Graham turned on his beam and studied the boxes. Then he made some adjustments. The locking mechanism clicked. "There." His shoulders sagged. "That ought to do it."
"Are you sure they can't just open this thing?" I examined the boxes. "How does this work?"
"The two on the right are linked lock mechanism boxes. They connect to dual combination dials. The one on the left is a time lock."
"Will a time lock work without power?"
"I doubt it. But the safe still requires a combination."
I stared curiously at him. "You know a lot about safes."
"Long story short, I had to break into a bank vault in Cairo a few decades ago." Graham shifted his flashlight around the door. "This one looks like concrete encased in steel. Not a bad design really. I wonder how they got it down here."
"They must've lowered it through the ceiling in the cavern." A chilly breeze appeared out of nowhere. It brushed against the back of my skull, sending my nerves into a tizzy. "Did you feel that?"
"Feel what?"
"Never mind." As the breeze died down, I turned around and lifted my beam. A dazzling light blinded me.
I gave my eyes a few seconds to adjust. Then I twisted my head toward the light. The vault was massive, almost as large as the cave where'd we found the rockets.
Then I saw it. Electricity ran up my arms. It pulsed through my body and I felt a surge of adrenaline.
Four glittering walls stood before me, angled toward the center of the room. They were thirty-feet tall, measured thirteen feet wide, and contained enough space for three doors. Thousands of colors, from topaz to lemon, filled my eyes. Mirrors, gilding, jewels, and gold mosaics sparkled under my light. It was almost too beautiful for this world. I felt a sudden urge to grab hold of that beauty. To wrap it up, deliver it to the stars. Only there could it possibly find its equal.
"God Almighty." Graham inhaled through his nostrils. "Is that what I think it is?"
My flashlight traced over the walls. I saw thousands of polished beads. They greedily swallowed up my light, emitting a soft glow in the process. "Yes." I swallowed hard. "It's the Amber Room."
PART V
Amerika-Rakete
Chapter 88
Aaron Jenner twisted his head in all directions. He felt completely baffled. Where the hell was he?
He noticed the rock walls on either side of him. There was ample room but they felt a little too close, a little too tight. He saw various people in front of him. They looked like soldiers. Maybe he was on some type of mission.
He stopped and shook his head. His mind felt cloudy. His head felt like it was partially filled with helium.
"Are you okay?"
Jenner spun around. An unfamiliar woman faced him. She leaned casually to one side, her hands shoved deep into her parka pockets. Evidently, they were somewhere cold.
He swallowed. He knew his name and his profession. He could recall his earliest childhood memories. So, why couldn't he remember anything more recent? "I'm fine. Just taking a break."
"We don't have time for a break. You promised me this would be fast."
He stood there for a moment, surrounded by mental clouds. He needed to clear his head, refocus. "Go on without me. I'll catch up in a minute."
She pushed past him. Her touch electrified his brain. Memories flooded his head. Beverly Ginger. Antarctica. Werwolfsschanze.
The Amber Room.
His right forefinger twitched. His wrist jerked. His forearm quivered. Fury overtook him as he plastered his back against one side of the dark tunnel.
He gripped his arm with his left hand. It was a force of habit. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't do him any good. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the writhing. The involuntary movements would continue to roll up his arm, moving from muscle to muscle. When his chorea acted up, he was little more than a puppet at the mercy of forces outside of his control.
Genetic forces.
A finger tapped his shoulder. "Are you okay, sir?"
"Don't worry about me." Jenner gritted his teeth. "Get over there. I want the Amber Room within the hour."
The man flashed him a strange look. Then he hurried away to join the other soldiers.
Jenner had seen that look before. In fact, he'd seen it many times, ever since he'd first experienced chorea at the relatively young age of twenty-six. But chorea wasn't the worst part. The worst part was his all too frequent episodes of short-term memory loss.
The tunnel felt unusually hot. Large beads of perspiration dripped down his face. But he didn't dare wipe them away, not while he had so little control over his body.
He looked up. Above, he saw the rough edges of fractured rock. He didn't care for the tight quarters. In fact, a large part of him longed for the vast icy expanse and the cold blizzard. But he couldn't leave, not yet.
Not without the Amber Room.
The writhing ceased. Jenner released his arm. It thumped against his side. He glared at it for a moment. Then he wiggled his fingers. He proceeded to test his other muscles. They worked just fine.
One of these days, his muscle control wouldn't bounce back so readily. Over the next few years, his motor skills would become increasingly dysfunctional. The writhing movements would worsen. His muscles would grow rigid. Simple tasks like speaking and chewing food would become increasingly difficult.
And his mind would fare no better. His memory deficits would creep past the short-term stuff. His long-term memories would fade. His body would forget how to perform ordinary functions. His working memory would all but disappear. Dementia would inevitably follow.
Such was the curse of Huntington's disease.
He wrenched his wool hat off his head and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he started to walk again. A dull, slippery sheen covered the smooth ground, making each step a precarious adventure in balance. Due to his muscle problems, he was forced to step slowly and with great care. This irritated him to no end.
Jenner stepped into a cavern. A lake sat in the middle of it. His eyes lingered on its glistening surface for a moment.
He lifted his gaze. On the opposite end of the lake, he saw a vault door. A group of soldiers were gathered around it. "What's the hold up?" he asked.
Holly pulled off her hood. "I already told you."
He gritted his teeth. "So, tell me again."
"It's some kind of vault. Cy and the others locked themselves inside it."
"A vault?"
She nodded.
Jenner leaned against the nearest wall. The Amber Room was close. He could feel it. Years of long nights, staggering bills, and fruitless searches were about to come to an end. And yet, he wasn't happy. Pleased, perhaps. But certainly not happy.
Negative thoughts consumed him. The rest of his life would be a nightmare. At most, he'd live another fifteen to twenty years. Then he'd die a painful death, most likely from pneumonia or heart disease.
Deep down, Jenner wished he'd never been born. He was a product of poor genetics. He'd been born with an autosomal dominant mutation in one of his two Huntingtin genes. It was that simple. And there was nothing he could do about it. There was no cure. There was no way of stopping the oddly spelled Huntingtin gene from expressing itself. The only way to end Huntington's disease was to eliminate it completely from the gene pool.
Charles Davenport had proposed that exact same solution back in 1910. He'd wanted to use forced sterilization and immigration control to stop the spread of Huntington's disease within the United States. But of course, modern civilization was too squeamish to do those things.
The future genetic make-up of society was far too important to leave in the hands of fate. Certain genes needed to be ripped out of civilization. Other genes needed to be preserved and even encouraged. The Great Dying — after the right people were inoculated — would do just that. This, Jenner knew, was his lot in life. It was his fate.