As he approached, the barrel-chested sixty-two-year-old security guard vividly recalled being seven years old and having his Uncle Fritz come to live with them. The master saddler of an army riding school, Fritz Dagover had been the ranking official on duty when a drunken army sports instructor snuck a Generalmajor's horse from the stable. He took it for a midnight ride and broke its leg. Though the instructor had committed the infraction without Fritz's knowledge, both men were court-martialed and dishonorably discharged. Despite the fact that civilian manpower was scarce during the war and Uncle Fritz was a trained leather-worker, he was unable to get work. He ended his life seven months later, swigging arsenic-laced ale from his canteen.

It's true, Werner reflected, great evil was committed during the twelve-year Reich. But a high value was placed on personal responsibility. In purging everything from the past, we've also cast out discipline, the work ethic, and too many other virtues.

Today, few guards were willing to risk their lives for an hourly wage. If their presence on a movie set, at a factory, or in a department store was not a deterrent, then it was too bad for the employer. The fact that they'd agreed to do a job didn't matter to most guards.

But it mattered to Werner Dagover of Sichern. The name of the Hamburg-based company meant "security." Whether it was a woman accidentally interrupting a shoot or a gang of thugs celebrating Hitler's birthday during this week's insidious Chaos Days, Werner would see to it that his beat was secure.

After notifying the dispatcher that there was a woman in the woods, apparently alone, Werner shut off his walkie-talkie. Drawing back his shoulders, he made sure his badge was on straight and pushed stray hairs under his hat. As he'd learned during his thirty-year tenure as a Hamburg police officer, one couldn't wield authority without looking authoritative.

As Sichern's guard-at-large for this operation, Werner had been stationed in the command trailer on the main road of the small town., When the call came from Bernard Buba, he'd biked the quarter mile to the movie location and parked by the prop trailer. Then he'd made his way inconspicuously around the crew, past the hill, and headed into the twenty acres of forest. Beyond the woods was another road where Sichern guards were supposed to be watching for picnickers or birdwatchers or whatever this woman was.

As Werner neared the tree, his back to the sun, he stepped on a nutshell. The slender young woman rose with a start and turned. She was tall, with aristocratic cheekbones, a strong nose, and eyes that seemed like liquid gold in the direct sunlight. She was wearing a loose white blouse, jeans, and black boots.

"Hello!" she said breathlessly.

"Good morning," Werner replied.

The guard stopped two paces from the woman. He tipped his hat.