By the time Himmler’s reply came a few minutes later, the shouting Albert had heard had come closer and Helmut heard gunshots. He had already loaded a piece of letterhead in the typewriter and he typed the letters as he listened to the Morse code. He had just finished the message when Albert burst into the room looking pale and shaken.

“They’re here!” he shouted. “We have to go. They’re here!”

“Just a few more minutes,” said Helmut, pulling the Enigma message from the typewriter. “I just have to decrypt this message.” Helmut reset the Enigma machine and began to type in letters from Himmler’s message, copying out the letters that lit up on the machine. He had written as much as “Projekt Alchemie,” when Albert yanked the paper away from him.

“There’s no time,” he shouted. “We have to go or they’ll find us.”

Before Helmut had a chance to react, Albert ran from the room. Helmut dashed after his brother but when he emerged from the building, Albert was nowhere in sight. Helmut turned right and ran out the main entrance of the camp. Judging from the sounds he heard, the Allies would be in sight any moment. He ran across the railroad tracks and only then did he realize that Albert must have turned left toward the camp enclosure. Helmut had not told his brother about the camps. If Albert rounded the corner of the brick building and saw the inner enclosure, he would have quite a shock.

He could now see the Americans on the railway line near the main gate. Helmut had no choice but to dive deeper into the woods, hoping to avoid detection. He feared for his brother’s life, feared the retribution he would face from his mother if he had to tell her Albert had died at the very end, but much more he feared the loss of Himmler’s message. As much as he loved his brother, the boy was simply one more soldier in the service of the Reich; in the Reichsführer’s message lay the only hope for the future of that Reich.

Three hours later, creeping through the woods after the shooting had abated, Helmut found his brother’s body. Albert had been shot in the head without ever having drawn his weapon. Some cowardly American had murdered his little brother. Before he sat down to weep, Helmut searched his brother’s body, turning out his pockets and canvassing the area nearby—but the message, and all that it could accomplish, was gone.

“So here we are,” said Jean. “Does someone want to explain to me how an empty chapel holds the secret to turning base materials into gold?”

“What can you tell me about that painting?” said Nemo.