have so far discovered nothing missing from the villa. Caproni was retired from Due Mori, the conglomerate he built into one of Italy’s premier producers of wool and ceramics. He remained active as a major shareholder and consultant, and his death leaves a void in the company.
Fellner interrupted his reading. “We’ve had this discussion before. You’ve been warned to indulge your peculiarities on your own time.”
“It was necessary, Herr Fellner.”
“Killing is never necessary, if you do your job correctly.”
He glanced over at Monika, who was watching with apparent amusement. “Signor Caproni intruded on my visit. He was waiting for me. He’d become suspicious from my previous trip. Which I made, if you recall, at your insistence.”
Fellner seemed to immediately get the message. The older man’s face softened. He knew his employer well.
“Signor Caproni did not want to share the match case without a fight. I simply obliged, concluding you desired the piece regardless. The only alternative was to leave without it and risk exposure.”
“The signor did not offer the opportunity to leave? After all, he couldn’t very well telephone the police.”
He thought a lie better than the truth. “The signor actually wanted to shoot me. He was armed.”
Fellner said, “The newspaper makes no mention of that.”
“Evidence of the press’s unreliability,” he said with a smile.
“And what of the whore?” Monika said. “She armed, too?”
He turned toward her. “I was unaware you harbored such sympathy for working women. She understood the risks, I’m sure, when she agreed to become involved with a man like Caproni.”
Monika stepped closer. “You fuck her?”
“Of course.”
Fire lit her eyes. But she said nothing. Her jealousy was almost as amusing as it was surprising. Fellner broke the moment, conciliatory as always.
“Christian, you retrieved the match case. I appreciate that. But killing does nothing but draw attention. That’s the last thing we desire. What if your semen is traced by DNA?”
“There was no semen other than the signor’s. Mine was in her stomach.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“I wore gloves.”
“I realize you are careful. For that I’m grateful. But I am an old man who merely wants to pass what I have accumulated to my daughter. I do not desire to see any of us in jail. Am I clear?”
Fellner sounded exasperated. They’d had this discussion before, and he genuinely hated disappointing him. His employer had been good to him, generously sharing the wealth they’d meticulously accumulated. In many ways he was more like a father than Jakob Knoll had ever been. Monika, though, was nothing like a sister.
He noticed the look in her eyes. The talk of sex and death was surely arousing. Most likely she’d visit his room later.
“What did you find in St. Petersburg?” Fellner finally asked.
He reported the references toyantarnaya komnata , then showed both of them the sheets he’d stolen from the archives. “Interesting the Russians were still inquiring about the Amber Room, even recently. This Karol Borya, though, `Yxo, is somebody new.”
“Ears?” Fellner spoke perfect Russian. “A strange designation.”
Knoll nodded. “I think a trip to Atlanta may be worth the effort. Perhaps `Yxois still alive. He might know where Chapaev is. He was the only one I did not find five years ago.”
“I would think the reference to Loring is also further corroboration, “ Fellner said. “That’s twice you have found his name. The Soviets were apparently quite interested in what Loring was doing.”
Knoll knew the history. The Loring family dominated the Eastern European steel and arms market. Ernst Loring was Fellner’s main rival in collecting. He was a Czech, the son of Josef Loring, possessed of an air of superiority bred since youth. Like Pietro Caproni, a man definitely accustomed to having his way.
“Josef was a determined man. Ernst, unfortunately,
Fellner interrupted his reading. “We’ve had this discussion before. You’ve been warned to indulge your peculiarities on your own time.”
“It was necessary, Herr Fellner.”
“Killing is never necessary, if you do your job correctly.”
He glanced over at Monika, who was watching with apparent amusement. “Signor Caproni intruded on my visit. He was waiting for me. He’d become suspicious from my previous trip. Which I made, if you recall, at your insistence.”
Fellner seemed to immediately get the message. The older man’s face softened. He knew his employer well.
“Signor Caproni did not want to share the match case without a fight. I simply obliged, concluding you desired the piece regardless. The only alternative was to leave without it and risk exposure.”
“The signor did not offer the opportunity to leave? After all, he couldn’t very well telephone the police.”
He thought a lie better than the truth. “The signor actually wanted to shoot me. He was armed.”
Fellner said, “The newspaper makes no mention of that.”
“Evidence of the press’s unreliability,” he said with a smile.
“And what of the whore?” Monika said. “She armed, too?”
He turned toward her. “I was unaware you harbored such sympathy for working women. She understood the risks, I’m sure, when she agreed to become involved with a man like Caproni.”
Monika stepped closer. “You fuck her?”
“Of course.”
Fire lit her eyes. But she said nothing. Her jealousy was almost as amusing as it was surprising. Fellner broke the moment, conciliatory as always.
“Christian, you retrieved the match case. I appreciate that. But killing does nothing but draw attention. That’s the last thing we desire. What if your semen is traced by DNA?”
“There was no semen other than the signor’s. Mine was in her stomach.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“I wore gloves.”
“I realize you are careful. For that I’m grateful. But I am an old man who merely wants to pass what I have accumulated to my daughter. I do not desire to see any of us in jail. Am I clear?”
Fellner sounded exasperated. They’d had this discussion before, and he genuinely hated disappointing him. His employer had been good to him, generously sharing the wealth they’d meticulously accumulated. In many ways he was more like a father than Jakob Knoll had ever been. Monika, though, was nothing like a sister.
He noticed the look in her eyes. The talk of sex and death was surely arousing. Most likely she’d visit his room later.
“What did you find in St. Petersburg?” Fellner finally asked.
He reported the references toyantarnaya komnata , then showed both of them the sheets he’d stolen from the archives. “Interesting the Russians were still inquiring about the Amber Room, even recently. This Karol Borya, though, `Yxo, is somebody new.”
“Ears?” Fellner spoke perfect Russian. “A strange designation.”
Knoll nodded. “I think a trip to Atlanta may be worth the effort. Perhaps `Yxois still alive. He might know where Chapaev is. He was the only one I did not find five years ago.”
“I would think the reference to Loring is also further corroboration, “ Fellner said. “That’s twice you have found his name. The Soviets were apparently quite interested in what Loring was doing.”
Knoll knew the history. The Loring family dominated the Eastern European steel and arms market. Ernst Loring was Fellner’s main rival in collecting. He was a Czech, the son of Josef Loring, possessed of an air of superiority bred since youth. Like Pietro Caproni, a man definitely accustomed to having his way.
“Josef was a determined man. Ernst, unfortunately,
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