The Amber Room Page 0,65
Kehlheim and squeeze information from Chapaev, one way or the other.
"Let's go," he said. "Roll up the string back to the entrance. I'll follow." They started back through the maze, Rachel leading the way. His light revealed her firm ass and shapely thighs through tan jeans. He studied her slender legs and narrow shoulders. His groin started to respond.
The first fork appeared, then the second.
"Wait," he said. "I want to see what's down here."
"This way is out," she said, pointing left toward the string.
"I know. But while we're here. Let's see. Leave the string. We know the way from here."
She tossed the twine ball down and turned right, still leading the way. He flicked his right arm. The stiletto released and slid down. He palmed the handle. Rachel stopped and turned back, her light momentarily on him.
His light caught her shocked face as she saw the glistening blade.
Suzanne pointed the radio controller and pressed the button. The signal sped through the morning air to the explosive charges she'd set in the rock last night. Not enough of an explosion to draw attention from Warthberg, six kilometers away, but more than enough to bring the mountain down inside.
Ending another problem.
The ground shook. The ceiling crumbled. Knoll tried to steady himself. Now he knew. Itwasa trap.
He turned and raced toward the entrance. Rock cascaded in a shower of stone and blinding dust. The air fouled. He held the flashlight in one hand, stiletto in the other. He quickly pocketed the knife and yanked his shirt out, using the clean hem to shield his nose and mouth.
More rock rained down.
The light toward the entrance ahead grew dusty and thick, veiled in a cloud, then obliterated behind boulders. It was now impossible to go that way.
He turned again and darted in the opposite direction, hoping there was another way out of the maze. Thankfully, his flashlight still worked. Rachel Cutler was nowhere to be seen. But it didn't matter. The rocks had saved him the trouble.
He raced deeper into the mountain, down the main shaft, past the point where he last saw her standing. The explosions seemed to have centered behind him, the walls and ceiling ahead stable, though the entire mountain now vibrated.
More rock pounded onto itself behind him. Definitely only one way to go now. A fork appeared in the shaft. He stopped and oriented himself. The original entrance behind him had faced east. So west lay ahead. The left fork appeared to go south, the right north. But, who knows? He had to be careful. Not too many turns. It would be easy to get lost, and he didn't want to die wandering underground until he either starved or dehydrated.
He lowered his shirttail and sucked in a lungful of air. He tried to recall what he could about the mines. Never was there only one way in or out. The sheer depth and extent of the tunnels demanded multiple entrances. During the war, though, the Nazis sealed off most of the portals, trying to secure their hiding places. He now hoped this mine wasn't one of those. What encouraged him was the air. Not as stale as when they were deeper inside.
He raised his hand. A slight breeze drifted from the left fork. Should he take the chance? Too many more turns and he'd never find his way back. Total darkness possessed no reference points, his present position known only because of the main shaft's orientation. But he could easily lose that frame of reference with a couple of indiscriminate moves.
What should he do?
He stepped left.
Fifty meters and the tunnel forked again. He held up his hand. No breeze. He recalled reading once that the miners designed their safety routes all in the same direction. One left turn meant all left turns until you were out. What choice did he have? Go left. Two more forks. Two more lefts.
A shaft of light appeared ahead. Faint. But there. He scurried forward and turned the corner.
Daylight loomed a hundred meters away.
THIRTY-ONE
Kehlheim, Germany
11:30 a.m.
Paul glanced in the rearview mirror. A car rapidly approached, its lights flashing and
siren hee-hawing. The green-and-white compact,POLIZEIon the doors in blue letters, zoomed past in the opposite lane and disappeared around a bend.
He drove on, entering Kehlheim ten kilometers later.
The quiet village was littered with brightly painted buildings that ringed a cobbled square. He wasn't much of a traveler. Only one trip overseas to Paris two years ago for the museum-a chance to tour the Louvre had been too enticing