Jeroen Windmeijer - St Paul’s Labyrinth - The explosive new thriller perfect for fans of Dan Brown and Robert Harris!

When the mayor finally emerged from the pit, there was more applause. He smiled weakly and waved. Daniël and Peter took him to the waiting ambulance. The crew started to unload the stretcher, but the mayor motioned it away and got into the ambulance himself to allow the paramedics to see to him.

The second excavator arrived, led by a group of men carrying thick cables. Daniël stuck his head inside the ambulance door. The blood had been wiped from the mayor’s face already and he sat holding a handkerchief to his nose while a paramedic wound a bandage around his head. He reminded Daniël of a footballer with a head wound, being patched up before returning to the pitch.

‘I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, sir,’ Daniël began.

‘It wasn’t your fault … I don’t know what went wrong. I must have pressed the wrong button … It felt like there was some resistance and then I broke through something.’

‘We’re going to investigate, Mr Mayor. And again, please accept my sincere apologies.’

The paramedic finished dressing Freylink’s head wound and told him he would like to take him to the hospital for further assessment, to which the mayor agreed. Before he got into the ambulance, he gave another jovial wave to the people who stood watching from a distance. The ambulance doors were closed and it quietly drove away, without lights or sirens.

The cables had been attached to the excavator, and now the other digger reversed, growling and puffing smoke while four men stood around the pit to supervise it all. The trapped machine soon began to move and, after twenty minutes, it was back on the surface.

Daniël stood waiting impatiently with a rope ladder in his hands.

‘Do you want to go down?’ Peter asked.

‘Yes, of course! I want to see what the hell went wrong. We didn’t find anything unusual when we were digging. I inspected everything myself just an hour ago.’

They both stared down into the pit. It looked like part of the bottom of it had subsided. When the all-clear was given, Daniël carefully lowered the rope ladder. He made sure that it was securely anchored into the ground with two pegs before he put his foot on the first rung. He switched on the lamp on his helmet and began to climb down.

‘And?’ Peter called after him.

‘It smells different … like the air is damper, heavier. And …’ He had reached the bottom now. ‘There’s been a partial collapse at the bottom!’ he shouted. ‘It looks like there’s a space underneath it.’

‘Is there room for one more?’ Peter shouted. He wanted to take a look too, hoping it would take his mind off the strange text messages.

‘I knew you were going to ask that! Come on!’

Peter descended cautiously, as Janna watched, looking worried and indignantly shaking her head.

Daniël took off his hardhat and pointed the headlamp at the ground below him. ‘This is really bizarre. Look.’

Now Peter could see it too. It was obvious. The walls of the pit were clearly made of bricks and mortar. What on earth was this? A stone floor? Three metres underground?

Peter knelt down and leaned forward to see how far down the hole at the bottom of the pit went. He took Peter’s helmet and pointed its headlamp downwards.

Suddenly he heard a groan. A soft, but unmistakable groan.

He jerked his head backwards with a sharp cry. The helmet fell into the hole.

‘Have you seen a ghost?’ Daniël asked, laughing nervously.

‘I … I think there’s someone …’ Peter stammered.

The groan came again, harder now. He hadn’t imagined it. Daniël had heard it too.

Peter took a deep breath. He stuck his head back into the hole, searching for the source of the groaning. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Two bare legs poked out from underneath a pile of bricks. At the other end of the pile lay the naked torso of a young man.

The headlamp only barely lit the scene in front of him, but as soon as his eyes grew used to the darkness, he gasped as though he had been punched in the stomach. What appeared before him could have been a medieval painting of the torments of hell.

The man was covered from head to toe in blood.

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