‘That’s right.’
‘Water!’
‘It fits, more or less.’ He pulled out the original drawing of the sun symbol. ‘Look. The river forms the main horizontal leg of the Black Sun. That means the stream that feeds the waterfall must form one of the others. There could have been another on the eastern bank, or maybe a road that’s since become overgrown.’
She frowned. ‘So what now?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Jamie peered into the dark void beyond, all thoughts of their pursuers forgotten. Nothing. But what had he expected – a crate with ‘loot’ stamped on it?
‘Keep going.’
He pushed on upwards, ignoring the water thundering from the cliff above. It was pitch black behind the fall. The cacophonous darkness battered his senses, but there came a moment when he knew something had changed. The stone beneath his feet wasn’t rounded any more, it was flat. He experienced a thrill of exhilaration as he ran his fingers over the edged surface. Concrete. He checked a few feet ahead. Concrete stairs. Slowly he felt his way forward until the natural rock of the walls gave way to a different material.
‘Well?’ Sarah was almost dancing with anticipation as he emerged from the torrent.
Jamie shook his head, spraying water like a wet dog. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have pinched another set of keys?’
‘Why?’
‘Because there’s a bloody great metal door.’
Her face creased in a determined frown. ‘Show me.’
‘Watch your feet.’ He led the way behind the cascade. When they reached the door she pulled a penlight from her bag. ‘Maybe we could hire some equipment from a hardware store; bolt cutters or a hydraulic jack?’
‘They’d think you were tooling up for a bank job. I have a better idea.’ She rummaged in the rucksack again.
‘Dynamite?’
‘Why don’t you move out of the way and you’ll find out?’
She pulled out some kind of metal punch and began to struggle with the lock, emitting little grunts as she worked. It took less than five minutes. ‘Yes!’ she shouted as the mechanism gave a sharp click. But when she turned the look she gave him was almost apologetic. ‘See, I told you there’s something to be said for growing up in a tough neighbourhood.’
He put his shoulder to it, but it didn’t budge. ‘Are you sure you unlocked it?’
She glared at him before disappearing to return a few moments later with a fallen branch as thick as her arm. ‘Try wedging the narrow end between the door and the frame.’
It took both their strength to break the rust seal of sixty years, but eventually the heavy metal barrier creaked open like something from a Hammer horror movie. They found themselves in a narrow stairway that led up into the darkness.
XXXVII
THE PASSAGE SMELLED of mould and old rust and the iron banister beneath his hand felt as if it was about to crumble away. Whatever he had expected – a damp cellar, some sort of vault? – it wasn’t this. ‘Careful,’ Sarah warned. ‘If this really dates back to nineteen forty-five there’s got to be a possibility of booby traps.’ He wondered why he hadn’t thought of that.
They took it one step at a time, sweeping each stair with the torch as they went. After a dozen steps Jamie spotted a darker patch on the grey concrete and stooped to pick it up. It was filthy and covered in dust, but when he rubbed it between his fingers it proved to be made of metal. He spat on it and used his handkerchief to clean away the dirt.
‘What is it?’ Sarah whispered.
He shone the torch on the object, illuminating a small oval stamped with the distinctive coal-scuttle helmet of a German soldier, overlaid with a swastika. The design jogged something in his memory.
‘I think it’s what they call a Wound Badge. Anyone who was injured in battle was entitled to one. The Germans probably produced them by the ton at the end. Someone must have mislaid theirs on the way out. That’s a relief.’
‘Why?’
‘I was worried this might be the back entrance to the local knocking shop.’
By the time they reached the top, Jamie counted 144 stairs. Another metal door barred their way, but this one proved to be unlocked. He held his breath as he pushed it open.
‘Bloody hell!’
The twin beams of their torches shone on the walls of an enormous arch-roofed corridor perhaps twelve feet wide and the same high. The walls and floor were bare concrete and when they stepped out into it they realized that it stretched further than the torches’ reach in each direction.
‘We must be in the very centre of the mountain,’ said Jamie incredulously. ‘They would have removed tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of tons of rock to build this place. I feel like Lord Carnarvon at the opening of Tutankhamun’s tomb.’