"They clubbed Yitzhak until he was unconscious and then . . . they . . ." Hiltmann swallowed. "They threw him on the fire."

Franz thought again of his little brother, Karl, lynched by storm troopers that same night. "I remember Vienna, the morning after. Seeing our family's synagogue-where my parents and my brother were married-reduced to a pile of rubble."

The rabbi nodded to himself. "So now they want to repeat their marvellous feat here in Shanghai. To destroy our only place of worship. To kill as many of us as possible."

"We can rebuild the synagogue," Franz said. "But what can you do if the roof collapses on the congregation?"

Hiltmann was quiet again. "You do understand the significance of Hanukkah, do you not, Herr Doktor?"

"The oil that burned for eight days when it was only supposed to last one?" Franz said, vague on the other details. If Hannah were here, she could have filled in the gaps.

"Ah, that is the miracle we remember, but it's not the essence of Hanukkah." The rabbi's expression hardened. "Hanukkah commemorates a great moment of Jewish defiance. The time when the brave Maccabees, outnumbered though they were, drove the a.s.syrian oppressors out of Jerusalem." He held up both hands. "And why did they fight? To reclaim the Holy Temple in the name of G.o.d."

"Yes, but were the a.s.syrians armed with explosives, Rabbi?"

"How can we abandon our synagogue on this day of all days?"

"What about Pikuakh nefesh?"

The rabbi shook his hands in front of him. "Where is your proof that the n.a.z.is will attack tomorrow?"

"Proof?" Franz groaned. "I am not privy to the specifics. We were fortunate that my friend caught wind of this at all."

Hiltmann eyed him defiantly. "Without proof, I will not cancel the service."

Franz brought his hands to his chest in appeal. "Rabbi, you would risk so many lives?"

"We can post young men outside to watch for signs of trouble. They will warn us."

"And if the warning comes too late?"

"This is a house of G.o.d, Dr. Adler." The rabbi's voice trembled. "How can we allow the n.a.z.is to chase the faithful from it, just because of innuendo and rumour? Where will it end?"

Outside, the snow was thickening on the ground. Franz half walked and half skated on the slick sidewalks as he hurried from the synagogue to the hospital.

He found Sunny there and led her into the staff room, then filled her in on his conversation with the rabbi. "I did not expect the man to be so obstinate," Franz sighed.

Sunny kissed Franz on the cheek and then offered him a small smile. "Stubbornness?" she said in mock surprise. "From a Jew?"

Franz laughed in spite of himself. "I don't know how you put up with us."

"I love you," she said. "Besides, I consider myself very fortunate to be part of your wonderful community, bewildering though it sometimes is."

"I love you, too." He kissed her on the lips. "Despite your peculiar view on what const.i.tutes good fortune."

The smile slid from her lips. "So it is up to us to ensure the safety of the synagogue."

"With Charlie's help?" he asked.

Sunny nodded.

Franz exhaled heavily. "Charlie will be taking a huge risk even showing his face in the ghetto, with all those soldiers about."

"He is determined to help us. To repay our kindness, as he puts it. Besides, who else knows anything about explosives?"

"What if Charlie doesn't find the bombs?"

"If they are there, he will find them."

"Can you be so sure? Would you risk the lives of Hannah, Esther and the baby on it?"

Sunny's eyes widened. "They are not planning to attend the service? Surely not."

"They want to."

Sunny reached out and cupped his face. "You cannot let them, Franz. They must stay home. Promise me."

Before Franz could answer, the door to the staff room burst open and Ernst rushed in, his coat dusted with snow. "There you are, thank Christ!"

"What is it, Ernst?" Franz demanded.

Ernst brushed snowflakes from his coat and head, even out of his beard. "This evening," he said. "Von Puttkamer and his men are coming tonight."

"To the ghetto?"

"Yes. To see Ghoya."

Franz grimaced. "He is asking Ghoya for permission to attack us?"

Ernst waved off the idea. "No. He is coming with food and presents. To show Ghoya and the others a traditional German Christmas."

"It must be a ruse."

"Of course it is." Ernst patted his pocket in search of cigarettes but came up empty. "But one that will get them inside the ghetto after dark."

"After curfew," Sunny murmured.

Ernst nodded. "Precisely."

Franz interlaced his fingers and squeezed them until they hurt. "So his men will have free rein to plant their bombs, at the synagogue and wherever else they want to, without us being able to watch."

"That is the general idea, no doubt."

Franz once again pictured the walls of the synagogue buckling. "As soon as the curfew is lifted in the morning, we will have to scour every inch of the synagogue's grounds."

Sunny turned to Franz, her eyes frantic with worry. "What if we're wrong, Franz?" she murmured. "What if the synagogue is not their target? Perhaps they plan to explode bombs tonight. In the heime or the other buildings where the refugees live."

But Franz felt certain in a way that he rarely did outside the operating room. "Going to all this trouble to bomb a few apartments would not satisfy the n.a.z.is. No. Von Puttkamer promised something spectacular."

"I know, darling, but what if . . ."

"We need to spread word among all the refugees. Everyone must guard their homes and look out for signs of unusual activity."

Ernst jutted out his lower lip. "Ja. It's a good idea."

"Our telephone exchange is still not working," Franz said. "Someone needs to go tell Charlie. We will need him in the morning, first thing."

"I will go," Sunny offered.

Ernst held up a hand. "No, Sunny, let me. Frenchtown is practically on my way home."

Sunny shook her head. "Ernst, you have already risked more than enough for us."

Ernst stroked her cheek. "Do you remember last year? When the j.a.panese were hunting for Shan and me? You risked everything to hide us here in the hospital. In plain sight among the cholera patients." He chuckled. "In retrospect, it was not really much of a plan."

"We did shave your head," Sunny pointed out.

"My beautiful locks." Ernst ran a hand through the wild tangles of hair that were part of his current disguise. "After what you risked, this-this is nothing. Besides, I fear that the real danger is yet to come."

CHAPTER 46.

"I suppose it would not be appropriate to wish you Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah," Charlie said as he approached Franz where he stood in the lane behind the synagogue.

"No, not today," Franz whispered, adjusting his old camera around his neck. The Kodak Brownie box camera had originally belonged to Sunny's father. Franz had been out of film for months but, the day before, had sent Joey to trade a pair of Sunny's earrings for a fresh roll on the black market.

Franz might not have recognized Charlie were it not for the crutches. Under his snow-covered straw hat and mismatched, tattered clothes, Charlie could have pa.s.sed for one of Shanghai's beggars.

"I do not remember Shanghai ever being this cold." Charlie's cloudy breath obscured his face.

Franz was almost oblivious to the temperature. Sunny had found him an old pair of her father's woolen long johns. And adrenaline had coursed through his veins since Ernst's visit, helping to keep him warm and alert despite his lack of sleep.

He had stayed awake through the night, vigilantly watching out the window for any sign of n.a.z.i saboteurs. Each moan from the pipes or creak of the floorboards sent his heart up his throat, but the hours had pa.s.sed without incident. He had heard no reports of unusual activity in the ghetto, which cemented his belief that the Hanukkah service at the synagogue had to be where and when von Puttkamer planned to strike.

Charlie turned back to the temple and slowly scanned it. "The snow provides the perfect camouflage for planting bombs." Unlike Franz, he seemed calm.

"I used to love the cold winters in Austria," Franz said. "But today I hate the snow."

"Well, it also presents certain challenges to the bombers."

Franz frowned. "What do you mean?"

Charlie let a few snowflakes fall onto his tongue. "Igniter cord will not burn reliably through snow. They would have to use an alternate fuse. A pencil detonator, probably."

"What is that?"

"A narrow cylinder packed at one end with a detonator. You crush the copper tip with pliers." Charlie held up his forefinger and squeezed its tip between the fingers of his other hand. "Acid is released inside and eats through the wire holding the striker away from the detonator. The small explosion detonates the bigger charge."

"How long does the fuse take to ignite?"

"Depends on the detonator. Anywhere from a few minutes to several hours."

"Several hours?" Franz coughed. "So they might have triggered the detonators already and left?"

Charlie pointed to the thin layer of snow around the building. "Do you see any footprints?"

"Surely they could have triggered them last night when the bombs were planted? The fresh snow would cover tracks."

"No. Long-delay detonators are unreliable in such cold weather." Charlie's eyes narrowed. "How much time do we have before the service begins?"

Franz glanced at his watch, dismayed to see that it was already past seven thirty. "An hour at the most. How can we search the whole area with all this d.a.m.ned snow?"

"We do not need to search the whole building."

"Why not?"

"They would only place explosives at load-bearing points. Where the most damage would be done to the target."

The target. Franz winced at Charlie's choice of words, but it must have been exactly how the n.a.z.is viewed the temple and the Jews inside it. "Shall I go around to the front and collect the volunteers?"

"Let's first see what we are facing."

Franz followed Charlie around to the rear of the building. As he slipped and slid on the snow, Franz was impressed by the other man's stability on crutches. Charlie stopped to stare up at the upper levels of the synagogue. He shifted right and left, then settled on a spot. "Here. This is where I would plant it." He laid his crutches against the wall and lowered himself to the ground.

Franz hurried to the synagogue's back door, where the shovel Rabbi Hiltmann had promised was waiting. By the time he brought it back, Charlie had already cleared away a patch of snow at the base of the building that was at least ten feet wide.

"Should I shovel more snow?" Franz offered.

Charlie shook his head. "Safer to do this by hand." He carefully patted the patches of ground that he had exposed.

Taking care with his camera, Franz kneeled down beside him. The knees of his pants were soaked on contact with the ground. Not knowing how else to help, he began to extend the cleared area by patting away armfuls of snow.

"Here," Charlie said in a hush. "Right here."

Franz turned to Charlie, who was gently pawing at the ground. After a few moments, Franz made out the edges of a green object about the size and shape of a loaf of his favourite Schwarzbrot-black bread. Charlie cleared dirt from the top of the object. Franz spied two metal cylinders stuck into it like stubby antennas. "Pencil fuses. They placed two for good measure." Charlie ran his fingers up and down the cylinders and then said, "Not activated yet."

Franz's throat constricted. "So someone will return during the service to ignite them."

"Yes. They must have a short delay." Charlie skimmed his fingers along the edges of the green block and let out a low whistle. "Plastic explosive. British issue. Highly effective. The Americans dropped us some for our work in the field."

"Let me take a photograph," Franz said, rising unsteadily to his feet.