to shed.”
“You do not seem to care for Germans or Communists.”
He was tiring of the conversation, remembering how much he hated Germans. “Sixteen months in death camp can change your heart.”
Knoll finished the tea. The ice cubes jangled as the glass banged the coffee table.
He went on, “The Germans and Communists rape Belarus and Russia. Nazis used Catherine Palace as barracks, then for target practice. I visit after war. Little left of regal beauty. Did not the Germans try and destroy Russian culture? Bombed palaces to rubble to teach us a lesson.”
“I am not a Nazi, Mr. Borya, so I cannot answer your question.”
A moment of strained silence passed. Then Knoll asked, “Why don’t we quit sparring. Did you find the Amber Room?”
“As I said, room lost forever.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
He shrugged. “I’m old man. Soon I die. No reason to lie.”
“Somehow I doubt that last observation, Mr. Borya.”
He grabbed Knoll’s gaze with his own. “I tell you story—maybe it help with your search. Months before Mauthausen fell, Göring came to camp. He forced me to help torture four Germans. Göring had them tied naked to stakes in freezing cold. We poured water over them till dead.”
“And the purpose?”
“Göring wanteddas Bernstein-zimmer . The four men were some who evacuate amber panels from Königsberg before Russians invade. Göring wanted Amber Room, but Hitler got it first.”
“Any of the soldiers reveal information?”
“Nothing. Just yell’Mein Führer’ until freeze to death. I still see their frozen faces in my dreams sometimes. Strange, Herr Knoll, in a sense I owe my life to a German.”
“How so?”
“If one of four talk, Göring would have tied me to stake and kill same way.” He was tired of remembering. He wanted the bastard out of his house before the laxative took effect. “I hate Germans, Herr Knoll. I hate Communists. I told KGB nothing. I tell you nothing. Now, go.”
Knoll seemed to sense that further inquiry would be fruitless, and he stood. “Very well, Mr. Borya. Let it not be said I pressed. I will bid you a good night.”
They walked to the foyer, and he opened the front door. Knoll stepped outside, turned, and extended his hand to shake. A casual gesture, seemingly more out of politeness than duty.
“A pleasure, Mr. Borya.”
He thought again about the German soldier, Mathias, as he’d stood naked in the freezing cold, and how he’d responded to Göring.
He spat on the outstretched palm.
Knoll said nothing, nor did he move for a few seconds. Then, calmly, the German slipped a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped the spittle away as the door slammed in his face.
The Amber Room
FOURTEEN
9:35 p.m.
Borya once again scanned the article fromInternational Art Review magazine and found the part he remembered:
. . . Alfred Rohde, the man who supervised the evacuation of the Amber Room from Königsberg, was quickly apprehended after the war and summoned before Soviet authorities. The so-called Extraordinary State Commission on Damage Done by the Fascist-German Invaders was looking for the Amber Room and wanted answers. But Rohde and his wife were found dead on the morning they were to appear for questioning. Dysentery was the official cause, plausible since epidemics were raging at the time from polluted water, but speculation abounded they had been killed in order to protect the location of the Amber Room.
On the same day, Dr. Paul Erdmann, the physician who signed the Rohdes’ death certificates, disappeared.
Erich Koch, Hitler’s personal representative in Prussia, was ultimately arrested and tried by the Poles for war crimes. Koch was sentenced to death in 1946, but his execution was continuously postponed at the request of Soviet authorities. It was widely believed that Koch was the only man left alive who knew the actual whereabouts of the crates that left Königsberg in 1945. Paradoxically, Koch’s continued
“You do not seem to care for Germans or Communists.”
He was tiring of the conversation, remembering how much he hated Germans. “Sixteen months in death camp can change your heart.”
Knoll finished the tea. The ice cubes jangled as the glass banged the coffee table.
He went on, “The Germans and Communists rape Belarus and Russia. Nazis used Catherine Palace as barracks, then for target practice. I visit after war. Little left of regal beauty. Did not the Germans try and destroy Russian culture? Bombed palaces to rubble to teach us a lesson.”
“I am not a Nazi, Mr. Borya, so I cannot answer your question.”
A moment of strained silence passed. Then Knoll asked, “Why don’t we quit sparring. Did you find the Amber Room?”
“As I said, room lost forever.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
He shrugged. “I’m old man. Soon I die. No reason to lie.”
“Somehow I doubt that last observation, Mr. Borya.”
He grabbed Knoll’s gaze with his own. “I tell you story—maybe it help with your search. Months before Mauthausen fell, Göring came to camp. He forced me to help torture four Germans. Göring had them tied naked to stakes in freezing cold. We poured water over them till dead.”
“And the purpose?”
“Göring wanteddas Bernstein-zimmer . The four men were some who evacuate amber panels from Königsberg before Russians invade. Göring wanted Amber Room, but Hitler got it first.”
“Any of the soldiers reveal information?”
“Nothing. Just yell’Mein Führer’ until freeze to death. I still see their frozen faces in my dreams sometimes. Strange, Herr Knoll, in a sense I owe my life to a German.”
“How so?”
“If one of four talk, Göring would have tied me to stake and kill same way.” He was tired of remembering. He wanted the bastard out of his house before the laxative took effect. “I hate Germans, Herr Knoll. I hate Communists. I told KGB nothing. I tell you nothing. Now, go.”
Knoll seemed to sense that further inquiry would be fruitless, and he stood. “Very well, Mr. Borya. Let it not be said I pressed. I will bid you a good night.”
They walked to the foyer, and he opened the front door. Knoll stepped outside, turned, and extended his hand to shake. A casual gesture, seemingly more out of politeness than duty.
“A pleasure, Mr. Borya.”
He thought again about the German soldier, Mathias, as he’d stood naked in the freezing cold, and how he’d responded to Göring.
He spat on the outstretched palm.
Knoll said nothing, nor did he move for a few seconds. Then, calmly, the German slipped a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped the spittle away as the door slammed in his face.
The Amber Room
FOURTEEN
9:35 p.m.
Borya once again scanned the article fromInternational Art Review magazine and found the part he remembered:
. . . Alfred Rohde, the man who supervised the evacuation of the Amber Room from Königsberg, was quickly apprehended after the war and summoned before Soviet authorities. The so-called Extraordinary State Commission on Damage Done by the Fascist-German Invaders was looking for the Amber Room and wanted answers. But Rohde and his wife were found dead on the morning they were to appear for questioning. Dysentery was the official cause, plausible since epidemics were raging at the time from polluted water, but speculation abounded they had been killed in order to protect the location of the Amber Room.
On the same day, Dr. Paul Erdmann, the physician who signed the Rohdes’ death certificates, disappeared.
Erich Koch, Hitler’s personal representative in Prussia, was ultimately arrested and tried by the Poles for war crimes. Koch was sentenced to death in 1946, but his execution was continuously postponed at the request of Soviet authorities. It was widely believed that Koch was the only man left alive who knew the actual whereabouts of the crates that left Königsberg in 1945. Paradoxically, Koch’s continued
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