The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) Read Free

Streicher’s involvement. The Standartenfuhrer’s men, while no doubt efficient and brutal soldiers, were evidently also veterans of previous archaeological digs. They worked with care and diligence, and at least some appreciation of the past they were unearthing.
    Klaas returned, raising his arm in an abrupt
Heil
which Streicher reciprocated. The wall was clear – they were ready to break into the tomb.
    Smith kept his expression neutral. The beard helped. He saved his excited enthusiasm for Streicher’s translation.
    Armed with heavy torches, the two of them followed Klaas across the cavern to the exposed wall. Two more soldiers, stripped to the waist, stood ready with pickaxes.
    ‘Let me see, let me see.’ Smith pushed past. He ran his hand over the rough stone surface of the wall, nodding. ‘Yeah – this is absolutely typical of the ninth century. See the way the stones have been interlaced? Looks like you’ve got yourselves the tomb of an ancient chieftain.’
    ‘Much more than that,’ Streicher murmured in German. He nodded for the men to start work on the wall.
    The stone was brittle with age. There was no mortar to hold the wall together, and in minutes the soldiers had torn a ragged hole large enough for a man to get through. Streicher stepped forward, determined to be the first to see what lay beyond the wall.
    But Smith caught Streicher’s arm. ‘Be a bit careful there.’
    It was sensible advice. Streicher stepped cautiously through, testing the ground on the other side before he committed his full weight to it. It seemed firm enough. Once through,he waited for Smith to join him, several of the SS soldiers clambering after the academic. Two of them still carried their pickaxes.
    The torches illuminated a narrow passageway sloping downwards ahead of them.
    ‘So, not quite at the main chamber yet,’ Smith noted. ‘Can’t be far, though.’
    Streicher’s impatience got the better of him and he set off along the passage. If they didn’t find the chamber soon, the messages he received daily from Wewelsburg would become more insistent. He knew only too well that in the Third Reich in general and in the SS in particular you could be transformed from hero to pariah in a matter of hours.
    Again, Smith caught Streicher’s shoulder.
    ‘Take it easy. There could still be surprises.’
    As he spoke, something moved in the shadows ahead of them. A trick of the wandering torchlight, perhaps. But it seemed like a patch of darkness scuttled back from the edge of the shadows and buried itself deeper against the wall. Streicher moved his torch, following the motion. But there was nothing. Just a dark, narrow gap where the stone-flagged floor of the passage didn’t quite meet the rough, crumbling brickwork of the wall.
    ‘Is that the end of the tunnel?’ Smith wondered. ‘We must be nearly there.’
    Streicher nodded. It was a shame – the American had saved lives and helped them get this far. But depending what they found at the end of this passage, Smith might become a liability. Streicher would do it himself. He owed the man that.
    ‘Wait!’
    Smith’s warning shocked Streicher out of his thoughts. He froze – one foot raised. Smith gently helped him step back.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Not sure.’
    Professor Smith stooped down, shining his torch at the stone slab where Streicher had been about to put his foot. The edges seemed darker than the slabs around it.
    ‘Pickaxe.’ Smith held his hand out behind him, not turning to look.
    Streicher repeated the instruction in German to the nearest soldier, who handed Smith the short-handled pickaxe he was carrying.
    Smith positioned the handle of the upright pickaxe on the slab of stone, and pressed down hard. There was a grinding sound – stone on stone. The ground shuddered, and Smith pitched suddenly forwards as the slab dropped away. Smith stumbled as he fought to keep his balance. In front of him, the whole section of floor had disappeared.
    The soldier