought of finding God through those who have achieved worldly fame.”

“And pray tell, why should I? I am simply seeking to meet people in keeping with my own nature.”

“It is not your nature that we are discussing here.”

Alexander swatted at the words. “I will have none of your vague hints and mysterious wanderings.”

“All right, then. What if God has something else in mind?”

“Why should He? The bishop speaks a language I can understand.”

“What if God chooses to use a different voice?” Gregor persisted. “The cry of a lonely child, for instance. Will you hear that in a bishop's chamber? Or what if He speaks through a woman of the streets? What if He calls to you from the bitter cold of an old man's empty hearth, or the shameful solitude of a prison cell?”

Alexander shifted uncomfortably. “Why is it that your questions tear at me, Gregor?”

“Perhaps because God may choose to speak through me just now, though that is only something you and He can tell. In any case, I hope it is not just me behind these words.”