"Maybe that's what scared Renwick off," said Archie.
"Possibly," Tom said skeptically. "Doesn't seem like him, though — to come so close and then give up. Maybe he's gone to get reinforcements."
"Well, he's not here now. And I don't know about you, but I'd like to take a look inside those carriages."
Tom smiled. "We both would. But I'm not sure there's much point if we can't get it out."
"I thought you said you were going to call that FBI guy, Bailey, once we knew what was going on?"
"That was the deal, but—"
"Before you call in the cavalry, don't you want to check there's something here?"
"What about the people on the other side of that?" Tom nodded toward the collapsed mine entrance. "We don't want to get caught in here when they break through."
"Why don't we leave Piotr down this end? As soon as they look like coming in, he can run back and tell us. We can send Grigory up the other end to keep Yuri company and make sure Renwick doesn't sneak in behind us."
"That should work," Tom agreed. "But we'd better be quick."
After some rapid instructions, mainly communicated through hand signals, Piotr and Grigory left to take up their sentry positions. As soon as both men were out of sight, Tom and Archie turned their attention to the two freight cars.
They were of standard construction, wooden panels slatted horizontally into a rectangular frame, with angled cross-pieces at regular intervals for extra reinforcement. Apart from the obvious effects of age, both cars looked remarkably intact, although the left-hand one seemed to be on the losing end of a long fight against rot and woodworm, and a thick beard of rust coated both undercarriages. Against the flaking orange-red paint on the sides, two sets of faded white letters and serial numbers were just about legible.
They both stepped forward to the side door of the first car, a large panel almost a third of the length, that slid back along a set of metal runners.
But just as he was about to pull back on the door, Tom noticed that the holes in the woodwork that he had previously assumed to have been caused by woodworm and rot were far too symmetrical to be the product of any natural process.
They were bullet holes.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
Asudden chill ran through the pit of Tom's stomach and he knew it wasn't the cold. Archie, too, from the look he flashed him, had registered the locked door and the bullet holes and was asking himself the same question. Were the carriages empty when those holes had been made, or had the doors been locked for a more sinister reason than simply to ensure they didn't fly open in transit?
Tom grasped the top of the iron bar that had been jammed into the hasp but, corroded by years of disuse, it wouldn't budge. He tugged it from side to side, slowly gaining a bit of play, until it eventually slid free with a shriek that set his teeth on edge. He threw the bar to the ground with a clang and then folded the clasp back, the hinge stiff and cold. It required the combined efforts of both of them to tug the door open. Finally, with Tom pulling and Archie pushing on the massive iron handle, the door scraped back one foot, then two, protesting furiously all the way.
"That'll do," said Tom, panting. "You should be able to fit through there."
"You mean you should be able to fit through there," Archie said, smiling. "Here, I'll give you a leg up." He clasped his hands together to form a cradle, and Tom stepped onto it and pulled himself through the gap. Crouching in the doorway, he reached for his flashlight but realized that it was very nearly redundant. The lights outside were being funneled through the bullet holes to form hundreds of narrow splinters of light, all of different heights and angles, crisscrossing the interior of the wagon like swords thrust through the sides of a wooden box. It was strangely beautiful. "You all right?" Archie called.
"Yeah." Tom looked back over his shoulder and gave him a nod. He turned back and this time switched the flashlight on, running it over the ceiling and the walls.
Nothing.
He stood up and took a couple of steps, then stepped on something hard that snapped under his feet. He flicked the light down to see what he had trodden on. Recoiling, he saw that it was a leg bone. A human leg bone.
"Archie, you'd better get up here," Tom called out.
"Why, what's up?" Archie jumped up to the open door, his legs dangling free and his shoulders only just inside the car. Tom hauled him inside.
"Look…"
Tom let his flashlight play across the floor. There must have been, he estimated, about thirty bodies there, all lying across each other, awkward and sunken, as if they were slowly being sucked into the floor. Only their skeletons were left, the bones, where they emerged from frayed sleeves and trouser legs or peered out from under rotting caps, glowing white.
"Who were they?" Archie breathed. "POWs? Civilians?"
"I don't think so…" Tom stepped forward, picking his way carefully through the twisted remains and picked up a cap that had rolled free. He pointed at its badge, a swastika, each of its arms ending in an arrow point. "The Arrow Cross — it was worn by Nazi troops from Hungary."
"Which is where Lasche said the Gold Train originally set out from."
"Yeah," said Tom. "From what I remember, he said it was guarded by Hungarian troops. This must be what's left of them."
A quick search revealed nothing apart from the bodies they could already see. Nothing, that is, except, frozen in the beam of Tom's light, a single name scratched on one wall, close to the floor. Josef Kohl. Someone who, Tom surmised, had survived the slaughter only to die of starvation, surrounded by the rank stench of his decaying comrades.
The discovery silenced them both.
"How do you suppose this played out?" Archie asked eventually.
Tom shrugged. "We know that the train was on its way to Switzerland. When the bridge at Brixlegg was bombed, it must have turned back and hid in a tunnel in the hope that the bridge would be repaired. That's where the Americans found it. Clearly, somewhere between Brixlegg and the tunnel, a decision was taken to uncouple these two carriages and haul them up here with the help of some of the Hungarian guards. Once they'd got it in here, the guards were disarmed, locked inside the carriage, and executed. Finally the tracks leading up here were lifted and the mine entrance was collapsed to ensure that the secret was kept safe."
"So whatever they were protecting must be in the other carriage?"
"There's only one way to find out," Tom said with a tight smile.
But as they turned, the door rolled shut and they heard the unmistakable rasp of the metal pin being slid back into the hasp.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
What do you think we should do?" Dominique threw a questioning glance at Viktor who, grim-faced, was studying the armed men as they checked each other to make sure the suits were correctly fitted. "Get down there and tell them."
"We'll never make it in time," Dominique pointed out. "We haven't got the map, and I've no idea where the entrance is. By the time we find it, it'll be too late."
Viktor was silent as she tried to think of a way of getting word to Tom. How could they warn him, not only that he was about to have company, but that the newcomers' expectation of what lay at the bottom of this mine was clearly very different from anything they had envisaged. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp tug on her arm.
"Someone's coming," Dominique hissed.
One of the machine operators had detached himself from the crew and was hurrying in their direction. Viktor ducked down out of sight, but the steady crunch of the snow indicated that the man was still approaching. In fact, he seemed to be heading straight for them.