Reinhard Ernst believed that for as long as he lived he would never forget the look on Hermann Göring’s puffy face at that moment.

In the ruddy, grinning moon of flesh, the eyes registered utter shock. A bully cut down.

Ernst took no particular pleasure in the coup, however, because once the shock bled out, the visage turned to one of pure hatred.

The Leader didn’t seem to notice the silent exchange between the men. He tapped several documents on the desk. “I asked Colonel Ernst for information about his study on our military he is currently conducting, which he will deliver tomorrow…” A sharp look at Ernst, who nodded and assured him, “Indeed, my Leader.”

“And in preparing it he learned that someone has altered records of the relatives of Doctor-professor Keitel and others working with the government. Men at Krupp, Farben, Siemens.”

“And,” Ernst muttered, “I was shocked to find that the matter goes beyond that. They have even altered records of the relatives and ancestors of many prominent officials in the Party itself. Planting information in and around Hamburg, mostly. I saw fit to destroy much of what I came across.” Ernst looked Göring up and down. “Some lies referred to people quite high up. Suggestions of liaisons with Jewish tinkers, bastard children and the like.”

Göring frowned. “Terrible.” His teeth were close together – furious not only at the defeat but at Ernst’s hint that Jewish ancestry might have figured in the air minister’s past, as well. “Who would do such a thing?” He began fidgeting with the folder he held.

“Who?” Hitler muttered. “Communists, Jews, Social Democrats. I myself have been troubled lately by the Catholics. We must never forget they oppose us. It’s easy to be lulled, considering our common hatred for the Jews. But who knows? We have many enemies.”

“Indeed we do.” Göring again cast a look at Ernst, who asked if he could pour the minister some coffee or chocolate.

“No, thank you, Reinhard,” was the chilly reply.

As a soldier Ernst had learned early that of all the weapons in the arsenal of the military the single most effective was accurate intelligence. He insisted on knowing exactly what his enemy was up to. He’d made a mistake in thinking that the phone kiosk some blocks away from the Chancellory was not monitored by Göring’s spies. Through that carelessness, the air minister had learned the name of the coauthor of the Waltham Study. But fortunately Ernst – while appearing to be naive in the art of intrigue – nonetheless had good people placed where they were quite useful. The man who regularly provided information to Ernst about goings-on at the air ministry had last night reported, just after he’d cleaned up a broken spaghetti plate and fetched the minister a clean shirt, that Göring had unearthed information about Keitel’s grandmother.

Disgusted to have to be playing such a game, yet aware of the deadly risk the situation posed, Ernst had immediately gone to see Keitel. The doctor-professor had supposed that the woman’s Jewish connection was true but he’d had nothing to do with that side of the family for years. Ernst and Keitel had themselves spent hours last night creating forgeries of documents suggesting that businessmen and government officials who were pure-blooded Aryan had Jewish roots.

The only difficult part of Ernst’s strategy was to make certain that he got to Hitler before Göring did. But one of the techniques of warfare that Ernst was committed to in strategic military planning was what he called the “lightning strike.” By this he meant moving so quickly that your enemy had no time to prepare a defense, even if he was more powerful than you. The colonel blustered his way into the Leader’s office early this morning and laid out his conspiracy, proffering the forgeries.

“We will get to the bottom of it,” Hitler now said and stepped away from the desk to pour himself more hot cocoa and take several zwiebacks from a plate. “Now, Hermann, what about your note? What have you uncovered?”

With a smiling nod toward Ernst, the huge man refused to acknowledge defeat. Instead he shook his head, with a massive frown, and said, “I’ve heard of unrest at Oranienburg. Particular disrespect for the guards there. I’m worried about the possibility of rebellions. I would recommend reprisals. Harsh reprisals.”

This was absurd. Being extensively rebuilt with slave labor and renamed Sachsenhausen, the concentration camp was perfectly secure; there was no chance for rebellion whatsoever. The prisoners were like penned, declawed animals. Göring’s comments were told for one purpose only: out of vindictiveness, to lay a series of deaths of innocent people at Ernst’s feet.

As Hitler considered this, Ernst said casually, “I know little about the camp, my Leader, and the air minister has a good point. We must make absolutely certain there is no dissent.”

“But… I sense some hesitation, Colonel,” Hitler said.

Ernst shrugged. “Only that I wonder if such reprisals would be better inflicted after the Olympics. The camp is not far from the Olympic Village, after all. Particularly with the foreign reporters in town, it could be quite awkward if stories leaked out. I would think it best to keep the camp as secret as possible until later.”

This idea didn’t please Hitler, Ernst could see at once. But before Göring could protest, the Leader said, “I agree it’s probably best. We’ll deal with the matter in a month or two.”

When he and Göring would have forgotten about the matter, Ernst hoped.

“Now, Hermann, the colonel has more good news. The British have completely accepted our warship and undersea boat quotas under last year’s treaty. Reinhard’s plan has worked.”

“How fortunate,” Göring muttered.

“Air Minister, is that file for my attention?” The Leader’s eyes, which missed little, glanced at the documents under the man’s arm.

“No, sir. It’s nothing.”

The Leader poured himself yet more chocolate and walked to the scale model of the Olympic stadium. “Come, gentlemen, and look at the new additions. They’re quite nice, don’t you think? Elegant, I would say. I love the modern styling. Mussolini thinks he invented it. But he is a thief, of course, as we all know.”

“Indeed, my Leader,” Göring said.

Ernst too murmured his approval. Hitler’s dancing eyes reminded him of Rudy’s when the boy had shown his Opa an elaborate sand castle he’d built at the beach last year.

“I’m told the heat might be breaking today. Let us hope that will be the case, for our picture-taking session. Colonel, you will wear your uniform?”

“I think not, my Leader. I am, after all, merely a civil servant now. I wouldn’t want to appear ostentatious in the company of my distinguished colleagues.” Ernst kept his eyes on the mock-up of the stadium and, with some effort, avoided a glance at Göring’s elaborate uniform.

The office of the plenipotentiary for domestic stability – the sign painted in stark Gothic German characters – was on the third floor of the Chancellory. The renovations on this level seemed largely completed, though the smell of paint and plaster and varnish was heavy in the air.

Paul had entered the building without difficulty, though he’d been carefully searched by two black-uniformed guards armed with bayonet-mounted rifles. Webber’s paperwork passed muster, though he was stopped and searched again on the third floor.

He waited until a patrol had walked down the hallway and knocked respectfully on the rippled-glass window in the door to Ernst’s office.

No answer.

He tried the knob and found it unlocked. He walked through the dark anteroom and toward the door that led to Ernst’s private office. He stopped suddenly, alarmed that the man might be here, since the light under the door was so bright. But he knocked again and heard nothing. He opened the door and found that the brilliance was sunlight; the office faced east and the morning light streamed viciously into the room. Debating about the door, he decided to leave it open; closing it was probably against regulations and would be suspicious, if guards made rounds.