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condescension, not are. Don't you dare pity me, he wanted to scream. Revere me. The children of your children will prosper because of me. The lebensraum for which so many have fought and died will be attained not with bullets, but with my equations, my solution. Mine!
    M tiller broke the silence. "We are all with the same laboratory. We all stand to lose much if we fall into disfavor--either now with the Reich or soon with the Allies. I expect a full disclosure of your work with Estronate Two-fifty, Dr. Becker."
    Becker nodded his acquiescence and silently prayed that his portrayal of a beaten man would be convincing.
    Minutes later, the three men from the Blue Unit were gone. Becker closed his eyes and massaged the tightness at the base of his neck. Then he poured three fingers of Polish vodka from a bottle Edwin had sent him, and drank it in a single draught. The encounter with M tiller and Rendl, triumphant though it had been, had left him drained. He fingered his chronometer. Was there time for a nap? No, he decided. No sleeping until this filthy camp with its petty people and skeleton prisoners was a thing of the past. Page 5
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    He walked briskly from his office to the low, frame, barracklike building that housed the Green Unit's biochemical research section. With glances to either side, he backed through the rear door and locked it from the inside. The wooden shutters were closed and latched, creating a darkness inside that was tangible.
    The flashlight was by the door--where he had hung it that morning. Using the hooded beam, Decker counted the slate squares making up the top of his long central workbench. Reaching beneath the fifth one, he pulled.
    The cabinet supporting the slate slid out from the others.
    Beneath it, hidden from even a detailed search, was the circular mouth of a tunnel.
    "And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air ..." Alfi Runstedt sang the words as he dug, although he had no idea of their meaning. The song, he knew, was the American anthem, and this day, at least, that was all that mattered. As a child in Leipzig, he had spent hours beside his family's new Victrola memorizing selections from a thick album of anthems of the world. Even then, the American
    "Star Spangled Banner" had been his favorite.
    Now, he would have the chance to see the country itself and, even more wonderful, to become an American.
    "Oh say does that star spangled ba-a-ner-er ye-et wa-ave ..." With one syllable, he rammed the spade into the sandy soil. With the next, he threw the dirt up to the side of the grave. The trench, three feet deep, was better than half done. Lying on the grass to Alfi's left, two meters from him, were the corpses of the peasant woman and her son, which would be laid inside as soon as the proper depth was reached. Alfi Runstedt paid them no mind.
    He was stripped to his ample waist. Dirt, mingling with sweat, was turning his arms and walrus torso into a quagmire. The thick, red hair on his chest was plastered into what looked like a fecal mat. His SS
    uniform pants were soaked and filthy. "... and the home of the brave. O-oh say can you see ..."
    "Alfi, take a break if you need one. We cannot make any moves until dark. I told you that." From his perch atop a large boulder, Willi Becker gazed down into the narrow crypt. Alfl stopped his digging and dragged a muddy wrist across his muddy forehead. "It is nothing, Herr Oberst.
    Believe me, nothing. I would dig a thousand such holes in the ground for the honor you have done me and the reward you have promised. Tell me, do you know if many American women are thin like Betty Grable? One of the men in the barracks at Friedrichshafen had her picture by his cot."
    "I don't know, Alfi." Becker laughed. "Soon, you shall be able to see for yourself. If we meet the boat in Denmark and if my cousin has made all the arrangements, we should be in North America with valid papers