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This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
Lauren dropped the window blind of the only hotel room they could find with a vacancy. It was half a step up in comfort from the ones they had had last night outside the city, but there was just the one room available. The room-sharing was second to another possible problem; she wasn't sure their Polish shadow was gone. The gray car she'd seen a few times before was still across the evening street from the hotel, out of the streetlight's glow, and amazingly similar to the one that had been parked down the walk from Lewkowicz's shop earlier that day.
Carlos hung up the phone. He smiled at her. "We have an appointment with Zig Lewkowicz tomorrow morning."
"Largely due to you threatening that poor clerk."
"Is he still down there?"
"The gray Mercedes?" She nodded. "But I don't know that it's our friend from Salzburg."
He sighed. "We'll assume it is, for now."
She sat on one of the twin beds' frayed bed cover. "You think it was he who Lewkowicz met so suddenly this afternoon?"
"Possibly. Perhaps Tolchov."
"I'd like to know how this one became such a reckoning," she said with a nod to the window. "He must have had a representative at the auction."
He sat on the bed opposite hers, a weak smile on his face. "I promise not to snore tonight."
"So do I." Limited vacancies surely made for strange roommates, or something along that line, she thought. She sighed, then voiced the question on both their minds. "Do you think Lewkowicz already sold the panels?"
Yuri Straczynskie knew nothing of the amber panels, Rybak had assumed, and a visit to the Praga shop had proved this. He did learn, however, that an American interest had already been inquiring also. No, Straczynskie had told him, there was no woman with the old man, but Rybak knew it was the couple he had watched in Austria. He had yet to discover names and what institution they represented. Osnewski and Morrow's information was exasperatingly lacking in detail.
He had heard several stories and titles, among them references to a university and the names Gates and Zhedla or Zheldane. Padolski was cursed with a drunkard's slur that didn't seem to affect the names of women, Rybak had noticed.
He sat back in the seat and dropped the cigarette out the window. Lewkowicz's shop came to life a block away in front of him down the street. The clerk unlocked the door and paused to open it for a long breath of warm morning air that drifted over the rainwater. He disappeared back inside as an Audi rounded the street corner.
Rybak watched the old man and Gates woman park the car and step out. Rybak sank farther into his seat as she looked directly at his car.
They went into the shop.
Zig Lewkowicz led Carlos and Lauren into a back office of his shop when they arrived and made their introductions. He gestured to two leather chairs and saw them seated before taking his own behind the teakwood desk. His eyes bore steadily into Carlos', his fingers pressing on the desk's lacquered top.
"I apologize for my assistant," he said in English with a thick accent. "He is young." His eyes flicked from Carlos to Lauren and back again. "What gives you reason to inquire of me about the Amber Chamber?"
"We represent an American interest," Carlos began. "The Carnegie—"
"Papers." Lewkowicz's fingers were white from pressure on the desk. "Please."
Carlos and Lauren handed him their passports. He examined these for a long moment, comparing the photos' likenesses.
Carlos cleared his throat. "You've had other inquiries?"
Lewkowicz nodded and handed back their passports.
"Recently?" Carlos asked.
Lewkowicz's posture eased slightly. "There are certain governments that do not simply inquire. They commandeer. Mine included. The chamber is dangerous to even house. Announcing it is far too risky. I would be undone if its location were to reach the wrong ears."
Carlos nodded. "We understand. I assure you, we are whom we say. You can check our references with the museum."
Lewkowicz shook his head. He sighed, appearing older than his sixty years for a moment. "There has been a great interest in the last twenty-four hours."
"We're prepared to bid, providing a sample proves authentic."
The antique dealer smiled for the first time and pulled a large sealed envelope out of a side desk drawer. He handed it to Carlos. "Normally I do not trade in such massive or controversial items," he said carefully. "I accepted it only in exchange for a payment I could never enforce."
Carlos tore open the envelope and studied the single sheet of paper inside.
"This was tested and verified, quietly, by a Prague laboratory when I first received the panels six years ago. For just such an occasion," Lewkowicz told them. "It reflects the authenticity of approximately one long wall."
Carlos removed the sample amber from the envelope, passing the documentation to Lauren. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent smell that had become equated with Gustalav's crypt.
She glanced at the sample he held, unprepared for the bold etching it bore. The octagonal piece was etched with the Imperial double-headed eagle of the Russian czars. The wings flared majestically to either side, feathers, tail, and clawed feet intricately carved into the resin.
"I would need your answer and bid by noon tomorrow," Lewkowicz was saying.
Lauren saw Carlos' hand tremble as he handed her the amber.
He asked, "So soon?"
"I must insist. I do not like drawing out matters like this one. Too many know already."
Carlos stood, his hand now steady as he extended it to Lewkowicz. "By noon tomorrow."
Reuben watched the gray Mercedes in his rearview mirror, counting only one head in the windshield. He had driven right past Rybak on his way to Lewkowicz's shop. It gave him an eerie startle to find the Polish mercenary already there.
He pulled into a parking space a block ahead and across the street, glad to be wearing sunglasses. Rybak didn't even turn his attention from the antique shop, watching the store's door.
Reuben let the car idle and angled the side and rearview mirrors to watch both the Mercedes and the shop front. He didn't care to seek an audience with Lewkowicz while this hazard waited outside.
Half an hour passed and Rybak remained in the car. Reuben scowled. He knew Rybak wouldn't send Metz in to confront Lewkowicz alone, but he was definitely waiting on someone. He judged the distance between the shop and the Mercedes and concluded that Rybak didn't want to be seen either.
Suddenly a bell rang and a train thundered in front of his car, making Reuben jolt in position. "Damn tracks," he muttered. With his interest fastened on Rybak he hadn't noticed the signal lights.
The street traffic had backed up parallel to his car, effectively blocking him in. He saw Rybak's car ease into the traffic lane in his rearview mirror, but there was no one else in the vehicle.
Reuben frowned, slouching into the seat, relieved Rybak's car wouldn't be stuck slotted beside his as the train passed. He looked over at the car waiting in the lane beside his.
For a moment the blood coursed faster through his head, pulsing painfully in the bump at the base of his skull. He remembered to breathe again as the train ended and the Audi moved forward.
She hadn't seen him. Their car was right next to his, but Lauren's attention was on a paper she held, and Carlos, driving, was looking in the rearview mirror. Three cars followed the Audi down the street before the Mercedes passed Reuben.
Rybak's attention was focused straight ahead of his car. He was alone.
Reuben drew a slow breath.
Tarnow was getting crowded.
Watch your inbox for more chapters as Dr. Sheldon and Lauren try to stay ahead of competitors and mercenaries as they crisscross Europe following rumors searching for the missing Amber Chamber.
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