The Amber Room Page 0,63

entrances in the distance, along with the sky. "None point east. Chapaev said the opening faced east. And according to him it should be marked BCR65."

He moved deeper into the trees. Ten minutes later, Rachel pointed and yelled, "There."

He stared ahead. Through the trees, another shaft entrance was visible, the opening barred by iron. A rusty sign affixed to the bars readBCR-65. He checked the sun. East. Son of a bitch.

They approached close and he slid off the cave pack. He glanced around. No one was in sight, and no sounds disturbed the silence beyond the birds and an occasional rustle from fox squirrels. He examined the bars and gate. All the iron was purpled from heavy oxidation. A steel chain and hasp lock held the gate firmly shut. The chain and lock were definitely newer. Nothing unusual, though. German federal inspectors routinely resecured the shafts. He slipped bolt cutters from the cave pack. "Nice to see you're prepared," Rachel said.

He snapped the chain and it slinked to the ground. He slid the cutters back into the pack and pulled open the gate.

The hinges screamed.

He stopped. No use attracting unnecessary attention.

He worked the gate open slowly, the tear of metal on metal quieter. Ahead was an arched opening about five meters high and four meters wide. Lichens clung to the blackened stone beyond the entrance and the stale air reeked of mold. Like a grave, he thought. "This opening is wide enough to accept a truck."

"Truck?"

"If the Amber Room is inside, so are trucks. There is no other way the crates could have been transported. Twenty-two tons of amber is heavy. The Germans would have driven trucks into the cave."

"They didn't have forklifts?"

"Hardly. We're talking about the end of the war. The Nazis were desperate to hide their treasure. No time for finesse."

"How did the trucks get up here?"

"Fifty years have passed. There were many roads and fewer trees then. This whole area was a vital manufacturing site."

He pulled two flashlights and a thick coil of twine from his pack, then reshouldered it. He closed the gate behind them and draped the chain and lock back across the bars, providing the appearance that the opening was still bolted shut.

"We might have company," he said. "That should keep people moving to another cavern. Many are unobstructed, much easier to enter."

He handed her a flashlight. Their two narrow beams pierced only meters ahead in the forbidding blackness. A piece of rusted iron protruded from the rock. He tied the end of the twine securely and handed the coil to Rachel.

"Unravel it on the way in. This is how we'll find our way out if we get disoriented." He cautiously led the way forward, their flashlights revealing a rugged passage deep into the bowels of the mountain. Rachel followed him after slipping on her jacket. "Be careful," he said. "This tunnel could be mined. That would explain the chaining." "Comforting to know."

"Nothing worth having is ever easy to obtain."

He stopped and glanced back toward the entrance forty meters behind them. The air had turned fetid and cold. He fished Chapaev's drawing from his pocket and studied the route with the flashlight. "There should be a fork ahead. Let's see if Chapaev is right."

A suffocating pall permeated the air. Rotten. Nauseating.

"Bat guano," he said.

"I think I'm going to vomit."

"Breathe shallow and try to ignore it."

"That's like trying to ignore cow manure on your upper lip."

"These shafts are full of bats."

"Lovely."

He grinned. "In China, bats are revered as the symbol of happiness and long life." "Happiness stinks."

A fork in the tunnel appeared. He stopped. "The map says to go right." He did. Rachel followed, the twine unraveling behind her.

"Let me know if you get to the end of the coil. I have more," he said.

The odor lessened. The new tunnel was tighter than the main shaft, yet still large enough for a transport truck. Dark capillaries branched off periodically. The echo of chirping bats, waiting for night, loomed clear.

The mountain was most certainly a labyrinth. They all were. Miners in search of ore and salt had burrowed for centuries. How wonderful it would be if this shaft turned out to be the one that led to the Amber Room. Ten million euros. All his. Not to mention Monika's gratitude. Perhaps then Rachel Cutler would be sufficiently excited to let him into her pants. Her rebuke last night had been more arousing than insulting. He wouldn't be surprised if her husband was the only man she'd