Part 44 (1/2)

”Enough fun and games,” he said.

Danzer reached back and tried to wrap her palm around the stiletto's handle, but he slammed the sole of his shoe into her face.

He then fired two shots into Danzer's head and she stopped moving.

”For Monika,” he whispered.

He jerked the knife from her thigh and swiped the blade clean on her clothes. He found Danzer's gun and stepped back into the bedchamber, determined to finish what he'd started.

FIFTY-SIX.

McKoy tried to rise and focus but couldn't. The amber room spun around him. His legs were limp, his head woozy. Blood poured from a bullet wound to his shoulder. He was rapidly losing consciousness. Never had he imagined dying like this, surrounded by a treasure worth millions, powerless to do anything.

He'd been wrong about Loring. There'd been no risk to the amber. The bullet was simply planted in flesh. He hoped Paul Cutler had managed to escape. He started to pull himself up. Footsteps approached from the outer gallery, coming toward him. He fell back to the parquet and lay p.r.o.ne. He eased open his left eye and caught the blurred image of Ernst Loring reentering the Amber Room, the gun still in hand. He lay perfectly still, trying to maximize what little strength remained.

He took a deep breath and waited for Loring to draw close. The old man, with his shoe, cautiously nudged McKoy's left leg, apparently testing to see if death had taken hold. He held his breath and managed to keep his body rigid. His head started spinning from the lack of oxygen combined with the blood loss.

He needed the b.a.s.t.a.r.d closer.

Loring took two steps forward.

He suddenly clipped the old man's legs out from under him. Pain racked his right shoulder and chest. Blood spurted from his wound. But he tried to hang on long enough to finish.

Loring slammed to the floor, the impact jarring his grip on the gun. McKoy's right hand locked around the old man's neck. The image of Loring's shocked expression blinked in and out. He needed to hurry.

”Say h.e.l.lo to the devil for me,” he whispered.

With his last bit of strength, he strangled Ernst Loring to death.

Then he surrendered to the darkness.

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Paul negotiated the maze of ground-floor corridors and bolted for the staircase leading up to the fourth floor. Just before entering the brightly lit foyer, two shots popped from above.

He stopped.

This was foolish. The woman was armed. He wasn't. But who was she firing at? Rachel? McKoy had taken a bullet so he could get away. It now looked like it was his turn.

He loped up the stairs, two at a time.

[image]

Knoll dropped his pants. Killing Danzer had been satisfying foreplay. Rachel lay sprawled on the bed, still dazed from his fist. He tossed the gun on the floor and palmed the stiletto. He approached the bed, gently parted her legs, and ran his tongue up the length of her thigh. She did not resist. This was going to be nice. Rachel, apparently still groggy, lightly moaned and responded to his touch. He slipped the stiletto back into the sheath under his right sleeve. She was dazed and docile. There would be no need for the knife. He cupped her bare b.u.t.t with his hands and returned his tongue to her crotch.

”Oh, Paul,” she whispered.

”I told you it would not be unpleasant,” he mouthed.

He raised up and prepared to mount her.

[image]

Paul turned at the fourth-floor landing and dashed up the last flight of stairs. He was winded, his legs ached, but Rachel was up there and needed him. At the top he saw Suzanne's body, her face obliterated by two bullet holes. The sight was sickening, but he thought of Chapaev and his parents and felt nothing but satisfaction. Then a thought electrified his brain.

Who the h.e.l.l shot her?

Rachel?

Moaning resonated from down the hall.

Then his name.

He inched his way to the bedchamber. The door was flung back, its top hinge splintered away. He gazed into the semidarkness. His eyes adjusted. A man was on the bed, and Rachel was beneath him.

Christian Knoll.

Paul went berserk and rushed the length of the room, catapulting himself onto Knoll. Momentum rolled them off the bed and to the floor. He landed on his right shoulder, the same one injured last night in Stod. Pain seared through his right arm. He raised a fist and brought it down. Knoll was bigger and more experienced, but he was mad as h.e.l.l. He swung his fist again and Knoll's nose gave way. Knoll howled, but he pivoted and used his legs to send Paul flying up and over him. Knoll curled himself forward and rolled out of the way, then pounced, ramming a fist hard into Paul's chest. He gagged on his own saliva and tried to catch a breath.

Knoll stood and yanked him from the floor. A fist slammed into his jaw, sending him reeling into the center of the room. He was dazed, trying hard to focus on the spinning furniture and the tall man approaching. Forty-one years old, and this was his first fistfight. Odd, he thought, the sensation of being slugged. Suddenly, the image of Knoll's naked a.s.s on top of Rachel flashed through his mind. He caught hold of himself, grabbed a breath, and lunged, met only by another fist to the stomach.

d.a.m.n. He was losing the fight.

Knoll caught him by the hair.

”You interrupted my pleasure, and I do not like being interrupted. Did you not notice Fraulein Danzer on the way in? She interrupted also.”

”f.u.c.k you, Knoll.”

”So defiant. And brave. But weak.”

Knoll released his grip and slugged him. Blood gushed from his nose. The momentum of the blow sent Paul tumbling through the open doorway, out into the hall. He was having trouble seeing out of his right eye.

He couldn't take much more.

[image]

Rachel was vaguely aware that something was happening, but it was all so confusing. One moment it seemed as if Paul were making love to her, and the next she heard fighting and bodies being flung across the room. Then a voice.

She raised up.

Paul's face came into view, then another.

Knoll.