After that things went more smoothly. The driver climbed back into the cab and passed a Coke to the other German. Alex went to the garage to find a wrench with which to remove the rear license plate, and Bob got to work on repairing the bullet hole in the fuel tank. Once Alex found a wrench he thought would work he slipped Nemo’s rear plate into his coveralls and rejoined Bob at the fuel tank. He wasn’t sure what the Germans could see in their rearview mirrors, so he shimmied underneath the truck to reach the spot where the rear plate was mounted. The wrench made the job considerably easier and he had just swapped out the plates and was about to put the nuts back on when he heard the passenger side door open and saw the feet of the second German heading toward the back of the truck.

Alex grabbed the license plate he had just removed off the pavement, and pulled himself back under the truck, trying to squeeze his body behind the rear wheels on the passenger side. The German crossed behind the truck and shouted a question at Bob. For several seconds he stood where he might easily have spotted Alex or noticed that the wrong license plate was on the back of the truck and its nuts were missing. Alex held his breath.

Bob answered the German but the man didn’t move for a moment. He asked something else and seemed to be pointing to the back of the truck. Alex was on the verge of feeling both foolish and terrified—on the verge of doubting that there was $700 million worth of gold in this truck, but ready to believe that this German had memorized his license number and would start shooting under the truck at any moment. Then the feet turned, walked past the back of the truck, and disappeared into the store. Thirty seconds later, Alex had screwed the nuts back on and crawled under the truck reemerging where Bob was working.

“What the hell did that one want?” he whispered.

“Just the bathroom,” said Bob. “Nothing to worry about.”

Alex, who felt like he had been facing imminent death and the failure of the operation seconds earlier, seriously considered slapping Bob across the face for saying there was nothing to worry about, but he knew better than to pick a fight with a former soldier, so he stood up, brushed himself off, and headed back to the garage. When he was sure no one was watching, he walked around the back and down the side street to Nemo’s truck. In five minutes, he had attached Weiss’s license plates and Nemo was on his way.

11:00 p.m.