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This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
Lauren was unable to keep this meeting.
Shortly after she awoke the next morning, Carlos came to her door with thinly suppressed urgency. He waved away her questions, stating only that the Duke wanted to show them something interesting.
They followed Gustalav down the north wing of the chateau corridor and into a third floor study. He gestured to a pair of red leather chairs, but didn't take a seat himself.
Lauren looked around at the room. Its furnishings were current, not merely modern. One whole wall was devoted to blank security monitors. A sinking feeling gnawed at her nerves as the Duke took a remote control from the office desk across from them. Carlos glanced at her as one of the screens on the wall blinked on.
The sinking ebb in Lauren's stomach lurched as she watched the night-vision security tape of herself creeping into the vault crypt and examining the tarped crates. It was only a few moments of film, but she felt it would never end. When it was finally over, no one spoke for a long moment.
"I don't understand," Gustalav said with a sigh, sitting in a chair across from Carlos now but looking at her, "why you didn't cover up the camera like you did the first time."
She frowned, fears shifting into a blend of unnerved confusion. "The first time I was with you and Mr. Grant."
The Duke looked puzzled, then nodded. "I see."
"Lauren was acting on behalf of the museum," Carlos began hastily. "She only—"
Gustalav waved him aside. "This is not a question of trespassing." His tone lacked animosity. He retrieved a broken flashlight from the desk drawer and set it on the desktop.
She immediately recognized it and groaned.
"Were you injured in the fall?"
"No," she said, clearing her throat. "No, thank you." She looked from Carlos back to the Duke. "I didn't fall completely. Dr. Sheldon knew nothing of my trip to the vault until afterward. I—"
"No, no," Gustalav cut in. "This is not an interrogation, Mademoiselle Gates." He looked at Carlos with a slow smile, a large finger wagging at Lauren. "I have been watching this one. There is something purposeful about her. I want to know," he continued, his attention returning to her, "what were you looking for?"
Carlos touched her arm as she hesitated answering. "We've heard you have the Amber Chamber."
Gustalav blinked, and then laughed. "The Amber Chamber?" He shook his head. "The stuff of legends. A desperate attempt by Yeltsin to obtain German aid. You know his documents to its location were useless?"
Carlos nodded. "But we know it's here," he insisted as Gustalav's eyes went to Lauren. "Even before this incident."
"That's what you did not ask me last night," he said more than inquired of Carlos. He stood up, pacing the room for a moment. He paused at an open window to look at the stables in the distance. A deep frown creased his face. "You are not alone in that knowledge. It was he who covered the camera," he added almost inaudibly to himself. He turned back to them, reaching for a crystal decanter on the desk beside the flashlight. "I have been approached already." He poured three glasses full on the silver charger.
Carlos accepted the brandy the Duke offered, but Lauren declined when he looked her way.
"We can almost certainly exceed his bid," the curator said.
Gustalav swallowed his drink quickly, fingers tight on the glass. "The chamber is not available to just anyone," he admitted, pouring himself more. "Not to the Germans. Not the Russians. Perhaps Poland. It is not a matter of money alone. Some treasures need completion."
Lauren's hopefulness returned and she knew Carlos felt the same.
He set the brandy down. "You know where the rest is?"
Gustalav smiled wearily. "I've had my walls for over six years. A colleague secured them from a defunct mine in Göttingen. Not all of it arrived; mercenary transports sold parts to other traders who have been trying to put it on the silent markets since the Wall came down."
Carlos nodded but didn't speak, watching with Lauren as a kind of relief seemed to slip over the Duke.
"It is a difficult treasure to exchange. Governments large enough to buy it also have the power to take it. Brutally, if necessary." Gustalav refilled his glass again and took a seat in the chair behind the desk. "My colleague only recovered about three walls before his health failed him. His mind, well, it was not fully intact. The fumes from the recovery, or so he thought. He married foolishly. An accident took his life and that of his wife also. I've made no effort to recover the other amber panels. I see no reason to further garnish Edmund's plate," he added thickly.
Carlos considered the other man's fallen demeanor and chose his words carefully. "You would not part with your panels?"
"Not unless there was a chance of completing the chamber—from the original material, not the recreation in St. Petersburg."
Carlos glanced at Lauren as the Duke studied his drink. "How many walls do you have?" he asked, turning back to the man.
Gustalav sighed. "Near as I can determine, a long wall or a good portion of two short ones. That's what I was told. I haven't attempted reassembly." He watched Carlos steadily. "This is also what you did not ask me about when we spoke yesterday."
The curator returned his attention, nodding. "A difficult subject to broach."
Gustalav exhaled slowly. "Indeed it is."
"If we could obtain part of the other walls," Carlos posed, "would you sell?"
Gustalav considered this for a long moment, his weighty stare sliding from Carlos to Lauren and then back again. "I could be persuaded," he finally said. "To the right buyer."
Lauren was glad to escape the confines of Gustalav's office five minutes later. Carlos stayed to discuss matters with the Duke. She excused herself when she recognized the curator's faint sign of dismissal and eagerly acted on it.
Outside the nearest exit of the massive house she could find, a south breeze swept up the Rhine as she made her escape. The scent of orchids and lilacs rode with it, but the fragrance was lost on her pensive climate. She followed a walkway and paused at the river's edge, watching the blue crystal waters sparkle brilliantly in the mid-morning sun. It made her recall what Reuben had said the night before about faceted gems.
She refused to continue that thought and turned away as Madame Varlette came up the walkway and greeted her.
"I'm pleased you are still here," the woman said, smiling despite the worry on Lauren's face. "Are you waiting on the Doctor?"
"No," Lauren said as they continued on the walkway together. "He's in conference with the Duke. I, I just wanted to see the river again before we left."
They followed the hedge-lined walk, joined by a short-haired silvery-gray cat. It fell into step without glancing at either of them. Its gait was languid, soft gray coat rippling silkily in the sun and breeze.
"You want the chamber, too," Madame Varlette said.
Lauren's foot caught the brick walk wrong and she nearly stumbled.
The older woman smiled at her reaction.
Lauren nearly blurted, "You know?"
"There's not much of my brother's business I do not. Only this morning," she said before Lauren could voice the next question. "Were you hurt in the collapse?"
"No, no," Lauren stuttered.
"Let's sit here."
Madame Varlette gestured to the cedar wood gazebo that had dissolved from the tall lilac shrubs. The cat heard her mistress' suggestion and scampered ahead of them. Lauren followed the lady and took a seat across from her at the small table inside the lattice enclosed gazebo. She tried to calm her rattled nerves as Madame Varlette's attention went to the wooden floor below the table.
The cat sidled up to the Lauren, winding itself around her legs. Its chalk blue eyes dared her to pet it. She put a hand down. The silver coat was smooth over the feline's arched back.
"She approves of so few," Madame Varlette said, her gaze warm as she looked to the cat. "She has no name. None that I know. She wandered in one day. I suppose she will wander away when she decides to, no?"
Lauren nodded. "Cats do have a tendency to do that."
"But we will certainly take her with us when we leave," Madame Varlette said with a sigh.
A maid had spotted Madame Varlette at the gazebo and now brought iced tea to them. Madame Varlette murmured her thanks and dismissed her.
Lauren gathered her courage for the next question. "Madame, forgive me," she began, her lips feeling dry despite a quick sip of the tea, "but how can you hide such a treasure? There are many who grieved its loss. Countless searches. Lives of effort wasted on—"
"Have you considered the alternative?" Madame Varlette spoke easily enough, her tone lacking accusation or reproach. "The panels would be ripped from us. My brother would be questioned about other walls. Who has them? Where did these come from? What kind of man was this colleague? None of this done delicately, you understand."
"I understand."
"Nothing would be the same." Madame Varlette straightened, her dim smile brightening at another thought. "I have seen it, you know."
Lauren frowned. "The panels?"
The older woman shook her head, her smile taking on a mischievous slant. "The Chamber. I met my husband in that room. Barclay and I were touring the Czar's Village and Pavlovkoye. He wanted to see what was left of Rastrelli's Mon Bijou. Barclay was having a hunting lodge built outside Colmar and heard of the green rooms." She smiled indulgingly. "There was little to see, and Barclay's interpretation fell short of Rastrelli's even most modest work, but it suits us. It will be our home after Edmund claims the hall."
Lauren felt she should say something, wanted to, but fell silent. Madame Varlette was battling with more than she knew. Memories of her late husband. The crypt's treasure. The chateau in Edmund's cold hands. As if sensing this, the cat rubbed around Madame Varlette's ankles, a purr deep in its throat. Lauren marveled at how this seemed to fortify the woman.
"But the Amber Chamber," Madame Varlette said wistfully, her quivering smile now for Lauren rather than memories. "Have you seen photos of it?"
"Yes. One."
"The one in color? Yes. Does no justice." She took a long drink of tea. "The room was ablaze. Like God had put a sunset in the house. Never the same twice, that room. The lighting, gas or candle, always produced a different effect. Sometimes it was a nut cake drenched in honey, other times a crisp confection with the silver-framed mirrors and candelabras. Always warm." She leaned closer to Lauren. "I beat a visiting viscount from Belfast at chess there. The pieces were of white opaque amber and the darker, molasses-colored variety." She took a deep breath and sat back. The cat leaped into her lap. "The air always smelled of heliotrope. It comes back to me every time I recall the room." Her gaze drifted far away in memory for a few seconds, but then focused sharply on Lauren. Her smile grew forced. "Old woman prattle. You will stay for dinner tonight?"
Lauren smiled earnestly, trying to revive the older woman's expression. "Dr. Sheldon hasn't decided yet. I hope to."
The long warm day had stretched endlessly into a timidly cool evening. Lunch and dinner had come and gone without a chance for Lauren to speak privately with Carlos. Most of the other houseguests were straggling out in various departures so that only a meager handful remained around the spacious dinner table that evening.
Madame Varlette seemed especially sad at the emptiness. Her blithely chatting with Lady Eldicott as the Englishwoman took her final leave set a wounded picture in Lauren's mind she could not erase.
Odd how a residence could be haunted by joy and sadness at the same time, she thought.
She sat in her darkened bedroom later that evening with only liquid company after dinner. In the meager light of a clouded moon, the murals on the walls took on a pearly lilac luminescence. She settled in the rosewood ladies chair at the small table and stared at her second drink. Events of the day replayed through her head.
In the few years she had been apprenticing for Carlos' position as assistant she had been scared a dozen times or more, but today she had really been frightened. It wasn't only the realization of her trip to the vault being discovered. There was more.
And, she knew, the Duke's tepid reaction to her excursion wouldn't be enough to cancel any other such attempts under similar circumstances. She knew that.
What did frighten her, she was reluctant to admit, was her own desire to see the chamber, even in its current dusty, unassembled form. A momentary glimpse was enough.
For now.
But that brief look was fading, and an even greater need to see the entire chamber was building. Madame Varlette's vivid memories and description only heightened this notion. Carlos' anticipation was contagious and she understood how a man of his standing in the professional and academic communities could be less than truthful with the museum heads about the visit. She couldn't imagine hearing of the possible acquisition and not accompanying the hunt.
She sighed, grateful that her nerves had stopped rattling. Gustalav's understated attitude during the meeting left her with a new regard for the man. Madame Varlette had given her a new, personal view of the chamber, too.
"Lauren?"
She flinched, looking to the door where Carlos was peeking in from the hallway.
"Come in. I didn't hear you knock." She flicked on the small lamp as the curator came in and shut the door behind him. She saw him look to the half-filled glass on the marble-topped table.
"That's unlike you."
"It's mostly water."
"Then you're due something stronger." He sat down across from her, squinting at the murals on the walls without his glasses. "What a beautiful room."
"I like it, too."
He watched her take a drink. A small smile crossed his face. "You were scared today."
She tried and failed to share his expression. "I should have known it was under surveillance. You don't keep a gold mine without a guard."
"Especially one so accessible."
She nodded, pushing the bottle of brandy to him on the table. "I don't understand. He wasn't angry."
He shook his head, pouring himself a glass. "He probably has a tape on everyone else, too."
"Who was in the other footage of the crypt? Who covered up the camera?"
"I didn't ask. Without a doubt, one of the parties who made the first offers."
"Offers?"
"Two."
She locked her lips, debating her next question. "Was it Reuben?"
"On the tape or making an offer?" His smile widened. "I would stake money that it was him on both accounts. We know he knows about the crates, and we know there are at least three parties interested in the amber." He sat back, eyes moving over the walls again, trying to focus better on their detailing in the dim lighting without his glasses. "One was rather upset that the Duke wouldn't negotiate with a Russian or German agent."
"I'd think he'd be more than upset. Reuben, I mean," she clarified.
He nodded. "Did you see him before he left?"
"No." She took a deep breath and finished the weak drink. "I kind of stood him up for breakfast this morning." She shook her head when he raised the bottle.
"You liked him."
She half shrugged. "The Cold War is over."
"Lauren, Cold War, Wall or no, you're under no obligation to accept my judgments of character," he said gently.
"You're usually right about people. I'd be a fool not to at least listen and consider, and, well . . . I think he would have been interesting to talk to."
He nodded slightly. "How's your back?"
"A little sore. Nothing, really." She told him about her conversation with Reuben in the kitchen the night before, trying to read his reaction in the dim light.
He nodded slowly. "The most reputable of dealers wouldn't have admitted to knowing about the panels."
"That's what I thought." She smiled, blaming her frankness on the brandy. "I would have liked the chance to know him better, I guess."
"Sound of you to say so."
She sat straighter, closer to the table when her spine met the chair back. "What else did Gustalav have to say?"
"Plenty. He's heard rumors of the walls being in Poland, Germany, Austria, half of the former Soviet Union, even the Netherlands. He never knew the exact location of the Göttingen mine, or even that it was potash. He seems to think it was coal or silver. I didn't tell him our guess." He sighed, weariness in his exhale. "He hasn't been approached directly until today, but he's heard that ever since Koch died, Poland wants the chamber as much as Russia and Germany. He knew of a couple of leads to investigate in Austria and Poland."
She wasn't sure how much this affected their pursuit of the Duke's amber, but it didn't sound good. "Did he give Reuben the same information?"
He shook his head. "One party claimed to already have a few leads on other wall panels. I don't believe the Duke would hand out information to a Russian or German agent if he wouldn't sell to them. I'm not sure about the other party, but from what Gustalav said this afternoon, it may be Poland."
"Then they're ahead of us."
"We'll see." He stood up slowly. "We've been invited to stay a few more days should we need time to make our contacts and convince Cooper and Stends to let us take the next step."
"Do you think we'll have a problem with the museum giving consent?"
"I don't see one, but it's hard to tell how this is all going to sound half a world away." He patted her arm. "You rest up, dear, and stay out of the vault tonight."
"No problem there." She watched him walk to the door. "Goodnight, Dr. Sheldon."
"Goodnight."
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