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“Do something!” Hitler shouted. “Get that animal away from my dogs!”

Bauer’s heartbeat ratcheted up.

Two SS guards jumped out of their patrol jeep with their rifles raised.

“No,” Bauer whispered. “No, God, don’t shoot—”

Both guards discharged their rifles, possibly to scare the wild animal away, maybe to kill it. But it didn’t matter why. The noise from the rifle shots did the trick.

The first explosion came almost instantly, within a few meters of where the melee was occurring, the first of the sound-sensitive detonators doing its work. Then another, and another, a ripple of pops, tiny plots of earth erupting along the fence.

Through the dust and dirt and confusion, Bauer saw the SS guards race toward Hitler, who was bent at the waist, moving toward them.

Bauer jumped to his feet and opened fire with his rifle, spraying bullets in Hitler’s direction, hoping that something would connect despite the fence. He knew his chances were slim, but he had to try something—

The tree next to him exploded with bullets. Bauer fell to the ground and emptied the last of his artillery at the jeep heading his way, aiming for its tires. He was on his feet, retreating, before he heard the crunch of the vehicle crashing.

He started running but stumbled soon after. He returned to his feet and started running again, his legs heavier now.

“I tried,” he whispered, as he felt his energy drain, his lungs burning. “I tried.”

He kept running through the shadows of the woods, lumbering as if moving in water, as if running in slow motion, but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t think he would make it to the bridge. But it didn’t matter. All he could do was run. Run to Amalie, run to the children, take them in his arms and hold them tight and protect them and love them forever in a world where there was no war, there was no hate—

“Bauer!”

Erich von der Haas rushed across the bridge. Bauer fell forward into his arms. “I tried,” he said.

“Oh, God, you’re hit, Bauer. You’re bleeding badly. We have to get you out of here!”

“Tell Amalie I tried,” he whispered, before he slid to the ground.

101

Present Day

Munich

TWO DAYS AFTER THOMAS Bauer’s great-granddaughter Monica whisked me away from the train station, it’s finally time to meet the man I’d been supposed to meet in Vienna: Franklin Helldorff, son of Peter Helldorff, who changed his last name to Linderman as an adult.

Appropriately enough, I find myself at Färbergraben 12 in central Munich, now a pharmacy but once the site of Der Gerade Weg, the last newspaper Fritz Gerlich ran, where he was working on the day the Nazis arrested him and sent him off to Dachau. A memorial plaque, purchased by the newspaper that succeeded his, remains on the stone wall.

I was told to go to this memorial plaque and then, at 10:00 a.m., to walk down Hotterstraße to its intersection with Hackenstraße.

As far as I can tell, I have not been followed. No sign of the young Asian woman with the wigs and facial piercings, not since I jumped off the train prematurely two days ago and quickly sped away in Monica Bauer’s car.

I reach the intersection as directed, standing next to a hotel and a café that advertises Turkish food. Several cars are parked along Hackenstraße. I start walking toward them. The one closest to me is a silver SUV. The driver’s-side door opens.

It’s the Asian woman. Her face is free of piercings and her hair is short and dark—no wig, from what I can tell.

I stop in my tracks, unsure of myself.

She cocks her head, confused. She waves me forward.

I don’t understand. What does she expect? Why is she waving to me?

The woman looks around, gets back into the SUV. I am completely confused. Have I been wrong about her?