The Vault of Poseidon

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Gottardo Ricci scrambled along the crumbling shaft of the island’s largest marble mine. The bright Mediterranean sunlight spilled in at the entrance and stung the eyes of the elderly Italian archaeologist as he clawed himself forward through the filthy grit and sand. Checking that the bag was still over his shoulder, he made one final attempt to free himself from the terror behind him.

Then his worst fear came true — a second gunshot thundered through the cavern almost deafening him and sending a burning, searing pain racing through his leg. He had been shot a second time, and now both legs were wounded and bleeding heavily.

He heard the man’s voice once again.

“You have something that belongs to the Reich, Dr Ricci.”

The voice was cold, emotionless.

Ricci twisted in agony to see the man approaching him from behind. He thought he had gotten further away from him than this. He was wrong.

Now, just a few yards away, walking calmly along the dimly lit mineshaft was SS-Sturmbannführer Otto Zaugg of the 4th Schutzstaffel Polizei Panzergrenadier Division. He was tall and powerfully-built, with blond hair and ashen white skin.

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