“That’s what they want. They want to use money to rule the world—rule it in a way Hitler could only dream of . . . but true to his vision.”

“The Fourteen Words,” said Nemo.

“Exactly,” said Patton. “Can you imagine what a gang of white supremacist neo-Nazis could do with limitless wealth and the Fourteen Words as their manifesto?”

“Like it says in the message,” said Alex, “the Reich could rise again.”

Nemo had never known his own ethnic heritage; he only knew his skin was far from white. Far enough that he could remember being called half-breed and mongrel as a child. He had lived mostly in the shadows as an adult, but he still heard it sometimes when he ventured into a bar or restaurant, or even when just walking down the street. He heard that snort of contempt or caught a glance of dismissive derision and the unspoken, and lately sometimes spoken, sentiment that he was somehow less. These were not organized bands of racists, just random people in the street. He could only imagine what an infinitely funded group of neo-Nazis would do with the likes of him. And then he remembered Jack—the face of the one person he had ever really loved, his deep chocolate skin glistening with a sheen of summer sweat after they had run the six blocks from the park to the house. What chance did Jack stand against alchemical racists?

“Heil fucking Hitler,” said Nemo with contempt.

“Let me get this straight,” said Ruthie. “You think that Heinrich Himmler discovered the secret to alchemy, that he kept it a secret, and that those people who were chasing us are planning to use that secret to bring about the return of the Third Reich or some sort of worldwide racist agenda?”

“We’re entertaining the possibility,” said Patton.

“There’s one way to find out,” said Nemo.

“What’s that?” said Ruthie.

“We need to find that book in Himmler’s library, the one in the message.”

“Reichsführer Himmler’s library catalog number AL1533,” said Ruthie. “How exactly do you propose we figure out what that is, or where it is?”

“The Nazis were obsessive about keeping records,” said Patton. “Surely Himmler kept a catalog of his library.”

“Of course he did,” said Alex.

“I don’t suppose you have it tucked away on your shelves someplace?” said Nemo.

“No,” said Alex, “but I know who does.”

VII

VII

april 1942