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intelligent apes that inhabited sub-Saharan Africa. There is no vengeance involved in the destruction of germs, he reasoned, though he did acknowledge experiencing a scintillating pleasure in the exercise of power, in the ability, indeed the right and duty, to cause pain and suffering to the enemies of the Reich. To his own mind, Schlacht was neither vengeful nor sadistic, but was rather a soldier in a great crusade which had as its goal the racial purification of the world and the establishment of a global German Empire. And if this goal necessitated the extermination of millions of sub-humans, what of it? And if he enjoyed his work, so much the better. Soon enough the work would be done, at least in Europe .
    If we have the time, he thought. If we have the time. If we can hold off the Russians and withstand the cross-Channel invasion that everyone knew would happen soon, if we can keep the firm grip on the rest of Europe which we have held for the past five years. He looked down at the file folders once again. This man may be of great use to us, to the S.S. and to the Reich. If he can be brought under control, if he can be trained, if his madness can be turned to our uses.
    He heard a knock on his office door and he said, "Come." His voice was brusque and official. Corporal Hans Vogel entered, came to attention and snapped his right arm upward in the Nazi salute. Schlacht returned the salute and then asked, "Well?"
    "Doctor von Weyrauch and Frau von Weyrauch have arrived, Herr Colonel," his adjutant said. "They are waiting in the outer office."
    "Good," he responded, rising from behind his desk. "Show them in, and then send up some schnapps."
    " Jawohl , Herr Colonel." Vogel turned about briskly and closed the door behind him. Schlacht rose from behind his desk and walked around to stand in front of it. He leaned back against the desk and folded his arms somewhat imperiously, aware that such a stance would communicate authority and confidence. He had no desire to engage in any banter with his cousin, and hoped that an immediate communication of his power and his position would serve to intimidate her into silence. It was her husband with whom he had to speak, after all. Her presence was little more than a courtesy. Besides, he thought sarcastically, he recalled that during the abortive Hungarian revolution of the early twenties, she had declared that the Magyar Communist Bela Kuhn was her hero. She should be grateful to her cousin for affording her the opportunity at last to visit Budapest .
    A few moments later the door of his office opened and his adjutant ushered Louisa and her husband into the room. Schlacht smiled broadly and opened his arms as he walked toward them, saying, "Louisa! How good to see you! You are as lovely as ever."
    She eyed him warily and accepted without comment or responsiveness the kiss on the cheek which he gave her. "Helmuth," she replied, a non-committal greeting, a mere acknowledgement of his presence.
    "And Gottfried," Schlacht went on, turning to Weyrauch. "It’s been too long, don’t you think?" He shook Weyrauch’s hand with affectionate vigor, smiling at him and slapping him on the arm as if they were the oldest and best of friends.
    Weyrauch returned the smile weakly, nervously. His hand, he knew, was cold and clammy, and when he tried to speak, all he could emit was a nervous giggle.
    Louisa watched her husband’s shoulders start to hunch over with his customary, instinctive obsequiousness, and she made a soft sound which bespoke her disgust before saying, "All right, Helmuth, you sent your people to arrest us, and now we’re here. What do you want from us? You should know enough about Gottfried to realize that he has nothing to do with the resistance, and..."
    "Louisa, you wound me!" Schlacht said, grinning. "You aren’t under arrest! Far from it, actually. You two are my honored guests, and Gottfried here may be in a position to be of great service to me