It took less than a year for Gunther to find the right mine. It had to be abandoned so they could work in it without notice, and it had to be close enough for a handful of men working part time to dig a passage from it into the Habersam mine. It took Gunther and his coworkers more than nine years to dig the passage.

“But if you’ve already cut a passage into the mine, why haven’t you hired a safecracker or something to get the shroud out before now?” Seth asked.

Wordlessly, Gunther reached into the black metal briefcase and pulled from it a small bound booklet. He displayed it for all to see.

“The good Sergeant von Halbach told Father Morgen about an extensive system of safeguards, mines, and traps that lined every approach to the vault,” Gunther said.

“And in addition,” Morgen said, “not only is the vault itself designed to be dangerous to any unauthorized entry, but also von Halbach told me that as an ultimate safeguard there were mechanisms to destroy the shroud and the Passion to keep them from falling into the wrong hands.”

“And this is the key,” Gunther said, eagerly thumbing through the book’s pages. “Page after page after page on how to avoid, disarm, dismantle the defenses.” He paused as he scanned one page in the back. “Including the procedure for entering the vault.” He bent the book’s binding back to the page and held it up for all to see.

“But surely the explosives or poisons… whatever, will have deteriorated over the last forty years,” Zoe said.

Seth shook his head, “People are still being killed by World War Two grenades and bombs that some farmer plows up in his fields or that some gas company worker slams a shovel into.”

Gunther looked at her and nodded his agreement. “He’s right, Mrs. Ridgeway. And there are poison gases the Nazis produced, nerve gases like tabun, anthrax bombs, that are still just as potent today and probably thousands of times as dangerous now that their metal casings and containers have deteriorated.” He shook his head. “No, the Nazis made good weapons. We can expect most of them still to pose a danger.”

Zoe shivered.

“I assume, then, that one of you”—Seth looked at Gunther—”is an expert in the sorts of explosives or devices from the World War Two era?”

There was a pregnant pause as Gunther looked to Morgen.

Morgen cleared his throat. “I’m afraid he was killed in Amsterdam,” Morgen said. “He died in the park next to you—”

“I’ve learned a bit about explosives,” Gunther said, “in the course of being a mine superintendent. But an expat? Hardly, Mr. Ridgeway.”

“That’s why we’d like you to accompany us into the mine tomorrow,” Morgen said to Seth. “I understand your law enforcement experience includes some expertise in explosives. That, and because you have a young, strong back.”

“No, Seth!” Zoe cried. “We’ve already done enough. Let them handle this part.”