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This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
Lauren could say nothing well of the rental car, save its sheer lack of size must prove economical. It took less than an hour to lease and cram their belongings into the boxy auto. Carlos unfolded a tri-color map, taking up nearly the entire windshield.
"Are you sure you want to drive?" he asked, adjusting his glasses as his finger followed a red line on the map to Wien.
Truthfully, she was only sure she did not want him to drive. She nodded eagerly. "Yes. I'm quite sure."
"Good. We head east."
She held her breath as they eased into the unusually heavy festival traffic that now had the complications of a parade. "You never told me what Gudhoff said about backing out."
He refolded the map for several frustrating moments and delayed answering until the car crossed the river and crawled away from the festivities.
"He was terribly offended. Said the other parties had pulled out, too, claiming the same excuse. He insisted his amber was genuine, and that the panels came from an old Hessian mine by way of a worthy source six years ago."
"Sounds like the story Gustalav told."
"Exactly what I was thinking."
Her jaw set as a local taxi whizzed by them at the city limit sign. "I'm not questioning your authority, Dr. Sheldon," she said tentatively, "but are you sure about the Polish man's ring? If he is Polish. I mean, you only had a glimpse. You said it was a rarity."
"I'm sure it's one of two possible castings." He took off his reading glasses and cleaned them carefully with his handkerchief. "The Amber Guild of Danzig released a dozen rings to the carvers of the Amber Chamber in 1721. The ones presented to Sergei Scriba and Gottfried Turan are the only rings of the dozen accounted for, currently on display at the Smithsonian. In 1990, the Pushkin—the modern name for Tsarskoye Selo—the Pushkin chapter of the Lost Arts Society reissued the rings, again a dozen, to commemorate the replica of the chamber created by Russian carvers in St. Petersburg. These went into the Catherine Palace, where they all remain on display."
"Which means the man we saw is wearing an original." She whistled lowly. "Impressive. He must sit well in some hierarchy."
They passed the road signs for Linz, Graz, and Wien.
She relaxed as traffic from the city thinned, sighing. "How good is this contact in Warsaw?"
He rolled the window down to give himself enough room for an elbow rest. "Fredericks seemed to think it genuine. It's the best we have now. We've exhausted the names from Gustalav. If this man doesn't have any panels, he'll have an idea where they are."
"Why hasn't Fredericks gobbled them up?"
"I wondered that, too," he said with a thoughtful frown. "For one thing, he would have to buy them, not merely lift them and switch for fakes with the convenience of an employer's absence. Fredericks is doing well; an active shop in Salzburg, with many of Gudhoff's former contacts and clients. Well, but not that well.
"Also, he already had a section of the chamber—still had it as of last night. He couldn't move it because he couldn't advertise. If he put the word out, Gudhoff may discover the exchange. I doubt Fredericks' regulars—most of them also being Gudhoff's clients—are in a position to purchase such an exclusive commodity."
"Why be stranded with two chamber partials when you can't even move one." She nodded. "Providing he could afford purchasing more." She considered the curator's pensive expression. "What else are you thinking?"
He tapped the thin door trim that lined the window. "I'm wondering how much more willing a Polish dealer is going to be to work with his own government rather than us."
In Vienna Carlos and Lauren exchanged the rental car for one to take across the border into the Czech Republic. With several hours yet to drive, she was glad to see the better-equipped Audi they rented.
It took her half an hour to adjust to the car shifter's short-travel gears, adhering to the main road as far as they could. Later, however, she was forced to use some secondary roads two hours north of Bratislava to Warsaw. They stopped only twice for fuel and skipped a formal dinner completely. She was famished by the time Carlos pulled out the rolls of sausage, white cheese, and the twisted loaf of bread they had bought at the Alter Markt in Salzburg for snacking while driving.
He tried to drive part of the journey, but she kindly refused to let him, especially when a gray drizzle settled into the night skies outside Brno. She poured the last of the strong black coffee into her plastic thermal mug that he had thoughtfully packed as she drove. She watched him dozing in the corner of his seat, head nodding on the window, snoring slightly. Sighing, she drank the coffee and focused on the empty road ahead of her.
At least the radio station playing the music festival's highlights came in clearly.
//////
Rybak closed the door to the Passau hotel room earlier that day. Metz was not exactly bright, or even resourceful, but he was honest to his superiors and eager to please them. He could be trusted to keep the truck of crates quiet in town.
Rybak waited twenty minutes for the phone box on the street side and another two minutes for the long distance operator to put his call through to Gdańsk.
"Omvedt here," said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Rybak. I have it."
"Where are you?"
Rybak glared at the young woman next in line to use the phone until she looked away. "Passau, Germany. Metz is with me."
"Good." Omvedt's tone took on a suspicious edge. "Is it authentic?"
"I believe so. You can put the lab on it there. I don't want to move around with it here."
There was a pause. "Can you get the rest?"
"I believe I can get more. There's a man in Warsaw who will know."
Omvedt sighed. "Hold what you have there; leave Metz with it and see what comes up in Warsaw."
Rybak scowled. "You don't want this now?"
"No. I want you in Warsaw and Metz there. He can't move it himself. You can go back for it later. If there's anything to be gotten in Warsaw, let me know and I'll send someone for it."
Rybak agreed to this arrangement and hung up, and then dialed another number. The woman waiting shouted an obscenity at him. He turned his back to her.
He waited for the line, despising the voice that would answer.
Carlos and Lauren pulled into the Warsaw rain at three in the morning. They found mediocre accommodations at the late hour, but neither cared as they stumbled into neighboring rooms.
Lauren didn't awake until ten the next morning when Carlos knocked on her door. She fumbled with her robe, succeeding in only managing one sleeve, and let him in.
"Well, you look rested," he said in a too-chipper voice. "Fine time you made last night. Next trip I take the wheel."
"I insist on driving." She looked around the small room for her bags and found them against the wall where she'd half-dumped them last night. "How long have you been up?"
He peeked out the window shade at the street below them.
"Is someone out there?"
"Hmm?" He looked back to her and dropped the shade. "No. I reached Padolski this morning. He'll meet us for an early dinner in the Old Town section tonight."
"Our treat?"
"Naturally." His distaste for the sparse room was evident. "We'll get through the legalities and find better accommodations before lunch."
It took an hour to get through the nearest kantor and secure hotel rooms deeper within Warsaw. The rain had abated to a mist, the thermometer hovering at summer lows. Most of the population was returning to work after a late lunch break, packing the streets, and making Lauren cringe for the Audi.
The frequent halts in traffic gave her a chance to view the vast reconstruction that had taken place since the German occupation of World War II. The old districts were meticulously restored to historical detail, with city planners calling on prints and paintings from the eighteenth century.
The soft facades of this section were a sharp contrast to the stark, Spartan buildings of the modern construction surrounding them. Built with systematic utilitarianism during the Communist rule, they lacked style and individuality, buried by brusque exteriors. Like old master paintings in frames of cast iron, Lauren thought sadly.
She glanced at Carlos flipping through the Polish bank notes they had traded for at the kantor. The zlotys reminded her of Monopoly game money with their small size and colored print. Satisfied, he put the notes away and squinted at the street signs.
"Trzy siostry," he read from one. He pointed to a small café ahead. "We'll have lunch there."
"I didn't know you spoke Polish, Carlos."
"I don't." He held up a worn pocket dictionary. "Nor Russian. Let's hope they understand German."
Watch your inbox for more chapters as Dr. Sheldon and Lauren try to stay ahead of competitors as they crisscross Europe following rumors of the lost Amber Chamber.
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