Free No Dawn for Men by James Lepore Page B

will no longer be a man, and perhaps will be dead. I will take pictures and add them to my collection. On the other hand . . .”
    The phone rang at this instant. Frowning, the lieutenant picked it up and placed it to his ear.
    “ Nien ,” he said after listening for a second or two, and then, “ Ja .”
    * * *
    They let him out at the same side entrance, an alley off of Wilhelmstrasse, that they brought him in through. Waiting for him on the cobblestones, his hands in his overcoat pockets, his collar turned up, was Kurt Bauer.
    “Bauer,” Fleming said.
    “You are lucky, Herr Fleming.”
    “Lucky you say?”
    “I heard by chance you were in the building.”
    “In the building? I was about to get my balls strafed off.”
    Bauer paused before answering. He’s waiting for a danke , the prick, Fleming thought. He’s not what he says he is, I can tell by those heavy eyelids, always a giveaway.
    “Billie is waiting,” said the young German.
    “Where?”
    “There.” Bauer nodded toward Wilhelmstrasse, where another sleek black Daimler stood running at the curb, its windows darkened.
    “Let’s go.”
    “Did you get your belongings?”
    “Yes.”
    “All there?”
    Fleming’s coat wallet, an aged leather affair from Smythsons of Bond Street, given to him by his brother Peter when he entered Sandhurst in 1927, was back in its usual place. The list of German government agencies was missing, as was the cash, a few hundred reichsmarks, and a hundred pounds or so.
    “They took my cash.”
    Bauer shook his head and pursed his lips slightly, but said nothing. Fleming fingered his wallet through his cashmere coat at his breast. He had not had a chance to look into its hidden, silk-lined compartment, where he kept a medallion that was very dear to him, perhaps the only sentimental gesture he had ever allowed himself. He hoped it was still there. It would do the Germans no good at all.
    At the top of the alley he could now see that Billie had emerged from the car and was waving him to her.
    “Are you coming?” Fleming said to Bauer.
    “No. Go. The car will return you to your hotel.”

18.
    Berlin
    October 7, 1938, 3:00 p.m.

    “Can I see the note?”
    “Of course.” Billie handed the sheet of plain white notepaper to Fleming. Embossed at the top was Franz Shroeder’s name and title at Heidelberg University. Fleming read the note and passed it back to Billie. They were in the Professor’s study in his apartment on Hermann Goering Strasse.
    “He’s taken the parchment,” Billie said, “and the amulet is missing.”
    “The amulet?”
    “Yes. He kept it in a secret compartment in his desk. It’s gone.”
    “What amulet?”
    “The beast.”
    “I see. The beast. He does not mention Tolkien.”
    “They must be together.”
    “Billie,” Fleming said. “My dear girl. You are distraught. They’re probably out for a jaunt. Tolkien has three days left on his visa. He mentioned he wanted to see the Black Forest.”
    “My father has never done anything like this. Since I can remember he has either been at university, in his study, or with me. He does not take jaunts, as you call them.”
    Fleming remained silent. Tolkien had never mentioned the Black Forest. He had a good idea of where he was really headed. He remembered now the angelic look in the don’s eyes when they parted company last night. He was planning to flee. Bloody hell.
    “What is this amulet you speak of?” Fleming asked.
    “It’s a stone carving with ruby eyes.”
    “What does it mean?”
    “It’s what my father is really working on for Himmler. A ritual that, when done in the right way in the right place with the right artifacts, is supposed the raise the dead.”
    “Raise the dead you say?”
    “Yes.”
    “For Himmler?”
    “Yes. Himmler wants to present Hitler with an unconquerable army.”
    “And the parchment, what is that?”
     “The parchment has an incantation written on it. It and the amulet are the artifacts.”
    “How