The car made the last turn. Its headlights painted over, it headed downhill, gaining speed, oblivious to the impending disaster. The front tires hit the tree trunk. The car lost its ability to steer, missed the next turn, and crashed into the ditch, landing on its roof.

Elie crossed the road and approached through the snow. It was a Mercedes sedan. Steam hissed from its engine, fading into the cold air.

The driver’s door opened, and a man crawled out, coughing hard. The SS insignia glistened on the collar of the gray uniform. A general.

Elie drew his long blade and stabbed the Nazi through the back, just above the right kidney, puncturing the lung. He pulled the blade straight out, careful not to damage a major artery. Searching the man’s pockets, Elie found a cigarette lighter and a wallet filled with cash. He held the lighter flame to the face-sculpted, Aryan features, square jaw, thin lips pressed in pain. Elie recognized him from newspaper photos: General Klaus von Koenig, Heinrich Himmler’s deputy.

A wave of hatred flooded Elie, but the caution that had kept him alive through the war made him pause. Why was the general driving himself? Elie looked up the road and listened carefully. No escort vehicle, no guards, no entourage. What happened to the drivers? Had they continued to Switzerland with the truck? Elie remembered one of them speak of the general’s exactness in recording the details of the loot in a small ledger. He felt the pockets again. Nothing. Was it in the car? He turned and saw Abraham drag something out of the overturned Mercedes-a black bag, or an animal?

Up close, Elie realized it was a fur coat. The hood fell back, releasing a cascade of black hair. A white hand emerged and punched Abraham in the crotch. He cursed, clenched her hair, and slapped her across the face. With the speed of a snake she grabbed his hand and sank her teeth into it. He yelled and stumbled back, holding his hand. Then he leaped forward, his right boot rising behind for a kick that would surely kill her.