Hardly. Dangerous as h.e.l.l was a better description.

The acrid odor of an electrical burn filled his nostrils. The chamber started to cool from the darkness. He opened his eyes. Black slowly dissolved and even darker forms appeared. Beyond the opening, past the gallery to the main shaft, lights flashed as bulbs exploded.

He ran toward them.

[image]

Suzanne raced for daylight. Footsteps echoed from behind. Knoll was coming. She had to move fast. She emerged into a dim afternoon and sprinted through thick forest toward her car. The half kilometer would take a minute or so to traverse. Hopefully she had enough of a lead on Knoll to give her time. Maybe he wouldn't know which direction she went after exiting.

She zigzagged past tall pines, through dense ferns, breathing hard, commanding her legs to keep moving.

[image]

Knoll exited the tunnel and quickly took stock of the surroundings. Off to his right, clothing flashed through the trees fifty meters away. He took in the shape of the runner.

A woman.

Danzer.

He sprinted in her direction, stiletto in hand.

[image]

Suzanne reached the porsche and leaped in. She revved the engine, slammed the gear shift into first, and plunged the accelerator to the floor. Tires spun, then grabbed, and the car lurched forward. In the rearview mirror, she saw Knoll emerge from the trees, knife in hand.

She sped to the highway and stopped, then c.o.c.ked her head out the window and saluted before speeding away.

[image]

Knoll almost smiled at the gesture. Payback for his mocking of her in the Atlanta airport. Danzer was probably proud of herself, pleased with her escape, another one-up on him.

He checked his watch. 4:30 P P.M.

No matter.

He knew exactly where she'd be in six hours.

FORTY-FOUR.

4:45 p.m.

Paul watched the last partner file out of the salon. Wayland McKoy had smiled at each one, shook their hands, and a.s.sured them that things were going to be great. The big man seemed pleased. The meeting had gone well. For nearly two hours they'd fended questions, lacing their answers with romantic notions of greedy n.a.z.is and forgotten treasure, using history as a narcotic to dull the investors' curiosity.

McKoy walked over. "Friggin' Grumer was pretty good, huh?" Paul, McKoy, and Rachel were now alone, all the partners upstairs, settling into their rooms. Grumer had left a few minutes ago.

"Grumer did handle himself well," Paul said. "But I'm not comfortable with this stalling."

"Who's stallin'? I intend to excavate that other entrance, and it could lead to another chamber."

Rachel frowned. "Your ground radar soundings indicate that?"

"s.h.i.t if I know, Your Honor."

Rachel took the rebuke with a smile. She seemed to be warming to McKoy, his abrupt att.i.tude and sharp tongue not all that different from her own.

"We'll bus the group out to the site tomorrow and let 'em get an eyeful," McKoy said. "That should buy us a few more days. Maybe we'll get lucky with the other entrance."

"And pigs will fly," Paul said. "You've got a problem, McKoy. We need to be thinking through your legal position. How about I contact my firm and fax them that solicitation letter. The litigation department can look at it."

McKoy sighed. "What's that goin' to cost me?"

"Ten thousand retainer. We'll work off that at two-fifty an hour. After, it's by the hour, paid by the month, expenses on you."

McKoy sucked in a deep breath. "There goes my fifty thousand. d.a.m.n good thing I haven't spent it."

Paul wondered if it was time McKoy knew about Grumer. Should he show him the wallet? Tell him about the letters in the sand? Perhaps he knew all along about the chamber being barren and simply withheld the information. What had Grumer said this morning? Something about suspecting the site was dry. Maybe they could blame everything on him, a foreign citizen, and claim justifiable reliance. If not for Grumer, McKoy wouldn't have dug. If not for Grumer, McKoy wouldn't have dug. That way the partners would be forced to go after Grumer in the German courts. Costs would skyrocket, perhaps making litigation an economic impracticability. Maybe enough of a problem to send the wolves in retreat. He said, "There's something else I need--" That way the partners would be forced to go after Grumer in the German courts. Costs would skyrocket, perhaps making litigation an economic impracticability. Maybe enough of a problem to send the wolves in retreat. He said, "There's something else I need--"

"Herr McKoy," Grumer said as he rushed into the salon. "There's been an incident at the site."

[image]

Rachel studied the worker's skull. A knot the size of a hen's egg sprouted beneath the man's thick brown hair. She, Paul, and McKoy were in the underground chamber.

"I was standing out there," the man motioned to the outer gallery, "and the next thing I knew, everything went black."

"You didn't see or hear anyone?" McKoy asked.

"Nothing."

Workers were busy replacing the blown-out bulbs in the light bars. One lamp was already glowing again. She studied the scene. Smashed lights, bulbs obliterated in the main shaft, one of the canvas awnings ripped down the side.

"The guy must have got me from behind," the man said, rubbing the back of his head.

"How do you know it was a guy?" McKoy asked.

"I saw him," another worker said. "I was in the shed outside going over the tunnel routes for the area. I saw a woman race out of the shaft with a gun in her hand. A man came out right after. He had a knife. They both disappeared into the woods."

"You go after 'em?" McKoy asked.

"s.h.i.t, no."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"You pay me to dig, not be a hero. I headed in here. Place was black as soot. I went back out and got a flashlight. That's when I found Danny lying in the gallery."

"What did the woman look like?" Paul asked.

"Blonde, I think. Short. Fast as a jackrabbit."

Paul nodded. "She was at the hotel earlier."

McKoy said, "When?"

"While you and Grumer were talking. Came in for a minute then left."

McKoy understood. "Just the f.u.c.k long enough to see if we were all there."

"Looks that way," Paul said. "I think it was the same woman from my office. Different look, but there was something familiar about her."

"Lawyer intuition s.h.i.t?" McKoy said.

"Something like that."

"Did you get a look at the man?" Rachel asked the worker.

"Tall guy. Light hair. With a knife."

"Knoll," she said.

Visions of the knife blade from the mine flashed through her mind. "They're here, Paul. Both of them are here."

Rachel was uneasy when she and Paul climbed the Garni's stairs to their second-floor room. Her watch read 8:10 P P.M. Earlier, Paul had telephoned Fritz Pannik but got only an answering service. He left a message about Knoll and the woman, his suspicions, and asked the inspector to call. But there was no return message waiting at the front desk.

McKoy had insisted they eat dinner with the partners. Fine by her--the more crowds, the better. She, Paul, McKoy, and Grumer had divided the group between them, the talk all of the dig and what might be found. Her thoughts, though, stayed on Knoll and the woman.

"That was tough," she said. "I had to watch every word I said so no one could say later I misled them. Maybe this wasn't such a bright idea?"

Paul turned down the hall toward their room. "Look who's not adventurous now."

"You're a respected lawyer. I'm a judge. McKoy has latched on to us like Velcro. If he did bilk these people, we could become accomplices. Your daddy used to say all the time, 'If you can't run with the big dogs, get back under the porch.' I'm ready to climb back under."

He fished the room key from his pocket. "I don't think McKoy ripped anybody off. The more I study that letter, the more I read it as ambiguous, not false. I also think McKoy is genuinely shocked by the find. Now, Grumer--him, I'm not so sure about."

He unlocked the door and switched on the overhead light.

The room was wrecked. Drawers were yanked out. The armoire door swung open. The mattress was askew with the sheets half off. All their clothes lay strewn on the floor.

"The maid service in this place sucks," Paul said.

She wasn't amused. "This doesn't bother you? Somebody's searched this place. Oh, s.h.i.t. Daddy's letters. And that wallet you found."

Paul closed the door. He slipped off his coat and yanked out his shirttail. A body wallet wrapped his abdomen. "Going to be a little difficult for anybody to find."

"Mother of G.o.d. I'll never berate your obsessiveness again. That was d.a.m.n smart, Paul Cutler."

He lowered his shirt. "Copies of your daddy's letters are back at the office in the safe just in case."

"You expected this?"

He shrugged. "I didn't know what to expect. I just wanted to be prepared. With Knoll and the woman now around, anything can happen."

"Maybe we should get out of here. That judges' campaign waiting back home doesn't seem so bad right now. Marcus Nettles is a piece of cake compared to this."

Paul was calm. "I think it's time we do something else."

Instantly, she understood. "I agree. Let's go find McKoy."

[image]

Paul watched McKoy attack the door. Rachel stood behind him. The effects of three huge steins of beer showed in the intensity of McKoy's pounding.

"Grumer, unlock this G.o.dd.a.m.ned door," McKoy screamed.

The door opened.

Grumer was still dressed in the long-sleeved shirt and trousers worn at dinner. "What is it, Herr McKoy? Has there been another incident?"

McKoy pushed into the room, shoving Grumer aside. Paul and Rachel followed. Two bedside lamps burned soft. Grumer had obviously been reading. An English copy of Polk's Dutch Influence on German Renaissance Painting Dutch Influence on German Renaissance Painting lay parted on the bed. McKoy grabbed Grumer by the shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, rattling the picture frames. lay parted on the bed. McKoy grabbed Grumer by the shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, rattling the picture frames.

"I'm a North Carolina redneck. Right now, a half-drunk North Carolina redneck. You may not know what that means, but I'll tell you it ain't good. I'm in no d.a.m.n mood, Grumer. No d.a.m.n f.u.c.kin' mood at all. Cutler tells me you dusted away letters in the sand. Where are the pictures?"

"I know nothing of what he says."

McKoy released his grip and rammed a fist into Grumer's stomach. The man doubled over, choking for air.

McKoy yanked him up. "Let's try it one more time. Where are the pictures?"

Grumer struggled for breath, coughing up bile, but managed to point to the bed. Rachel grabbed the book. Inside were a clutch of color photographs showing the skeleton and letters.

McKoy dropped Grumer to the carpet and studied the pictures. "I want to know why, Grumer. What the h.e.l.l for?"

Paul wondered if he should issue a caution on the violence, but decided that Grumer had it coming. Besides, McKoy probably wouldn't listen anyway.

Grumer finally answered. "Money, Herr McKoy."

"Fifty thousand dollars I paid you wasn't enough?"

Grumer said nothing.

"Unless you want to start coughin' up blood, you'd better tell me everything."