“Wait,” Rudi whispered. Everyone fell silent. He pressed the knot. Nothing happened. Then he remembered his father’s words: Don’t push, Rudi. Pull. He dug his fingernail under the edge of the wood panel and tugged. From the crack, the tip of an old, rotting piece of twine appeared.
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The officials leaned in. Rudi, forgetting the pain in his back, grabbed the string with both hands and pulled hard. A loud crack echoed through the attic, making everyone jump. A section of the wall, which looked like solid masonry, tilted forward.
It wasn’t a wall. It was a false panel, masterfully camouflaged against the slope of the roof. Behind it lay a dark void, and a gust of stale air from the 1940s hit them in the face.
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