Seth walked toward the box on the long conference table. “We’re taking the box with us.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “We’ve got transportation waiting. So I want you and Stratton here to lie down on the floor.” Seth waved the muzzle of the gun at both men. “Down here in the middle of the floor. Facedown, legs spread.”

Neither Braun nor Stratton complied. “Now.” Zoe prodded Braun with the muzzle of her gun. He jumped as if shocked by an electric wire, then glared at her.

“Go on,” Zoe said. “You heard him.”

“We can kill you now,” Seth said. “Just like you had people killed. Or you can lie down on the floor and let us take the box peacefully.”

“You must let me explain,” Braun wheedled. “You just don’t understand.”

“Perhaps not, but I do.” Morgen’s voice boomed through the room. “Perhaps Mr. Ridgeway and his wife don’t understand, but I certainly do. I should. I’ve spent enough years studying you.”

“Damn you, you foolish old man!” Braun cursed as Morgen approached.

“Yes,” Morgen said blandly. “I probably am damned. But what does that make you?”

The two men stared silently at each other for several moments.

“Why have you done it?” Braun said. “There was no good reason. Why have you done these things, you meddlesome, senile old fool?”

“I’ve had two things that kept me alive all these years,” Morgen said. “After that day in Alt Aussee. One of them was to recover this box. The other was my pride in you.”

“What are you saying?” Braun said. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“They tried to tell me,” Morgen said, his eyes focused on a memory. “They tried to tell me you were the man responsible for this madness, but I wouldn’t believe them. I couldn’t believe them.”

Braun turned to Seth. “Would you try to get this old fool to make some sense?”

Morgen fished about in the deep pocket of his parka and pulled from it a wrinkled and much-folded envelope. His hands shook as he unfolded the flap of the envelope and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. He walked up to Braun and held the paper out in his hand.

“Look at this,” Morgen said.

Braun stared at Morgen as one looks at an asylum inmate. He hesitated for a moment, then snatched the paper from the priest’s hands. The cardinal’s eyes scanned the page quickly, then he handed it back to Morgen.

“So?” Braun said.

Without answering, Morgen pulled another piece of paper from the envelope and offered that. Braun rolled his eyes but took the piece of paper. Moments later, he handed that back to Morgen. The performance was repeated for yet a third piece of paper.

“My patience has its limits, old man,” Braun said. “And your riddle here has just about reached that limit.”

“What do those pieces of paper mean to you?” Morgen asked.

Braun gave Morgen an exasperated look. “They mean nothing, not together at least,” he said. “You gave me a copy of a letter from my father to my mother, a copy of my birth certificate, and a copy of the Wehrmacht’s notification of my father’s death on the Polish front.”