“Of course not, Herr Himmler. Your guard here searches me every morning to be sure I bring no gold into the laboratory, and he stands watch at the door all day while I work so no one can slip me a nugget. If it is a bit like being in prison, I am willing to accept the inconvenience, so long as it brings you peace of mind.”

“If you were to fool me,” said Himmler, “you would quickly discover that prison is a great deal more than an inconvenience.”

“I’m sure anyone foolish enough to trick you would deserve whatever punishment you thought fit,” said Malchus. Helmut had made sure that Malchus knew about the fraudulent alchemist Heinz Kurschildgen and his recent reincarceration.

“Gold from the sand of the Isar. A near-infinite resource,” said Himmler, dropping the nugget back into a silver bowl.

Helmut thought he could still hear the clink of the gold hitting the bowl echoing in his ears, and he recalled all too well what Himmler said next.

“Is there anything you need to be more . . . comfortable?” said Himmler, turning toward the door. “Perhaps some brandy or some cigarettes?”

“Kind of you to ask,” said Malchus, “but I roll my own.”

That conversation had taken place a month ago. Now Helmut ushered Malchus into Himmler’s office, gripping him by the arm, not tightly, but firmly enough to let the old man know who was in charge.

“You sent for me, Herr Himmler?” said Malchus, as Helmut pushed him forward toward the desk and then took a step back to stand by the door.

“Please have a seat, Herr Malchus,” said Himmler, indicating a chair in front of the broad desk behind which he now sat. Malchus shuffled forward and lowered himself into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

“The work is proceeding very well,” said Malchus with a nervous nod of his head.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Himmler. “But not all our discussions need to be about work. We are allowed to socialize on occasion. May I offer you a cigarette?” He held out an engraved silver cigarette case, filled with Rothmans Blue, imported from England. Just because the Nazi Party believed smoking caused ill health and tried to curb cigarettes in Germany didn’t mean Himmler couldn’t get the best.

“No, thank you,” said Malchus.

“Ah yes, I remember, you roll your own,” said Himmler, taking out a cigarette and snapping the case shut.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you would like to smoke one of yours.”

“No, thank you,” said Malchus.

Himmler tapped the cigarette against the desk and put it to his lips, leaning over to light it from a large crystal lighter that sat next to the telephone. “This lighter was a gift from the führer himself,” said Himmler, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke directly toward Malchus.

“How generous of him,” said Malchus.

“You really should join me in a smoke,” said Himmler, leaning forward.