“You are a collector of books, I believe,” said Helmut.

“Yes,” said the man, for the first time sounding wary.

“Reichsführer Himmler was reviewing the auction records from a few years back and he came across an item he would like to add to his library. A certain scroll which I believe is in your possession.”

“Surely the Reichsführer has other sources for books than an old man with a tiny collection.”

“This scroll is, how would you put it, unique.”

“Perhaps I could copy it out for him,” said the man in a pleading voice.

And now Helmut released the fury in his voice which invariably cowed those before him. “Reichsführer Himmler does not keep a library of copies!” he shouted. “Now show it to me.”

“I beg you,” said the man. “I have always supported the Reich. I have my Ahnenpass—I can prove my Aryan blood. I am an old man. Can you not leave me in peace?”

“We are at war,” snarled Helmut. “There is no such thing as peace.” He was beginning to enjoy watching the man, who had begun visibly shaking.

“I can help you,” said the man. “You want Jews, don’t you? There is a family hiding near here. At the next house down the hill. I can take you to them.”

“I am not a patient man,” said Helmut. “Give me the scroll now, and perhaps I won’t burn the rest of your collection.”

Helmut could now see tears sliding down the man’s face. His wife still sat in her chair, stoic, apparently, or perhaps too deaf to understand what was happening. The man shuffled across the room and leaned over to open a low cupboard. The shelves within were crammed with books, but he did not need to search. He knew exactly what Helmut wanted and exactly where it was. He lifted out a polished wooden box, and now openly weeping, he passed it to Helmut. “My greatest treasure,” he said. “Please take care of it.”

A smile crept across Helmut’s face as he stroked the smooth surface of the box, then set it down on the table.

“Is there something else?” said the old man, stepping back from Helmut.

“Just one thing,” said Helmut, feeling his pulse speed up with the anticipation of the pleasure to come. “Do you know the penalty for failing to report a family of Jews?” he said quietly.

Before the old man could respond, Helmut swung his weapon off his shoulder and began firing, watching as the bullets threw the old man and his wife against the window. The glass shattered and when he stopped firing, Helmut could hear birds singing outside.

“Now,” he said aloud as he scooped up the box. “Time to go find those filthy Jews.”