Ettie and Victor kept watch, using the doctor’s binoculars, trying to chart a way to get to the captain. The house was too protected for them to make a move against him here. There were members of the Milice stationed at the front and back exits; guards roamed the garden with little to do, idly destroying anything nearby, breaking the branches off the trees, using stone walls for target practice, pissing in the herb garden, where there had once been rosemary plants as big as the children who had lived here, boys of three and five, who had often been sent out for sprigs of herbs while their mother was cooking dinner. These children had been murdered in a camp in Poland, but one of the policemen on guard often thought he saw two little boys crouched down in reedy stalks of what was left of the rosemary. In time, he asked to be sent elsewhere, anywhere else would do, but even then, when he was stationed outside the prison, he heard crying whenever the wind picked up.

Each day, women were brought here for the captain’s use. They were women from the village who had no choice but to do as they were told when the miliciens came to their doors. Some were married, and would never tell their husbands, for fear their husbands would come to avenge them and be murdered here in this garden, where there was now a pile of bones. One hot afternoon a woman left her son when she went in, and the boy sat by the door, unnoticed and uncared for. Ettie could barely sit still. She wondered how Queen Esther had restrained herself, dressed in her silken clothes in the harem where she was kept, one among many wives, biding her time, knowing that her people were about to be sacrificed.

“The more we wait, the more damage he does,” she seethed.

“We’re here to study him, nothing more. For now.”

The goal was to rid the earth of him, but for that they needed patience. Still, that day neither of them spoke much, and the boy was still there on the step when Victor and Ettie left to make their way to the hidden car. They walked through the dark across fields of what was called the Plateau, the huge expanse of flat land between the mountain ranges. It was a beautiful summer night.

“You’re sure you’re ready for what we will do?” Victor asked, worried by how upset Ettie was.

“Are you sure you are?” Ettie responded, her tone dark.

Victor was quick to take offense. “Meaning?”

She wasn’t questioning his courage, rather his willingness to throw away his life. “You probably have something to live for. Some woman.”

Victor shrugged, but of course, it was true.

“I have no one,” Ettie told him. “Therefore I’m more ready.”