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“Pardon?”

“Were there any belongings?” Remi said “Personal possessions?”

“Yes, yes You saw upstairs”

“Nothing else? A bottle with French writing on it?”

“French? No No bottle”

Sam and Remi looked at one another “Damn,” he whispered

“No bottle,” Andrej repeated “Box”

“What?”

“French writing, yes?”

“Yes”

“There was box inside coffin Small, shaped likeloaf of bread?”

“Yes, that’s it!” Remi replied

Andrej stepped around theeway Sam and Remi hurried after him Andrej stopped at the first niche beside the steps He knelt down, leaned inside, rued about, then scooted back out with a wooden crate covered in Cyrillic stencils It was a World War II ammunition crate

Andrej opened the lid “This?”

Lying atop folds of rotted canvas and half buried under spools of twine, rusted hand tools, and dented cans of paint was a fa box