Klietmann had managed to ease a few more yards east, past the Buick, outflanking the woman. He lay prone behind a low spine of white rock veined with pale blue quartz, waiting for Hubatsch to make a move on the south of her. When the woman was thus distracted, Klietmann would spring from concealment and close on her, firing the Uzi as he ran. He would cut her to pieces before she even had a chance to turn and see the face of her executioner.
Come on, Sergeant, don’t huddle out there like a cowardly Jew, Klietmann thought savagely. Show yourself. Draw her fire.
An instant later Hubatsch broke from cover, and the woman saw him running. As she focused on Hubatsch, Klietmann leaped up from behind the quartz-veined rock.
Leaning forward in the leather armchair in the bunker, Stefan said, “Lies, all lies, my Furhrer. This attempt to misdirect you toward Normandy is the key part of the plot by the subversives at the institute. They want to force you to make the sort of major mistake that you’re not really destined to make. They want you to focus on Normandy, when the real invasion will come at—”
“Calais!” Hitler said.
“Yes.”
“I have believed it will be in the area of Calais, farther north than Normandy. They will cross the Channel where it’s narrowest.”
“You’re correct, my Furhrer,” Stefan said. “Troops will be put ashore at Normandy on June seventh—”
Actually it would be June 6, but the weather would be so bad on the sixth that the German High Command would not believe the Allies capable of conducting the operation in such rough seas.
“—but that will be a minor force, a diversion, to pull your elite Panzer divisions to the Normandy coast while the real front subsequently opens near Calais.”
This information played to all of the dictator’s prejudices and to his belief in his own infallibility. He returned to his chair and thumped his desk with one fist. “This has the feel of reality, Stefan. But … I have seen documents, selected pages from histories of the war that were brought back from the future—”
“Forgeries,” Stefan said, counting on the man’s paranoia to make the lie seem plausible. “Rather than show you the real documents from the future, they created forgeries to mislead you.”
With luck, Churchill’s promised bombardment of the institute would take place tomorrow, eradicating the gate, everyone who knew how to re-create the gate, and every scrap of material that had been brought back from the future. Then der Furhrer would never have the opportunity to conduct a thorough investigation to test Stefan’s truthfulness.
Hitler sat in silence for perhaps a minute, staring at the Luger on his desk, thinking intently.
Overhead the bombing began to escalate once more, rattling the paintings on the walls and the pencils in the copper pot.
Stefan waited anxiously to discover if he would be believed.
“How have you come to me?” Hitler asked. “How could you use the gate now? I mean, it has been so closely guarded since the defection of Kokoschka and the other five.”
“I didn’t come to you by way of the gate,” Stefan said. “I came to you straight from the future, using only the time-travel belt.”
This was the boldest lie of all, for the belt was not a time machine, only a homing device that could do nothing but bring the wearer back to the institute. He was counting on the ignorance of politicians to save him: They knew a little bit about everything that was done under their rule, but there were no matters that they understood in depth. Hitler knew of the gate and of the nature of time travel, of course, but perhaps only in a general sense; he might lack knowledge of most of the details, such as how the belts actually functioned.
If Hitler realized that Stefan had come from the institute after returning there with Kokoschka’s device, he would know that Kokoschka and the other five had been dispatched by Stefan and had not been defectors, after all, at which point the entire elaborate tale of conspiracy would collapse. And Stefan would be a dead man.