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his charges, he had ventured close to the heart and soul of Germany. Had it not been for that night on Peacock Island, he might have become Hitler's personal security. As it was, he had come so close that Himmler, fearing the heat of an encroaching new power, had named him head of the Madagascar Plan and shipped him off to Africa, hopefully to be forgotten.
    Well, they would find out that he wasn't to be discarded that easily, but first he had to cure this weakness of his for compromise.
    Thinking of the Jews, his Jews, as colonists, was fine in the long term, but perhaps not immediately expedient. Hempel must not know his larger design, or the major would be on the radio to Himmler. Then it would be Erich's head on the stick.
    Along with those of all the colonists.
    He and his trainers were all that stood between Hempel and the colonists' slaughter. The major had no more wanted an African assignment than he himself had. Why Hempel had not turned it down was a mystery.
    Because he wanted to kill the Jews?
    Ridiculous, Erich thought. Hempel could have done that much more conveniently in Sachsenhausen.
    Erich came to the same conclusion he had come to each time he'd posed the question: Hempel was in Africa because of him. That and some other agenda which had not yet come clear. Meanwhile, Hempel would try to kill the colonists--for himself, for Hitler, for the Reich. For whatever sick reasons he gave himself. Like the good people of Oranienburg; Erich had watched them last April, spending Easter sunrise stoning Jews for Jesus.
    With Hempel in charge, the killing here would surely include Solomon Freund. Include Miriam...and the child.
    My child, Erich thought.
    Mine !
    Regardless of what Miriam claimed. What did it really matter if she said she was emotionally and spiritually married to Solomon Freund. She was legally his wife.
    The child is mine, as is Miriam. As they all are.
    Mine to save.
    Mine to use.
    Feeling a great deal better, he noticed Solomon coming toward him, threading past colonists carrying fence posts across their shoulders. Till then, he had tuned out the noise around him, a skill he had developed with some deliberation. He prided himself on his concentration. The lesson had been easily learned once he'd understood that it was merely a matter of priorities. Like a frog after a fly, or a dog sleeping while cabaret music blared from the Victrola, he tuned in only what was necessary.
    Pity Solomon had never developed that trait, Erich thought, looking at the man whom, during his younger and impressionable years, he had considered his brother. Lanky nearly to the point of emaciation, despite Erich's having come to loggerheads with Hempel to assure the colonists had sufficient rest and food and fresh water. Large hands incapable of real work, only of holding books or of stocking shelves in the tobacco shop their fathers had co-owned. The mind of a philosopher or a fool, if those were not the same thing. Erich snorted, appreciating his own humor.
    Solomon looked around the compound as if he were searching for the comedy. "You find something funny in all of this...Colonel Alois?" He tagged on the title as if it were an after-thought, yet quietly enough that it was clear that he remained fully cognizant of his place as a Jew in the Nazi hierarchy.
    "You don't?"
    "What could possibly be humorous about building an advance camp for what we both know to be a sham?"
    "That's precisely what makes it so funny. All this effort for what Himmler will almost certainly never allow. Not unless we can convince Hitler himself of the wisdom of going through with the plan. It's like the old question: if six men can dig a hole in sixteen hours, how long does it take three men to dig half a hole?"
    "There's no such thing as half a hole."
    "I think that's why I liked you. You were always able to figure out my riddles. What a pity you seem unable to use that mind of yours for anything important . You're an enigma, Solomon. An enigma. This