Despite the unmasking of von Stauffenberg and his murderous cabal of plotters, the fuhrer still felt safest at the Wolfschanze. In truth, this was a testament to his personal bravery, and strength of will.

Of course, Himmler mused, the assassin's bomb that would have been planted there in July of '44 would never materialize. He had made sure of that. Anyone even remotely connected with that act of treason had already been killed. As had their extended families, their friends, and any possible accomplices. He had even eliminated some whose names were not found in the Fleetnet files, but upon whom suspicion fell anyway.

His Mercedes hummed through the thick stands of pine and birch that made up the Goerlitz forest, where elk and wild horse still roamed free, through the steep-sided valleys and troughs carved out by massive glaciers in the distant past. As they sped along the road to the bunker complex, the SS chief felt his spirits lifting for the first time in months.

Thankfully, the worst of the traitor-hunt was now behind them. Rebellious elements of the Wehrmacht and the Kriegsmarine had been brought to heel with exemplary severity. Some useful men had been lost, it was true. And he was the first to admit that it was more than possible that innocent blood had been spilled. But the revelations furnished by the Emergence demanded resolute action. The vengeance of the Black Angels, falling on those who would have failed the fuhrer, had been swift and terrible to behold-as history demanded that it must be.

And there was still so much to do. There was a war to be won, against much greater odds than anyone would have admitted only a year ago. But just as the Emergence had brought frightful knowledge of criminals acting in league with Jewish and Bolshevik plotters to destroy the fuhrer's legacy, so, too, had it yielded the means of thwarting their schemes-and of defeating the corrupt democracies.

The heavy, armor-plated sedan gracefully powered out of a long, sweeping turn, allowing him to catch sight of Kaltenbrunner's limousine, just a few hundred meters ahead. Himmler still considered his Security Service chief a very lucky man. According to the records, some doubt had hung over his actions at the end of the war in die andere Zeit, the other time. Fortunately for Kaltenbrunner, the records were inconclusive, and nobody could pin down quite what he had done. Ultimately, he was saved by his performance on the gallows.

It was an SS researcher who had discovered an electronic magazine article about famous last lines. He had come across a report of Kaltenbrunner's execution by the Allies, in October 1946. Just before the hangman's noose took him, Kaltenbrunner showed a distinct sense of style, saying in a low, calm voice, "Germany, good luck."

That was the sort of Aryan contempt for death that the fuhrer found reassuring in these uncertain of days. So Kaltenbrunner lived. For now.

And his tenuous hold on life was driving him more fervently to prove his loyalty. He had accelerated the solution to the Jewish problem, despite the fact that the Allies had stepped up their efforts to bomb the rail lines that led to the camps. He had even taken over the Abwehr two years early and had placed it under the supervision of the Reich Central Security Office.

That would have happened in 1944 but-

"Pah!"

Himmler chided himself and waved away these idle thoughts. Would have, could have, should have, may have… It was all so pointless. What mattered was that they strike a massive coordinated blow against the English-speaking world, to smash them so hard that they would be crippled, if not destroyed altogether.

He knew that Stalin was using the current hiatus to desperately shore up his own defenses, but to no avail-it would never be enough. Russia would burn, and this time they wouldn't make the mistake of sending millions of troops into the wasteland of the steppes.

A thin, contemptuous smile twisted his features as he thought of the eagerness with which Stalin had accepted the terms of the cease-fire.

The small procession of cars motored through the northern gates of the Wolfschanze, past a checkpoint manned by the finest of all German troops, the Leibstandarte-SS Adolf Hitler. Himmler nodded approvingly as the men snapped out an extra-crisp salute for his car when it glided past.

The outer ring of the complex, which enclosed an area of two and a half square kilometers, was secured by minefields and a double-apron barbed-wire fence, although that was gradually being replaced with electrified razor wire as it became available. The main bunker was located in the north of the compound and sat within a secondary enclosure.

Thousands of workmen still crawled over the eighty or so fortified structures, hardening them against possible Allied air or missile strikes. Almost no evidence remained of the original wooden buildings, which now formed the inner shell of triple-bunkered concrete blockhouses. Himmler missed the old-world charm of the original design. It had felt like visiting a hunting lodge out here in the woods. But such whimsy was for quieter times.

His driver was forced to stop at the inner ring, as his identity was verified, although that did not take long.

Himmler climbed out of the rear seat as a car pulled up from behind, and the Japanese ambassador arrived. The German waited for Lieutenant General Hiroshi Oshima, not really wanting to talk to Kaltenbrunner.

"Reichsfuhrer, a fine day, if a little chilly," said Oshima. "It reminds me of the forests on Hokkaido."

"Herr General," Himmler responded. "Let us hope that the first snows hold off a little while longer, eh?" They shook hands and entered the Lagebaracke, where the July Plot would have-

Himmler sighed again.

He really had to concentrate on what was, not on what would have been.

Albert Speer was talking. Another survivor, even though the evidence against him was even more damning than it had been against Kaltenbrunner. The minister of armaments would have survived the war and not been executed, which Himmler found very suspicious. Unfortunately, the information available on him was even more sparse, and largely second- or even third-hand. There was one reference to a book about him called The Good Nazi, which infuriated Himmler because he couldn't be sure whether the title was meant to be ironic or literal.

But, the fuhrer had intervened-one of the few times he'd done so. Thanking the Reichsfuhrer-SS for his diligence, he had suggested that Speer was too valuable to condemn, at least for the moment, when they had already lost so many and faced the immense challenge of the coming months. He argued that Heydrich had been allowed to live, despite his Jewish blood, so Speer should be given a chance to redeem himself by bringing the special projects to fruition. He was on notice, the fuhrer had said, and he'd seen what happened to the others. If he could not be trusted, he could at least be watched.

Himmler privately thought the fuhrer was still upset over the business with Rommel.

So Speer was alive, although he never seemed to look Himmler in the eye. To the Reichsfuhrer, he very much appeared to be a man with something to hide.

His turn would come.

"And so, I am afraid the jet program will not reach its maturity in time," said Speer, never once looking up from his notes.

Goring began to grumble, and curse under his breath as Speer carried on.

"So I recommend that while we continue to invest in the development of these jets, there are other, much more pressing programs in need of our resources. The use of radar, to direct antiaircraft fire, has greatly limited the Allies' ability to strike at our preparations for Sea Dragon. But we still lag in this area, and while the productive capacity exists, the program lacks the funding needed to achieve its goals.