It opened on dead darkness, on cold air confined, on the smell of stone.
There was not a sound.
Timuroff darted through and to the left. He heard Pete follow, to the right. With his free hand, he explored the wall, and found a light switch where it ought to be, an old-fashioned metal and porcelain affair screwed to the doorpost. “Switch,” he whispered, to alert Pete, and twisted it.
A light glowed, a dusty naked bulb suspended from the ceiling, its ancient wire filaments casting their yellow glow as reliably as they had in Albright’s day. The passage they were in was virtually a chamber, at least six feet wide and fifteen long. Its floor was stone. Hewn stones formed its walls. To his left, Timuroff saw another passage branching off. There was no one there…
“He heard Pete gasp, and whi
