This study arises out of my instructions from you to make ready the German armed forces and to help them achieve most expeditiously the goals of our great nation, as you have set forth.

He paused and organized his thoughts. What to share and what not to share?

A half hour later he finished the page-and-a-half document, made a few penciled corrections. This draft would do for now. He would have Keitel read the document as well and make corrections, then Ernst would retype the final version tonight and personally deliver it to the Leader tomorrow. He wrote a note to Keitel asking for his comments and clipped it to the draft.

Carrying the tray downstairs, he said good-bye to Gertrud then left. Hitler had insisted that guards be stationed outside his house, at least until the assassin was caught. Ernst had no objection to this but he now asked that they remain out of sight so as not to alarm his family. He also acquiesced to the Leader’s demand that he not drive himself in his open Mercedes, as he preferred, but be driven in a closed auto by an armed SS bodyguard.

They drove first to Columbia House, at Tempelhof. The driver climbed out and looked around to make sure the entry area was safe. He walked to the other two guards, stationed in front of the door, spoke with them and they looked around too, though Ernst couldn’t imagine anyone being so foolish as to attempt an assassination in front of an SS detention center. After a moment they waved and Ernst climbed out of the car. He stepped through the front door and was led down the stairs, through several locked doors, and then into the cell area.

Walking down the long hallway again, hot and dank, stinking of urine and shit. What a disgusting way to treat people, he thought. The British, American and French soldiers he’d captured during the War had been treated with respect. Ernst had saluted the officers, chatted with the enlisted men, made sure they were warm and dry and fed. He now felt a burst of contempt for the brown-uniformed jailer who accompanied him down the corridor, softly whistling the “Horst Wessel Song” and occasionally banging on bars with his truncheon, simply to frighten the prisoners.

When they came to a cell three-quarters of the way down the corridor Ernst stopped, looked inside, his skin itching in the heat.

The two Fischer brothers were drenched with sweat. They were frightened, of course – everyone was frightened in this terrible place – but he saw something else in their eyes: youthful defiance.

Ernst was disappointed. The look told him they were going to reject his offer: They’d chosen a spell in Oranienburg? He’d thought for certain that Kurt and Hans would agree to participate in the Waltham Study. They would have been perfect.

“Good afternoon.”

The older one nodded. Ernst felt a strange chill. The boy resembled his own son. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Perhaps it was the self-confidence and the serenity that hadn’t been there this morning. Perhaps it was just the lingering aftermath of the look in young Rudy’s eyes earlier. In any case, the similarity unnerved him.

“I need your answer now regarding your participation in our study.”

The brothers looked at each other. Kurt began to speak but it was the younger one who said, “We will do it.”

So, he’d been wrong. Ernst smiled and nodded, genuinely pleased.

The older brother then added, “Provided you let us send a letter to England.”

“A letter?”

“We wish to communicate with our parents.”

“That is not allowed, I’m afraid.”

“But you’re a colonel, right? Aren’t you someone who can decide what’s allowed and what isn’t?” Hans asked.

Ernst cocked his head and examined the boy. But his attention returned to the older brother. The resemblance to Mark was indeed uncanny. He hesitated then said, “One letter. But you must send it in the next two days, while you’re under my supervision. Your training sergeants won’t permit it, not a letter to London. They are definitely not someone who can decide what’s allowed and what isn’t.”

Another glance passed between the boys. Kurt nodded. The colonel did too. And then he saluted them – just as he’d said good-bye to his son. Not with a fascist extended arm but in a traditional gesture, lifting his flat palm to his forehead, which the SA guard pretended not to notice.

“Welcome to the new Germany,” Ernst said in a voice that was close to a whisper and belied the crisp salute.

They turned the corner and headed for Lützow Plaza, putting as much distance between them and the boardinghouse as possible before they found a taxi, Paul looking back often to make sure they weren’t being followed.

“We aren’t staying at the Metropol,” he said, gazing up and down the street. “I’ll find someplace safe. My friend Otto can do that. I’m sorry. But you’ll have to just leave everything back there. You can’t go back again.”

On the busy street corner they stopped. Absently his arm slipped around Käthe’s waist as he looked into traffic. But he felt her stiffen. Then she pulled away.

He glanced down at her, frowning.

“I am going back, Paul.” She spoke in a voice that was devoid of emotion.

“Käthe, what’s wrong?”

“I was telling the truth to the Kripo inspector.”

“You…”

“I was outside the door, looking in. You were the one who lied. You murdered that man in the room. There was no fight. He didn’t have a gun. He was standing there helpless, and you hit him and killed him. It was horrible. I haven’t seen anything so horrible since… since…”

The fourth square from the grass…

Paul was silent.

An open truck drove past. A half dozen Stormtroopers were in the back. They shouted out something to a group of people on the street, laughing. Some of the pedestrians waved back. The truck disappeared fast around a corner.

Paul led Käthe to a bench in a small park but she wouldn’t sit. “No,” she whispered. Arms folded across her chest, she stared at him coldly.

“It’s not as simple as you think,” he whispered.

“Simple?”

“There’s more to me, to why I’m here, yes. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be involved.”

Now, at last, raw anger exploded. “Oh, there’s an excuse for lying! You didn’t want to get me involved. You asked me to come to America, Paul. How much more involved could I be?”

“I mean involved with my old life. This trip will be the end of that.”

“Old life? Are you a soldier?”

“In a way.” Then he hesitated. “No. That’s not true. I was a criminal in America. I came here to stop them.”

“Them?”

“Your enemies.” He nodded at one of the hundreds of red-white-and-black flags that stirred nearby in the breeze. “I was supposed to kill someone in the government here to stop him from starting another war. But afterwards, that part of my life will be over with. I’d have a clean record. I’d-”

“And when were you going to tell me this little secret of yours, Paul? When we got to London? To New York?”

“Believe me. It’s over with.”

“You used me.”

“I never-”

“Last night – that wonderful night – you had me show you Wilhelm Street. You were using me as cover, weren’t you? You wished to find a place where you could murder this man.”

He looked up at one of the stark, flapping banners and said nothing.

“And what if in America I did something that angered you? Would you hit me? Would you kill me?”

“Käthe! Of course not.”

“Ach, you say that. But you’ve lied before.” Käthe pulled a handkerchief from her purse. The smell of lilac touched him momentarily and his heart cried, as if it were the smell of incense at a loved one’s wake. She wiped her eyes and stuffed the cloth away. “Tell me one thing, Paul. How are you different from them? Tell me. How?… No, no, you are different. You’re crueller. Do you know why?” Choking on tears. “You gave me hope and then you took it away. With them, with the beasts in the garden, there is never any hope. At least they’re not deceitful like you. No, Paul. Fly back to your perfect country. I’ll stay here. I’ll stay until the knock on the door. And then I’ll be gone. Like my Michael.”