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Halstead leaned forward to flick an ash into the tray between them. “Angry about what? That the good professor and Mister Williams are late?” “No. I am angry at the British.” Hess looked about the hotel dining room after he had spoken, fear at being overheard in his eyes. “I showed you my father’s house. They had no right to take it.” Halstead leaned forward and stubbed his cigarette out in the crystal tray. “Your family will have their house back one day, I assure you. And Germany shall have the whole of Africa.” Halstead laughed at his own boast, then rose when he saw a familiar face exchange mutterings with the head waiter and follow him to Halstead’s table. A young Dr. William Albright ignored the waiter’s inquiry as to whether he would like to see a menu, and only stared at the man who introduced himself as Adolf Hitler and his fellow diner as Rudolf Hess. “Doctor Albright. Apologies for my tardiness,” the professor responded to the introductions before taking an indicated seat at the small table in a corner of the room. “I might not have made it here tonight at all, but I caught the last train out of Jerusalem as soon as I got your telegram—” “Perfectly okay. We took the liberty of having dinner while we waited. Would you like to see a menu, Doctor Albright?” Halstead asked in his perfect English as he retook his seat. “No, no,” Albright muttered while staring at the tablecloth. “I ate on the train.” Then, with his eyes raised once more, he peered across at Halstead, and asked, “Who are you?” Halstead laughed, allowed his head to fall back, and then leaned forward over the table. “I am Adolf Hitler—” “No, no, no,” Albright muttered downward, before returning his fearful gaze upward. “What are you? How did you know about those scrolls?” Halstead glanced over his shoulder at the handful of diners who remained in the room and were apparently focused on their own conversations. “Perhaps we should take this discussion to a more secure place. The hotel gardens are pleasant this time of year.” Then, in German to Hess, “Are we paid up, Rudi?” |