“Because,” said Bob, “it occurs to me that a few million dollars in the bank accounts of the families of the soldiers you killed might settle your debt without any . . . unpleasantness.”

“No,” said Patton. “Absolutely not. Every penny of that gold goes to fight people like Ingrid Weiss. It goes to civil rights organizations and people fighting anti-Semitism and groups campaigning for LGBT rights. It goes to do everything Himmler would hate.”

No one contradicted Patton. No one spoke as Bob looked at Patton, looked at his gun, and then looked at her again.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I don’t like it, but fine. You don’t leave my sight and you ride in our car.”

“Done,” said Patton.

“Ride where?” said Franklin.

“Good question,” said Bob. “You’ve told us this is the last battle of World War II, but do you have a battle plan? Do you even know where the battlefield is?”

“Weiss and her gang are going to the Fox’s Den,” said Alex, stepping forward with his hands raised. “And if you’d put that gun down for a minute, I can explain to you where that is and why it’s not going to be easy to fight them there.”

Bob glanced at Ted and Franklin who nodded. He lowered his weapon. The seven of them now stood in a circle perhaps twenty yards across and for a moment no one spoke. Finally, Alex said, “Well, don’t just stand there. Jean, get the road atlas out of my car and the rest of you come over here where I can talk to you without shouting.”

“So you’re in charge now?” said Bob.

“Yeah,” said Alex. “For the next ten minutes. When my field of expertise runs out, someone else can be in charge. Does that suit you?”

“It suits me,” said Nemo, crossing over to Alex. Jean walked to Alex’s rental car and retrieved a road atlas from the passenger seat, doing her best to keep an eye on the soldiers the whole time. Maybe it was because someone had twice tried to blow her up, but she didn’t trust them not to start shooting at the slightest provocation.

Alex took the atlas from Jean as the others gathered round. “You’ve heard of the Wolf’s Lair?” said Alex.

“Hitler’s underground headquarters on the Eastern Front,” said Franklin. “They do teach us military history, you know.”

“Well if, like me, you had dwelled in the recesses of the Internet late at night, you would have heard the theory that Heinrich Himmler had an underground hideaway, too. A place called the Fox’s Den. It was just a rumor until recently, when an acquaintance of mine—a fellow collector, if you will, was doing some field research.”

“What do you mean by ‘field research’?” said Franklin.