Katherine John - Amber Knight

Synopsis:

This fast-paced action thriller is a multi-layered story that spans eight centuries, from medieval Germany and Prussia to present day Poland and USA centred on the legend of the Amber Knight a beloved relic that inspired generations until the Nazis stole it. Created in 1232 during The Teutonic Crusade when the heroic knight, Helmut von Mau, dies in battle at Elblag. When the town is burned and the amber in the treasury melts and is poured into Helmut's sarcophagus, covering his body and creating the Amber Knight. Present day Gdansk. Adam Salen, director of a museum trust receives photographs of the Amber Knight which disappeared in 1945, and a demand for 15 million dollars. His assistant, Magda, believes that, given a corpse, amber and armour the knight could be recreated. Adam and Magda want the knight for the museum, but when a mafia hit man is found dead on Adams doorstep and more corpses are discovered in woods near Hitlers Wolfs lair, it seems like there may be truth behind the myth that death awaits every unbeliever who looks upon Helmuts face.

AMBER KNIGHT

By

Katherine John

Copyright 2007 Katherine John

For Phil Trenfield writer, events manager

and very special and wonderful friend

who resurrected Katherine John by

introducing her to Accent Press.

Thank you

Hitlers Wolfschanze, Rastenburg, East Prussia, the dark hours before dawn,

24th January 1945

The standartenfuhrer had never experienced a winter like it. An intense bitterness was carried on winds that bleached and shrivelled flesh and permeated bones and, as if the cold wasnt enough, despair had set in. He detected it in every communication from Berlin; recognised it in the faces of his fellow officers and unkempt uniforms of his command; saw it in the sluggish steps of the men hauling crates out of the bunker into the waiting line of trucks. Wrapping his fur-lined greatcoat closer to his numbed body, he waved his arms and stamped his feet to circulate blood to his insensate and frozen extremities.

Cant they move any faster, Hauptsturmfuhrer? he barked.

His aide clicked his heels, cracking the frosting of ice on his boots. Are you soldiers or snails? Move it! At the double.

The boxes are breeding in there, a private muttered loud enough for a sergeant to hear. The unterscharfuhrer snapped a reprimand, which was drowned out by a boom from a Russian gun. Night hadnt slowed the Soviet advance. Even the birds were fleeing westwards. Possessing neither the men nor heart to fight, all the standartenfuhrer hoped for was survival and an uneventful retreat to the Western front where he could surrender his command to the British or Americans. After a few years in a POW camp, he and his men could go home if they still had homes to go to.

A private stumbled, dropping a long, narrow box. The wooden casing shattered on a concrete step revealing a panel that glowed gold against the silver snow.

You stupid oaf, Schutze! Do you know what that is? How valuable

The private snapped to attention, shivering as the unterscharfuhrer gave vent to his anger.

That was a piece of the amber room Tsar Peter stole from Frederick the Great. The standartenfuhrer picked up the panel emblazoned with a darker inlay depicting an eagle which Third Reich historians had unanimously pronounced Prussian.

Youre not fit to wipe a pigs arse, Schutze! Retrieve the pieces.

As the private scrambled for the broken corner pieces an officer stumbled through the darkness towards them, sliding up the icy path that led from the SS barracks.

The mines are in place, Obersturmfuhrer? the standartenfuhrer asked, irritated by the breakage that was going to take some explaining if they ever reached Berlin.

The sturmbannfuhrer respectfully requests another two hours, sir. The cold

The cold is freezing all our balls, Obersturmfuhrer. The standartenfuhrers eyes narrowed. Tell the sturmbannfuhrer he has half an hour, after that hell be on his own.

The obersturmfuhrer snapped to attention before backtracking down the path.

The snow chains

Have been put on the wheels of all the trucks, Standartenfuhrer, his aide reassured him.

The standartenfuhrer lost sight of the lieutenant in the darkness that shrouded the trees, but he could still hear his boots crunching over the drifts. The man was passing the ruin of the conference room where von Stauffenberg had planted the bomb hed hoped would put an end to Hitler and the war. The colonel shuddered from more than cold. How many people, civilian as well as military, would have lived if von Stauffenberg had succeeded? He was grateful Hitlers scientists hadnt perfected a machine that could read mens thoughts otherwise he and most of the surviving officers on the Eastern Front would find themselves facing piano wire nooses suspended from meat hooks.

Twenty-five trucks packed, Standartenfuhrer.

Ill inspect the bunker. Pushing past the line of burdened privates negotiating the narrow staircase that led into the bunker, he strode inside and stood on the threshold of what had been Hitlers living room. Blinking against the blaze of artificial light, he saw a clerk hovering, clipboard in hand over hillocks of packing cases. Whats left?

Only the modern furniture, Persian rugs and what you see, Standartenfuhrer.

The standartenfuhrer scrutinised the chalk inscriptions on the chests. Take the van Goghs and Rembrandts next and he looked at the largest case. Over two metres long and one and a half wide, it could have coffined a giant. Helmut von Mau?

I left it until last, sir, because of the weight. The stone sarcophagus alone is enough to test the strength of any axle and theres the amber

The colonel reverently touched the box. As a twelve-year-old schoolboy, he and his classmates had been taken on a pilgrimage to Konigsberg castle to pay homage to the amber-encased body of the knight who had crossed the Vistula in the Teutonic crusade of 1231. They had sat around the glass case that held the coffin, listening as their teacher related stories they knew by heart. Helmut von Mau, the lieutenant of Hermann von Balk, conqueror, founder and saviour of Prussia. Helmut, the heroic and fearless soldier who helped free Prussia from the barbarians before making the ultimate sacrifice; a man so handsome that the beautiful pagan princess, Woberg, only had to look upon his face once to change her name to Maria, her religion to Christianity and forsake her people to become his camp follower. A man who wrought vengeance against the pagans even in death, when desperate in defeat, his men had strapped his body to his horse and sent his corpse galloping into the enemy camp. Legend had it that every heathen warrior who had looked upon him had been struck dead. Pity he didnt have one or two von Maus in his command now.

This goes next, pack the paintings around it. Dont leave any case graded A. High Command would be displeased if any of them were lost.

Jawohl, Standartenfuhrer.

The colonel damned the transport department. If hed been given a train and half a dozen wagons he could have delivered the more valuable contents of the Wolfschanze to Berlin a week ago. What could possibly be taking precedence over the Reichs art and history?

It had taken him days to assemble the decrepit convoy that lined the narrow road outside the Fuhrer bunker, thirty vehicles and none of them sound. One ambush by partisans and the entire consignment would be lost. If it happened it would be the fault of Hitler and the sycophants he surrounded himself with, but he and his men would pay the price. When hed taken a commission in the SS, he hadnt envisaged Command assigning crack troops and a platoon of hand-picked engineers to nursemaid treasure while allied bombs fell on Berlin, killing civilians perhaps even his beloved wife Hilde and little Wilhelm