Jean and Ted had followed the black car out of Oberammergau and then west through a narrow Alpine valley eventually crossing over into Austria and hugging the shores of Lake Plansee. Had the moon been full or had they been driving by day, it would have been a spectacular journey.

“Are you really going to kill Patton?” said Jean. She couldn’t believe her life had taken such a severe turn that this question was even possible, but she had grown fond of Patton and of fighting for justice, and if the soldiers intended to murder Patton, she would do her best to stop them. Not that she could imagine any way to stop them, but then again, she couldn’t imagine being party to the destruction of a medieval fresco, or barely escaping her own murder twice in as many days, or stealing a truckload of Nazi gold.

“It’s up to Bob, I suppose,” said Ted. “He’s the ranking officer. But, honestly, I’ve kind of lost my taste for it. I mean, if we really want revenge, it seems like revenge against Patton for accidentally killing nine guys pales in comparison with revenge against Heinrich Himmler for murdering six million Jews.”

“Did you lose anybody in your family?” said Jean.

“I don’t know,” said Ted. “Isn’t that awful? I don’t even know. My grandfather fought in the Pacific, but never talked about it. Our family excelled at not talking about things. And we weren’t exactly observant Jews, either. I never went to Hebrew school and we only went to temple on high holy days. By the time I was a teenager, we didn’t even do that. I found out about the Holocaust from a television documentary.”

“Jesus, that must have been . . . I don’t know, a blow.”

“I was eight and I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs and turned on the TV and just held my breath, it seemed like. I never did sleep that night—I was too afraid of nightmares, not that they could have been any worse than the reality I had seen on TV. I just lay in bed and cried the rest of the night. When I asked my parents about the Holocaust the next morning they said it was an awful thing and we shouldn’t talk about it. It was a long time before I discovered that wasn’t the attitude of every Jew.”

“My grandparents died in Dachau,” said Jean. “We talked about it some, but not a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ted. “I mean, sorry that your grandparents died in a camp, not that you talked about it.”

“I don’t know which would be worse,” said Jean. “Being constantly reminded of that horror or pretending it never happened.”

“Trust me,” said Ted, “denial was worse.”

“They’re turning onto the highway,” said Jean. “Looks like they’re heading north.”

11:30 p.m.