She stood at the top, peering into the well of the stairway. A smell of dust and loose earth filled her nostrils.
Voices!
There were people here. They were far off, so she didn’t move. All she did was stand and listen, trying to work out where the echoing voices were coming from. She strained forward to see if she could understand anything they were saying. But they didn’t seem to be coming from below. The urge to find Sean, was getting stronger. She balanced on her toes, turning, a hand holding the edge of the wall, ready to move if the voices came closer.
She was really hoping to hear Sean’s voice. It was unlikely, but that was what she wanted. No matter what happened, she wanted to hear his voice again.
The voices were getting louder. She considered her options. It had been fortunate that there weren’t security guards about when she’d entered. Perhaps they’d just gone further along the corridor for a few minutes, and they were coming back. Were they about to find her, trespassing? She stood, transfixed to the spot. Her instincts were telling her to hide or to run, but where could she go?
Could she say she was exploring if they caught her? She headed down the stairs.
At least they wouldn’t see her down here.
She went down, fast, quietly. The stairs became a spiral. Within seconds she was in gloom, lit only by occasional dim yellow bulbs. The voices were growing quieter, as if whoever was up there was standing talking. She thought she recognised one of the voices, the second voice, but she dismissed the thought. Why would she recognise someone speaking German?
She kept going down, but slower now. The stairs had to lead somewhere. Had the Dominicans constructed crypts during one of the wars that had passed through the city? The guilds had rebelled against the patricians several times, she’d read. In 1420 A.D. parts of the city had been destroyed. She tried hard to keep the noise of her footsteps to a minimum as she continued on down, but her foot hit a stone sending it tumbling down the stairs.
She stopped, listened.
There was nothing to hear now, except her own shallow breathing and the thumping in her chest. She went down another turn, her hand brushing the wall to guide her. Was there a way out? Had she discovered where Sean had gone? Perhaps he was trapped somewhere down here.
Then the lights went out.
She had an urge to stop, to go back, as the darkness thickened around her, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to keep going. She had to see what was down here.
The gloom was total now. Her heart racing, she took out her phone and switched it on. The sight that greeted her made her wince.
Curtains of cobwebs hung above her head. Some extended up the stairs behind her. A slight wetness she felt on the walls now was a thin green mould. It glistened.
A spider on the floor, a black giant, half as big as her hand, scuttled away from the light. She stood still, urging her breath to calm. Should she go back up? Maybe the men had gone. Maybe she was just being stupid continuing on down. Then a distant noise echoed down to her, followed by a shout.
She kept going down, but faster now, keeping her phone on. The slime was thicker the further down she went, and the cobwebs denser with each turn of the stairs. Finally, she reached the bottom. It looked like the bottom of a well. There was water on the floor, piles of green slime by the walls and a single door straight in front of her. The door was open. She shone her phone into the passage beyond, stepped through tentatively. Water sloshed against her shoes.
She moved forward. The passage was head height, cobblestone walled, and it had a curved cobbled ceiling. There was a pungent damp smell and the air was warm and thick.
There was also a noise in the distance, a soft rumbling, as if there was a machine somewhere down here. This was exactly the sort of place Sean would end up. She took one last look back up the stairs. A voice in her head said wait, maybe these people will help you, but she ignored it. She had to see where the passage led.
44
“You’re late,” said Vanessa Sheer. She closed the screen on her laptop.
“The fire was slow to start,” said Xena. She glanced around the meeting room. There was no one else in it and no obvious security camera.
Vanessa waved at a steel and leather chair on the opposite side of the table.
Xena stood behind the chair, reached with a hand and pushed the chair a little to the side. She crossed her arms.
Vanessa had her phone in her hand. She typed the word kommen into a message and pressed senden.
“You seem anxious, Xena. Is there a problem?”
“You are the one with the problem.”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “If this is about your work, it’s your choice how you carry out our instructions. I don’t ask you to make people suffer.” Her eyes stayed on Xena’s.
Xena leaned across the table. “I will do each job the way I decide. You knew what you were getting when you took me on. I proved my worth for you in Manhattan and I almost got killed for you in Jerusalem.” She leaned forward some more, until her face was half way across the table, her eyes wide and angry. “I was told the only people who would die would be those who deserved it. You deceived me.”
“Who didn’t deserve to die?” Vanessa leaned back. She knew the door behind would open in the next minute or so. There was nothing to fear.
“Eleni Kibre.”
“She was going to expose what we do. She had to die.”
“What was it she was going to expose?”
Vanessa stared at her. “We all want the same thing. You really must trust me. You really must do what I say.”
The door behind Xena opened. Doctor Brandt walked in.
“Can I be of assistance?” he said, looking at Xena.
“Herr Doktor, please show this lady out. Our meeting is over.” She turned to look at Xena.
“You will travel to Cairo. Go to our contact there as soon as you arrive. We have more work for you. Urgent work. And…” she paused. “Be assured that every job you do for us brings what you wish for forward.” She turned to the doctor. “The shipment has been despatched?” The doctor nodded. She picked up her phone, began checking messages.
Xena was glaring at Vanessa. The doctor took a step towards her, put a hand out, as if to take Xena’s arm.
Xena twisted away, strode to the door. She opened it gently. And on the way down the corridor, as they passed a ladies’ toilet, she said, “Herr Doktor, I need your advice.” She smiled, showing a row of perfect while teeth.
He didn’t return the smile. “In what way?”
“It’s personal. I would like your opinion on something.” She pulled her black shirt up high with her left hand. As the doctor stared at the scar where her breast should have been, she slipped her knife from the back of her jeans, where she’d hidden it behind the metal and leather belt she wore, and took a step toward him. She moved fast, put the point of the blade up close to his eye.
“One stupid move and I’ll bring light into your brains, good doctor. Go into that toilet, now.” She nodded towards the nearby door.
She locked the door behind them. It was a single person toilet, like the one she had used near the reception area.
Five minutes later she exited the toilet and strode back up the corridor. When she reached the door to the meeting room, she paused. She moved the knife from one hand to the other, then back again. Both hands had blood on them. The knife slipped easily from her fingers as it went back and forth. She rubbed her forearm across her forehead, stopped moving the knife, put her hand forward.
When she tried the handle it wouldn’t open. Two seconds later an alarm rang out in the corridor.
She looked around. There was an air ventilation grill high up on the far wall. It was small, but it would have to do. She ran to it, jumped up to catch the edge and slipped her knife between the unit and the wall until it was all the way in.
The cover popped. She jumped again, slid inside.
45
The light from Isabel’s ph
one showed a long tunnel stretching away into darkness. Her eyes narrowed. Her skin prickled. This was not going to be easy. Memories of a tunnel she’d explored years before came back to her. She’d almost become trapped then. She didn’t want to go through all that again. Her foot kicked something. She looked down.
It was the remnants of a canvas bag with a red cross on it. There were stains all over the bag. It looked like something from an old Second World War movie. Could it be real? Maybe General Patton’s men had come down here after they took Nuremberg, in one of the last battles of the war, and one of its fiercest.
She kept going, walking rapidly, her head ducked to avoid knocking it on anything. After walking about twenty feet a turn to the right came into view. She stopped. The passage led on to a door, far off, deep in gloom. Would it open? She didn’t want to get stuck in a dead end.
Another doorway loomed in the right hand wall. It was closed. She put her ear near it. She could hear voices. She looked on down the passage. The walls further along were made of thin red bricks, broken away in places, and there was rubble from the wall on the red, earth floor.
She held her phone forward, kept going down the corridor. She wanted to explore as much of this place as possible. She reached the door at the end, pushed at the ancient gray wood. The door didn’t open.
She turned the handle, tried pushing again. It groaned slightly against the wet stone floor, then opened enough to slip through. She peered into the corridor beyond. It curved away into darkness.
She’d entered a labyrinth of underground tunnels. She’d read about the tunnels under Paris and Rome, and that other cities often had them, so it shouldn’t have been unexpected that Nuremberg had similar tunnels, but still she felt uneasy.
The corridor sloped upwards here and was dry. It branched left and right. She took the right hand tunnel and came to an arch in the side wall. She peered into it, lighting the space with her phone.
The area beyond the arch was large, square, and had a low ceiling. Its walls were of a similar thin red brick to the passageway. In places there were holes in the walls and piles of bricks on the floor. Three doors stood in the wall at the far end of the room. She walked past each one, opened them, slowly. They led into smaller rooms, storerooms perhaps. When she went into one of the rooms she changed her mind.
They weren’t store rooms. They were cells. And their doors, old and heavy, swung slowly. She checked the main room again. Rusty iron manacles hung from one wall, high up. Below them there were wooden beams, in a jumble, and what might have been ancient leg irons, and then she saw two giant rusty-iron face masks lying open behind the beams.
She peered down at them, moving her phone to look inside them. Three-inch-long spikes on the inside would cut into anyone’s eyes who had the mask placed on their head. The mask also had slits near the spikes, so whoever was suffering could see who was torturing them, presumably. And whoever was doing the torturing could see the bloody result of their work.
Isabel shivered as she looked at the gaping masks. Who had been put into them? Poor bastards, whoever they were. And who had stood around and ordered it done, and watched as the masks were closed and the spikes tore deep into their faces?
She looked back at the door she’d come in through. Was anyone following her?
She stepped away from the masks. She’d remembered something else she’d read; that torture was used in Nuremberg until the nineteenth century, and that the town had exported torture implements all over Europe. She looked around the room.
The only thing out of place were two bags on a dry spot in one corner. They looked like bags of cement.
She turned off her phone. There were voices in the corridor speaking German. One of the voices was a woman’s. And there was a light approaching, wavering, as whoever held it came nearer. She had to hide.
The only place she could think of, was in one of the cells. She walked towards where she’d remembered them. The only light now was a thin glow from the door to the corridor. If she stood with her back to the wall and near the cell door, anyone looking into the main room wouldn’t see her. They could pass by. They would.
In almost complete darkness she walked into the nearest cell, her hands rubbing against the rough wall.
She held them in front of her, as she turned to the left. When she hit the side wall she was lucky she didn’t bang her head against it. She felt the bricks brush her fringe. The voices were near now. She stood in the corner, feeling the wall with the tips of her fingers, then stood still, trembling slightly, waiting for whoever it was to pass.
The voices stopped.
Her heart was beating fast. Her neck muscles were tight. For a moment, she thought she couldn’t breathe. She pressed back into the wall, could feel it rough and cold against her arms and back.
“Come out.” A man’s voice echoed, like a hammer blow into her brain “We have seen your little torch.”
Light illuminated the cell, bright as daylight. Shadows rose and fell, dark angels sweeping the walls, as the torch beam moved across the doorway. Isabel clenched her fists, her nails biting deep into her skin. She would say she was looking for Sean. With a bit of luck, she’d just be in trouble for trespassing.
She turned and looked out the door. In a second, she knew she was in more trouble than just trespassing. A blonde man, in a black jacket, was standing, beckoning her forward with a pale finger. Beside him stood two muscular guards in black uniforms. One of them had greasy black hair tied back in a ponytail. Each of them was cradling a menacing black machine pistol.
“You must be Isabel Ryan. I expected to find you in your hotel room, not here. You are more resourceful than we thought,” said the man. A smile filled his face, as if finding Isabel was the best thing that had happened to him all day.
“The German police know I am here,” said Isabel. There was sharp defiance in her tone, though dismay tugged at her.
“Thank you for telling us that,” said the man. “Now, come on.” He pointed at Isabel, looked at the guard to his right. His smile was a little wider now. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
“No, I won’t,” said Isabel. “And you’d better let me leave.” But panic was rising from deep inside her. It felt as if she was at the bottom of a well, with no hope of rescue.
The man’s laugh was crystal clear. It echoed off the brick walls. He said something fast in German to one of the guards. It sounded like a joke. The other man’s face didn’t change as he walked slowly towards Isabel. He slung his weapon on his shoulder, put his hands out wide, as if he was about to catch an animal.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Isabel.
“You will not cause any more problems.” The man’s words made Isabel’s teeth clench. Her mouth went dry.
“Stay away from me.” Isabel stepped back, but there was only the wall behind her.
“Did you know that thirty thousand German bodies ended up littering the streets above, to feed the birds in 1945? No, I expect not. No one cared for us then. Don’t expect much sympathy now, Fraulein.” He took a step forward, pointed at Isabel. “Move. I have no time left for you.”
Isabel screamed. “Help!”
There was an answering shout almost immediately. It sent a bolt of hope through her, as if she’d seen a sudden light.
“Isabel!” It was Sean’s voice. Faint, muffled, but unmistakeable!
The shock of hearing it made her step back.
The guards took hold of her arms, pushed her towards the door to the corridor. She stumbled. Then they were holding her arms tight, keeping her upright. They dragged her down the corridor and into another room. All she could think about now was Sean’s voice. She’d heard it. He was alive!
Thank God!
The guards entered the main room behind her. Then there was another shout, louder this time. “Isabel.”
Her heart literally jumped. Sean was near!
The man said something fast in German. The other guard patted her pockets, felt all over
her body.
“Stop! Let me go,” she shouted. Disgust swarmed though as they ground their hands along her thighs.
“Leave her alone.” Sean’s voice again, screaming.
They took her phone. Then they held her arms again.
She struggled. Their grip on her arms tightened. Then they pushed her forward and one guard put a key in a door, opened it inwards, fast. The other guard pushed her through the doorway.
Then Sean was holding her. Her heart almost stopped with the relief of being in his arms again.
The guards pulled the door closed behind them. There was no light in the room. The voices outside were faint now. Isabel and Sean just clung to each other, as if they’d been rescued from certain death. It took minutes for Isabel’s elation at seeing him to subside.
“What the hell is going on?” she said. “What are you doing down here?” She touched the wall beside her. Its coldness and hardness made her close her eyes, as she wondered what would happen to them.
“Hell is right,” said Sean. “I came down into this God-forsaken place to see if any of the work here had a connection to what happened to Eleni.” He sounded rueful.
“What are they going to do with us?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept holding her.
“They won’t kill us, will they?” The words got stuck in her throat, came out only after a deep swallow.
“If they wanted to do that, they would have done it already.” He sounded unrealistically positive. It wasn’t very convincing.
“We’ll find a way out,” he said. He rubbed her back.
Isabel leaned into him. “I hope so.” She asked him what had happened over the weekend.
“Let’s sit down,” said Sean. She could feel him trembling slightly as well, as if he was cold too.
“How long have you been down here?”
“Since Sunday afternoon,” he said. “What day is it? My God, what time is it?”
The Nuremberg Puzzle Page 17