When he was done he made a show of placing the paper perfectly in line with the previous pages of the report and then slowly closed the folder. He tapped the thick binder with a single finger as though he were coming to some monumental conclusion derived from careful thought. However much Himmler tried to disguise his demeanor, Speer knew the calculating little bastard did nothing, not even speak, without thoroughly thinking it through beforehand. The demonstration he was putting on, in the reich minister’s view, had become tiresome.

“I must say that I do not appreciate being hijacked on the way to the Reich Chancellery.”

Himmler smiled and looked toward Speer with a fatherly look. “Such a word-hijacked? I merely asked my men to inquire if you would join me before filing your report on Columbus prior to your presentation to the Fuhrer, just so we could chat awhile. And since so much of the operational success of this project has come from this office, I felt a briefing by you, to me, was not out of the question.”

Speer looked around the spartan office of this prolific mass murderer. He removed his brown saucer cap and placed it under his left arm, all the while feeling uncomfortable in the cold space of his surroundings. His discomfort was also due to his closeness to the chicken farmer-a nickname for Himmler that had caught on among the intellectuals of Hitler’s inner circle, a group that Speer knew was ever dwindling.

“I have ordered the excavation stopped, and for the site to be destroyed immediately, the remains of the artifacts buried,” Speer said, as defiantly and calmly as he could. He watched the practiced reaction of Himmler as the impish little man looked at him with a trace of a smile. “At least until we can negotiate our finds with the Allies. After all, I would rather think the Fuhrer would prefer not to have the artifacts fall into the hands of the Bolsheviks, wouldn’t you?”