Kluge tore his gaze away from the painted eyes of Hitler. He found his aide staring at him, a puzzled look on his broad face.

Kluge was aware on some level that Herman had been talking to him while he was in his trance. He shook his head as if to clear out the cobwebs.

"Forgive me, I was distracted." Kluge waved his hand that held the latest information. "Continue."

"I was saying, Herr Kluge, that our friends on several police forces in Germany are searching for fingerprint records. I thought we might involve Interpol in the matter."

"Do not bother."

The aide seemed confused. "Herr Kluge?" Kluge dropped the dossier to the gleaming table.

"Tell them not to bother," he repeated flatly. "But he has killed many of our men."

"Not our men," Kluge snapped. "They were not from the village. They are therefore not my responsibility."

"Nonetheless," Herman persisted, "they were sympathetic to our cause."

Kluge laughed bitterly. "Our cause, " he mocked. "Thanks to our old friend Nils Schatz, we no longer have a cause. We have a pursuer. And he is getting closer." Kluge shook his head. "No. I fear now all we can do is await the inevitable. Please go." He sounded defeated.

Without another word, the aide gathered up his paperwork from the large oaken conference table. Dress shoes clicking a loud complaint on the highly buffed stone floor, the young man left the room. The big door echoed shut.

Alone, Kluge felt his shoulders sag as if drained of life.

The old portals in the ancient stone outer wall of the conference room had been filled with expensive paned windows. Around the edges were panes of beautiful stained glass depicting various struggles from different periods of German history.

Kluge's tired, roaming eyes ignored these. He had no great desire this day to dwell on the great Teutonic past. That was precisely what had brought them all to this dismal state.