ROOM OF FIRE 32

Chapter 32

The Amber Room, 1715

If you’re just joining this story, you may want to start from the beginning.

This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.

Onward with the search for the Amber Room. . .

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Lauren had only a glimpse of the famous bronze goose girl Gansleliesel of the old German stories and her wards that shyly greeted tourists at the market square fountain in Göttingen. Barely had she and Carlos arrived when they had to leave to meet Wallis Waldheimer outside of the city limits the next evening. She managed to snap a few pictures with her museum-issued camera before leaving with Carlos. In the backseat of the car were hard hats, assorted lights, rope, Carlos' battered traveling briefcase, and two phony identification tags with the name Delcite Industrial, courtesy of a Hamburg quick print shop.

Lauren set aside her qualms about the fabricated company and her role and mentally rehearsed her possible lines, should Waldheimer inquire. She hoped he wouldn't think it odd if she wanted to snap a few photos during their visit to the mine.

Waldheimer arrived soon after her and Carlos at the abandoned potash mine near the meandering river. He was out of his car before his driver could get the door, making a beeline to where Carlos and Lauren stood in the mine yard. He was rotund and sloppy but impeccably dressed, and his lumbering gait thudded heavily on the ground as he hurried. Lauren pushed the eyeglasses Carlos insisted she wear back onto her nose and straightened her nametag.

"Delcite Industrial? Wallis Waldheimer." The burly man shook Carlos' hand. He looked Lauren over quickly, a fleshy smile crossing his soft face.

"I'm Carlos Sheldon," the curator told him. "This is Lauren Gates, second field engineer. Shall we take a look?"

"Yes, yes!"

Waldheimer led the way, stumbling over the rubble of the dormant mine yard. He glanced back at the car nervously, then considered the hard hats Lauren and Carlos were strapping on.

"It's been out of use for a few years, but was still producing when last run," he said in a tone that held more French influence than German.

Carlos' eyes went over the mine shoring as they stepped into the darkened hollow that looked ready to fall in at any whisper. The acidic air was thick, concentrated by the promise of rain the air held. Waldheimer's face wrinkled at the smell.

"You have a current survey?" Carlos asked.

Lauren flipped on her headlamp and a flashlight, nodded to the curator, and moved farther into the wood-supported tunnel.

"This is dated 1941," she heard him say behind her. She stepped carefully over the old wooden beams and a set of rail tracks half-buried in the narrow tunnel.

"Do you have anything more recent?" Carlos asked.

The tunnel curved left before Lauren and she paused to examine a small mound of debris. She kicked a broken pick handle. A rat scurried out of the rubbish. She swallowed the yelp that rose in her throat and slowly took the curve of the passage.

Once around the turn, no light seeped in from the tunnel entrance. Her lights were jerky spots that illuminated little. She continued on, relaxing minutely. The inside beam supports were stable enough, still strong and only slightly bowed after the many decades of non-use. Carlos and Waldheimer's voices faded.

When the tunnel branched into three corridors she took the left. It appeared to be the youngest and ended after only eighty feet. She backed out of this and followed the center tunnel. For ten minutes she continued steadily on with growing disappointment. Three rats and another varmint she couldn't identify made her flinch as they scuttled away.

The mine tracks were barely visible now after years of raw elements and she kept slipping when her foot caught the rail. Ahead she saw a partial collapse that blocked half the ten-foot-wide tunnel. She looked around, spying a broken, flat-ended shovel. This she took to the heap of collapsed debris.

The debris was easy to work, loose and free from most moisture, which gave her the impression it was relatively recent. It took only moments to dig through enough to know nothing of any size was buried there. She abandoned this only to find another similar, larger heap blocking an adjoining tunnel to one side.

She cleared this enough to be disappointed again, then interviewed the tunnel beyond. It was a chamber rather than a tunnel, spreading twenty-five feet at its widest, apparently once used for salvage. She was about to leave when she turned back to the roomy void. The salvage wasn't worth burrowing through—exactly the place she would choose to bury a treasure. She dug in.

The concept was less appealing after ten minutes of straining to move the heavy timbers. She had made a large enough dent in the pile to poke the shovel through most of the rest of the way. After considerable wiggling, the shovel found the opposite wall half a dozen times, convincing her the debris was just that. The last shove of the shovel caused an inner collapse that trapped the shovel deep in the pile. She had no choice but to leave it there.

The center tunnel continued on for another ten minutes without new corridors or chambers, forever dropping lower and veering to the right. The acidic air grew stronger and irritated her eyes until they watered. She put the glasses in her shirt pocket.

After another five minutes of travel and gradual incline, she realized the tunnel was looping around to connect to the last corridor. Halfway up the slow ascent, another collapse blocked the track.

She wished she had brought the shovel with her. Instead she made due with a nearby board, digging at the mound hurriedly. Carlos had been stalling Waldheimer for over thirty minutes, according to her watch. She would have to get back soon or they may venture in after her.

Maybe not, she reconsidered. Waldheimer didn't look like the type to wade through ankle-deep debris and rubble in a mine without the safety of a hard hat.

The board struck a solid object inside the mound of dirt. She angled the flashlight beam for a better look at the blockage. The side of a metal crate corner could be seen in the gap she'd made. She dug faster, uncovering the edge of one crate and the corner of another.

She sat back, breathless and hot, wiping a dirt streak on her cheek. There was no doubt; the wooden crates were the same as those in Gustalav's crypt. She pulled out more dirt. One corner was even separated like the one that had left the telltale gouges in the vault. A blessed design flaw, she thought joyously.

She wedged the board in and widened the loose corner of the crate and then beamed the flashlight inside. She stuck her fingers in and fished out an object, ignoring the scrapes on her knuckles and fingers. She rubbed the dusty yellow oval until it took on a cognac luster.

She remained seated, afraid her legs would fail to hold her. She wanted to shout, to laugh. Kiss something. She took a deep, shaky breath. She couldn't dig it out and she knew it; she made an extraordinary effort to leave the rest covered. She brought out the camera and took a quick photo, unsure how a mere picture could rival the amber in her hand. She wrapped it in a handkerchief and slipped it into her pocket. As a second thought, she scooped more dirt down over the hollow she'd made.

She shoved the camera into her pocket and quickly filled the three plastic bags she had brought for taking soil samples. She couldn't go back to Carlos and Waldheimer empty-handed. She put her glasses back on, rubbing her watering eyes and coughing from the thick air. Trying to conceal her smile, she made her way back to the surface.