The Amber Room

TWENTY-SEVEN

9:15 a.m.

Rachel glanced across the front seat at Christian Knoll. They were speeding south on autobahn E533, thirty minutes south of Munich. The terrain framed by the Volvo's tinted windows featured ghostly peaks emerging from a curtain of haze, snow whitening the folds of the highest altitudes, the slopes below clothed in verdant fir and larch.

"It's beautiful out there," she said.

"Spring is the best time to visit the Alps. This your first time in Germany?"

She nodded.

"You will very much like the area."

"You travel a lot?"

"All the time."

"Where's home?"

"I have an apartment in Vienna, but rarely do I stay there. My work takes me all over the world."

She studied her enigmatic chauffeur. His shoulders were broad and muscular, his neck thick, his arms long and powerful. He was again dressed casually. Plaid chamois cloth shirt, jeans, boots, and smelled faintly of sweet cologne. He was the first European man she'd ever really talked with at length. Maybe that was the fascination. He'd definitely piqued her interest.

"The KGB sheet said you have two children. Is there a husband?" Knoll asked.

"Used to be. We're divorced."

"That's rather prevalent in America."

"I hear a hundred or more a week in my court."

Knoll shook his head. "Such a shame."

"People can't seem to live together."

"Is your ex-husband a lawyer?"

"One of the best." A Volvo whizzed by in the left-hand lane. "Amazing. That car's got to be going over a hundred miles an hour."

"Closer to one hundred and twenty," Knoll said. "We're doing nearly a hundred."

"That's a definite difference from home."

"Is he a good father?" Knoll asked.

"My ex? Oh, yes. Very good."

"Better father than husband?"

Strange, the questions. But she didn't mind answering, the anonymity of a stranger lessening the intrusion. "I wouldn't say that. Paul's a good man. Any woman would be thrilled to have him."

"Why weren't you?"

"I didn't say I wasn't. I simply said we couldn't live together."

Knoll seemed to sense her hesitancy. "I did not mean to pry. It's just that people interest me. With no permanent home or roots, I enjoy probing others. Simple curiosity. Nothing more."

"It's okay. No offense taken." She sat silent for a few moments, then said, "I should have called and told Paul where I'm staying. He's watching the children."

"You can let him know this evening."

"He's not happy I'm even here. He and my father said I should stay out of it."

"You discussed this with your father before his death?"

"Not at all. He left me a note with his will."

"Then why are you here?"

"Just something I have to do."

"I can understand. The Amber Room is quite a prize. People have searched for it since the war."

"So I've been told. What makes it so special?"

"Hard to say. Art has such a varying effect on people. The interesting thing about the Amber Room was that it moved everyone in the same way. I've read accounts from the nineteenth and the early part of the twentieth century. All agree it was magnificent. Imagine, an entire room paneled in amber."

"It sounds amazing."

"Amber is so precious. You know much about it?" Knoll asked.

"Very little."

"Just fossilized tree resin, forty to fifty millions of years old. Sap hardened by the millennia into a gem. The Greeks called it elektron, 'substance of the sun,' for the color and because, if you rub a piece with your hands, it produces an electric charge. Chopin used to finger chains of it before he played the piano. It warms to the touch and carries away perspiration."

"I didn't know that."

"The Romans believed if you were a Leo, wearing amber would bring you luck. If you were a Taurus, trouble was ahead."

"Maybe I should get some. I'm a Leo."

He smiled. "If you believe in that sort of thing. Medieval doctors prescribed amber vapor to treat sore throats. The boiling fumes are very fragrant and supposedly possessed medicinal qualities. The Russians call it 'incense from the sea.' They also--I'm sorry, I may be boring you."

"Not at all. This is fascinating."

"The vapors can ripen fruit. There's an Arab legend about a certain Shah who ordered his gardener to bring him fresh pears. Problem was, pears were out of season and the fruit would not be ready for another month. The Shah threatened to behead the gardener if he didn't produce ripe pears. So the gardener picked a few unripe pears and spent the night praying to Allah and burning amber incense. The next day, in response to his prayers, the pears were rosy and sweet, ready to eat." Knoll shrugged. "Whether that's true or not, who knows? But amber vapor does contain ethylene, and that stimulates early ripening. It can also soften leather. The Egyptians used the vapor in the mummifying process."

"My only knowledge is from jewelry, or the pictures I've seen with insects and leaves inside."

"Francis Bacon called it 'a more than royal tomb.' Scientists look at amber as a time capsule. Artists think of it like paint. There are over two hundred and fifty colors. Blue and green the rarest. Red, yellow, brown, black, and gold most common. Whole guilds emerged in the Middle Ages that controlled distribution. The Amber Room was crafted in the eighteenth century, the very epitome of what man could do with the substance."

"You know the subject well."

"My job."

The car slowed.

"Our exit," Knoll said as they sped off the autobahn, down a short ramp, and braked at the bottom. "From here we go west by highway. It's not far to Kehlheim." He turned the wheel right and quickly worked the gears, regaining speed.

"Who do you work for?" she asked.

"I cannot say. My employer is a private person."

"But obviously wealthy."

"How so?"

"To send you across the globe looking for art. That's not a hobby for a poor man."

"Did I say my employer was a man?"

She grinned. "No, you didn't."

"Nice try, Your Honor."

Green meadows sprinkled with copses of tall fir lined the highway. She brought down the window and soaked in the crystalline air. "We're rising, aren't we?"

"The Alps start here and spread 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.