Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

“What do the rest of the people say?”
    “You’ve heard of Erick Koch, a former Nazi from what was then East Prussia?”
    “Have I?”
    “He’s the one who said the Amber Room is still buried in Königsberg, which the Russians renamed Kaliningrad. He ought to know. He’s the one who buried it.”
    “Why didn’t he dig it up?”
    “He spent his life in jail after the Nazis fell. Various folks wooed him and whispered promises of freedom in his ear, but even on his deathbed he never told where the loot was hidden.”
    “Next theory,” Ellen said coolly.
    “Then there’s Dr. Alfred Rohde, who said he locked up the amber in an underground cellar. Same city as Koch, different burial. Of course, that was before the Allies bombed the place to rubble and the Russians came, paved it over, and built a new city.”
    Ellen’s expression didn’t change.
    Jake kept talking. His tone said that he thought it was all fairy dust and he was a man who no longer believed in the glittery stuff.
    “One of the men looking for the Amber Room today thinks it’s in a brewery in Kaliningrad,” Jake said.
    “What do you think?”
    “I think that digging beneath the rubble of that old building is a good way to die. Live munitions left over from fifty years of war and revolution, flooded underground rooms, falling walls, that sort of thing. gerous.”
    Ellen made a sound that said she was listening.
    “Then there’s the shipped-to-America theory,” he said. “Some wealthy, conveniently anonymous collector paid megabucks and hid the room in his modern American castle. A variation of that theory is the room went to South America-Uruguay or Argentina—with a departing Nazi as the Third Reich came crashing down around Hitler. Have I mentioned the Stasi?”
    “No.”
    “Can’t leave them out. The former East German Ministry of State Security, known as the Stasi to their friends, wasted years and millions looking for the imperial room. No luck, of course.”
    “Why do you say ‘of course’? Do you believe the Amber Room won’t ever be found?”
    “I think it went up in smoke when the Allies leveled what was then Königsberg. Amber burns like what it is—pitch, the basic component of ancient torches. Great smell, a plume of soot, and a fast fire.”
    “But Boris Yeltsin told the Germans that the Amber Room was hidden somewhere in what used to be East Germany,” Ellen objected.
    “Yeltsin also said you could graft a free market economy onto a corrupt, self-destructing communist base, and do it in a year. I’m sure he would love to pull an amber rabbit out of his hat to please and excite the disgusted masses, but my money is on coming up empty-handed.”
    Again, nails tapped against leather. The wind gusted and set the fir trees to swaying. Streamers of cloud whipped by above the trees. Waves slapped against the cliff face with a stealthy sound.
    Jake looked at his watch again. Only a few minutes had passed. It seemed like a lot more. Certain people had that effect on him. Ellen was one of them. It hadn’t always been that way, but everybody grew up eventually—if they lived long enough.
    “You’re not after the Amber Room,” Ellen said, looking closely at him.
    “Like you said, I don’t believe in fairy dust anymore.”
    “If you heard something useful, would you call me?”
    “I don’t have your number.”
    “We’ve got yours. I’ll be nearby.”
    Jake didn’t even try to look happy about the prospect. “Don’t bother.”
    “No bother at all.”
    “Jesus,” he said in disgust. “You really do believe Kyle is holding a piece of the Amber Room.”
    She hesitated, then said, “We have to proceed as though we believe that.”
    “Why?”
    “The alternative is to be caught with our bare ass hanging over a buzz saw. You have seventy-two hours before I yank your ticket with Honor Donovan. My card is by your telephone. If you get lucky or smart, give us a call. You help us, we help you. Get smart, Jake.”
    “Good-bye,” he said, walking around her.
    “I mean it.”
    “So do I.”
    Before the door closed behind him, Ellen’s car started up. By the time he picked up the telephone, she was disappearing down the winding dirt road. He didn’t have to look up the number he was calling. As it started ringing, he opened Kyle’s boat log and began scanning it.
    “Emerging Resources, may I help you?” asked a pleasant voice.
    “I sure hope so, Fred. Is my Number Two in?”
    “Hi, Jake. She’s