The Amber Room

FIVE

Borya waited until the next half hour, hoping headline news would contain some story repeats. And he was lucky. The same report on Wayland McKoy's search of the Harz Mountains for Nazi treasure appeared at the end of the six-thirty segment.

He was still thinking about the information, twenty minutes later, when Paul arrived. By then he was in the den, a German road map unfolded on the coffee table. He'd bought it at the mall a few years back, replacing the dated National Geographic one he'd used for decades.

"Where are the children?" Paul asked.

"Watering my garden."

"You sure that's safe for your garden?"

He smiled. "It's been dry. They can't hurt."

Paul plopped into an armchair, his tie loosened and collar unbuttoned. "That daughter of yours tell you she put a lawyer in jail this morning?"

He didn't look up from the map. "He deserve it?"

"Probably. But she's running for reelection, and he's not one to mess with. That fiery temper is going to get her in trouble one day."

He looked at his former son-in-law. "Just like my Maya. Run off half-crazy in a moment."

"And she won't listen to a thing anybody says."

"Got from her mother, too."

Paul smiled. "I bet." He gestured to the map. "What are you doing?"

"Checking something. Saw on CNN. Fellow claims art is still in Harz Mountains."

"There was a story in USA Today on that this morning. Caught my eye. Some guy named McKoy from North Carolina. You'd think people would give up on the Nazi legacy thing. Fifty years is a long time for some three-hundred-year-old canvas to languish in a damp mine. It would be a miracle if it wasn't a mass of mold."

He creased his forehead. "The good stuff already found or lost forever."

"I guess you should know all about that."

He nodded. "A little experience there, yes." He tried to conceal his current interest, though his insides were churning. "Could you buy me copy of that USA newspaper?"

"Don't have to. Mine's in the car. I'll go get it."

Paul left through the front door just as the back door opened and the two children trotted into the den.

"Your papa's here," he said to Marla.

Paul returned, handed him the paper, then said to the children, "Did you drown the tomatoes?"

The little girl giggled. "No, Daddy." She tugged at Paul's arm. "Come see Granddaddy's vegetables."

Paul looked at him and smiled. "I'll be right back. That article is on page four or five, I think."

He waited until they left through the kitchen before finding the story and reading every word.

GERMAN TREASURES AWAIT?

By Fran Downing, Staff Writer

Fifty-two years have passed since Nazi convoys rolled through the Harz Mountains into tunnels dug specifically to secret away art and other Reich valuables. Originally, the caverns were used as weapons manufacturing sites and munitions depots. But in the final days of World War II, they became perfect repositories for pillaged loot and national treasures.

Two years ago, Wayland McKoy led an expedition into the Heimkehl Caverns near Uftrugen, Germany, in search of two railroad cars buried under tons of gypsum. McKoy found the cars, along with several old master paintings, toward which the French and Dutch governments paid a handsome finder's fee.

This time McKoy, a North Carolina contractor, real estate developer and amateur treasure hunter, is hoping for bigger loot. He's been a part of four past expeditions and is hoping his latest, which starts next week, will be his most successful.

"Think about it. It's 1945. The Russians are coming from one end, the Americans from another. You're the curator of the Berlin museum full of art stolen from every invaded country. You've got a few hours. What do you put on the train to get out of town? Obviously, the most valuable stuff."

McKoy tells the tale of one such train that left Berlin in the waning days of World War II, heading south for central Germany and the Harz Mountains. No records exist of its destination, and he's hoping the cargo lies within some caverns found only last fall. Interviews with relatives of German soldiers who helped load the train have convinced him of the train's existence. Earlier this year, McKoy used ground-penetrating radar to scan the new caverns.

"Something's in there," McKoy says. "Certainly big enough to be boxcars or storage crates."

McKoy has already secured a permit from German authorities to excavate. He's particularly excited about the prospects of foraging this new site, since, to his knowledge, no one has yet excavated the area. Once a part of East Germany, the region has been off-limits for decades. Current German law provides that McKoy can retain only a small portion of whatever is not claimed by rightful owners. Yet McKoy is undeterred. "It's exciting. Hell, who knows, the Amber Room could be hidden under all that rock."

The excavations will be slow and hard. Backhoes and bulldozers could damage the treasure, so McKoy will be forced to drill holes in the rocks and then chemically break them apart.

"It's slow going and dangerous, but worth the trouble," he says. "The Nazis had prisoners dig hundreds of caves, where they stored ammunition to keep it safe from the bombers. Even the caves used as art repositories were many times mined. The trick is to find the right cave and get inside safely."

McKoy's equipment, seven employees and a television crew are already waiting in Germany. He plans to head there over the weekend. The nearly $1 million cost is being borne by private investors hoping to cash in on the bonanza.

McKoy says, "There's stuff in the ground over there. I'm sure of it. Somebody's going to find all that treasure. Why not me?"

He looked up from the newspaper. Mother of Almighty God. Was this it? If so, what could be done about it? He was an old man. Realistically, there was little left he could do.

The back door opened and Paul strolled into the den. He tossed the paper on the coffee table.

"You still interested in all that art stuff?" Paul asked.

"Habit of lifetime."

"Would be kind of exciting to dig in those mountains. The Germans used them like vaults. No telling what's still there."

"This McKoy mentions Amber Room." He shook his head. "Another man looking for lost panels."

Paul grinned. "The lure of treasure. Makes for great television specials."

"I saw the amber panels once," he said, giving in to an urge to talk. "Took train from Minsk to Leningrad. Communists had turned Catherine Palace into a museum. I saw the room in its glory." He motioned with his hands. "Ten meters square. Walls of amber. Like a giant puzzle. All the wood carved beautifully and gilded gold. Amazing."

"I've read about it. A lot of folks regarded it as the eighth wonder of the world."

"Like stepping into fairy tale. The amber was hard and shiny like stone, but not cold like marble. More like wood. Lemon, whiskey brown, cherry. Warm colors. Like being in the sun. Amazing what ancient masters could do. Carved figurines, flowers, seashells. The scrollwork so intricate. Tons of amber, all handcrafted. No one ever do that before."

"The Nazis stole the panels in 1941?"

He nodded. "Bastard criminals. Strip room clean. Never seen again since 1944." He was getting angry thinking about it and knew he'd said too much already, so he changed the subject. "You said my Rachel put lawyer in jail?"

Paul sat back in the chair and crossed his ankles on an ottoman. "The Ice Queen strikes again. That's what they call her around the courthouse." He sighed. "Everybody thinks because we're divorced I don't mind."

"It bothers?"

"I'm afraid it does."

"You love my Rachel?"

"And my kids. The apartment gets pretty quiet. I miss all three of 'em, Karl. Or should I say, Karol. That's going to take some getting used to."

"Us both."

"Sorry about not being there today. My hearing got postponed. It was with the lawyer Rachel jailed."

"I appreciate help with petition."

"Any time."

"You know," he said, a twinkle in his eye, "she's seen no man since divorce. Maybe why she's so cranky?" Paul noticeably perked up. He thought he'd read him right. "Claims too busy. But I wonder."

His former son-in-law did not take the bait, and simply sat in silence. He returned his attention to the map. After a few moments, he said, "Braves on TBS."

Paul reached for the remote and punched on the television.

He didn't mention Rachel again, but all through the game he kept glancing at the map. A light green delineated the Harz Mountains, rolling north to south then turning east, the old border between the two Germanies gone. The towns were noted in black. Gottingen. Munden. Osterdode. Warthberg. Stod. The caves and tunnels were unmarked, but he knew they were there. Hundreds of them.

Where was the right cave?

Hard to say anymore.

Was Wayland McKoy on the right track?