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This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
That night a figure made its way quickly to the house on the quieter side of town. Strains of Mozart's music could still be heard from a far off concert. Lights in the house had recently blinked on.
The man paused at the porch, clutching the briefcase tightly in his hand. Carrying this much cash was not characteristic, but necessary tonight. He tried to think of a time when he had escorted more; none came to mind.
He knocked on the door.
Dog barking came from within.
He gripped the case handle, bracing for what sounded like a very large dog. A woman's voice scolded the animal and the barking lessened. A man's tone joined the woman's and the outside light flicked. The door opened and he was face to face with the Fredericks.
"Good evening, Herr Direktor," he greeted the couple.
Ian Fredericks estimated the man on the porch, nodding. He dismissed his wife and she took the Doberman into another room before he turned back to the man on the porch. "Come in."
The visitor nodded. He stepped in and introduced himself by a name Fredericks didn't believe authentic. They spoke briefly in the foyer, covering much in the few moments.
When the man finished his proposal, Fredericks simply stared at him. "The Amber Chamber?" he repeated of the request. "Who sent you here?" He looked cautiously to the door, listening, but heard no one else from outside. "Who?"
"No one," the man insisted. "I come of my own." He carefully set the briefcase on the eighteenth century cabinet in the entryway. Inside the attaché were stacks of Euros. He named an outrageous sum, watching Fredericks closely. "I can exchange it for any currency you prefer. Or sterling or gold. Your choice."
Fredericks' eyes were on the bills. The price was certainly right.
Carlos and Lauren were at Fredericks' shop at ten o'clock sharp the next morning. The clerk behind the counter gave them the bad news: Fredericks would not be in until after the sprawling lunch hour.
More than miffed, curator and assistant took up their posts across the street at an eatery's curbside courtyard and ordered the breakfast they had neglected earlier.
"Stretch your palate, Lauren," Carlos said wearily as they settled in for a long, leisure meal. "We're not leaving until I speak with Fredericks."
She nodded as the waitress brought their coffee. "I'll take the first watch." She fished the new sunglasses she'd bought the day before from her bag and slipped them on. She didn't want to get caught ogling their Polish shadow.
"We'll take it on the half hour." He took out the brochures they'd collected from touring the city and thanked the waitress as she left.
Lauren sat back with a brochure touting the Schloss Hellbrunn, conceived for the comfort of the city's prince-bishops in the seventeenth century.
She glanced around at the few customers filling the corner tables. No frozen-eyed Polish men, she decided. She watched as one man entered the courtyard and took a seat at the table behind Carlos. She sat straighter and tried to see beyond the dark glasses and the day's growth of beard on the man.
When he caught her stare, he responded with a smile. She smiled back and dropped her attention to the brochure, sorry she'd been so obvious.
At least it wasn't their Polish shadow.
Near the German border, Rybak knelt on the slope, watching the road below with practiced patience. The tree line broke just at the curve ahead, slightly below the rise of grassy slope he was on.
He squinted through the gun scope with his good eye. It would be a clear shot. If he knew anything about his target it was his destination. Berlin.
It was always Berlin for the pricey commodities, and it was usually Schärding. He glanced over at Metz dozing in the car in the thick weeds, then back down the grade to the road.
He took aim again, satisfied with his vantage point, and then glanced at the sun climbing slowly in the bright sky. It was a lovely day for an acquisition.
By noon Lauren had exhausted all of the reading material handy, including accommodation tips and copyright notices on the brochures. She frowned at the cloudless sky and then looked to Carlos as he spoke.
"There he goes."
They watched the clerk from Fredericks' shop close the store for the noonday meal. He slipped his arm around a short woman who was coming up the sidewalk, obviously an acquaintance, and they strolled into the thicker part of town.
Carlos sighed. "We may as well eat," he said, consulting the coffee specials list the waitress had left at their table and from which they had sampled most. "We owe the establishment a justified meal."
They retreated inside the restaurant to where the trestle tables were filling fast. They claimed the last one with a view of the street and antique shop and yielded to a break from awaiting Fredericks.
Being early in the noon rush, they were greeted by a new, cheerful waitress who smiled broadly and named off the house's lunch specials in adequate English. Carlos ordered a variety of bock- and bratwursts, bowls of French potato salad, a few appetizers, and the standard rolls and breads.
Lauren was daunted at the mere mention of the hearty meal. "How long are we staying?"
"As long as it takes."
The waitress returned with two mugs of honey beer and oval plates of pickled mushrooms and assorted pâtés. Carlos chuckled at Lauren as she sampled a mushroom.
"It's an acquired taste. Try the veal pâté."
She spread a scoop of one variety on a piece of toasted bread. "Do you suppose our shadow took the day off?"
He shook his head. "Doubtful. He's just more cautious today, for some reason." His gaze was fastened on the shop across the street. "I'd still like to know how he found us—if it is us he's following."
She looked at him, puzzled, and then nodded. "I see. The third party Gustalav mentioned could be here and it's him the Polish man is trailing, not us. That means we were all at the beer garden in Vienna, and we're all here now. Four of us now?" she asked in a low tone before sitting back to look past a shrub outside to the antique shop across the street. "Fredericks' is surrounded."
He wasn't convinced. "That's quite a group. Gudhoff said he had three inquiries about the item, not four."
"Maybe one showed up after our visit."
"Good point."
The waitress returned with the potato salad and thick slices of ham, refilled their mugs, and promised to return soon. A strong smell met Lauren's nose as she hovered over the potato salad. It was more like a thick soup, she decided, with boiled potatoes thinly sliced in a brine of eggs, minced onions, oil, and vinegar.
She tasted it. Rich, best when eaten with ham, and addictive.
"We may have yet to meet the other party from the auction," Carlos said between bites of ham and potatoes.
"I wonder who it is." The beer was unduly bitter after the salad-soup and she took a quick drink of her water. "We know Reuben was the slighted party. Who else was a good prospect? Lady Eldicott viewed the plates in the crypt, too. Elden said she regretted having to pass on them."
"Who else was there for any length of time?" he asked more of himself than her. "Not Madame Chatillier. I doubt her unfortunate companion."
"Madame Poussin."
"Yes. Poussin. Monsieur. . ." He broke off, wiping his mouth hastily with a napkin as he averted his eyes from the window. "Our man is early."
She looked to where a tall, thin man was unlocking the antique shop door across the street and changing the sign to "Open."
Carlos stood and pulled out his wallet, leaving enough money on the table to cover the meal, a healthy tip, and any faux pas they may have committed in leaving so hastily.
Watch your inbox for more chapters as Dr. Sheldon and Lauren try to stay ahead of competitors as they follow rumors of the lost Amber Chamber.
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