"What do you mean?"

"I see the party as a means to the end. To me, it's a necessary glory show. There are too many buffoons and hooligans."

"Buffoons and hooligans?" Hitler echoed with surprise. Vierhaus was right, Ingersoll was certainly outspoken. Ingersoll could sense Hitler's growing irritation.

"I would follow you into fire, mein Fhrer, "he quickly added, "but there are some I'd prefer to shove into the flames."

Cajole and flatter. Hear him out.

"As I told you, I've read Mein Kampf cover to cover many times. It is always on my nightstand. It is a great book, greater than the Bible. I agree with everything you say, particularly regarding the Jewish problem."

"Herr Schauspieler, tell me the truth. How do you really feel about the Jews?"

"I hate them," Ingersoll said, his voice taut and low. "I hate their Marxist tricks. Their whining . . "

"Ja. Ja! Very good. They are whiners. And you're right, they are the backbone of the Marxist movement. They've had fourteen years, fourteen years to show us what they can do and all they have produced is rubble. Look around you. Rubble! The secret to our success, Hans, is that we are honest. We deal honestly. We seek only what is fair, what is proper. What is right for Germany."

He smiled, an understated smile, a momentary manipulation of the corners of his mouth that was almost a smirk. He sat down again, perched on the edge of his chair and leaned toward Ingersoll with fists clenched.

"We must take the Jews out of the marketplace, out of the banks, out of our industries. Perhaps even . . . rid Germany totally of this Jude scourge. Would you agree?"

Ingersoll smiled in return and nodded. "Yes, but how? And how will you justify what we do to the rest of the world?"

Hitler's mood changed radically. His face turned red. His voice rose fervently and rage simmered deep inside him. He glared out the window.

"Justify? We justify nothing! The rest of the world? Who in the rest of the world? The French?" He snorted indignantly. "How can you have an understanding with a man who is choking you as you speak? The Americans with their Monroe Doctrine? My God! The ultimate hypocrisy. They exclude would-be immigrants if they are undesirable. Regulate their numbers. Demand certain physical standards, insist they bring in a certain amount of money, interrogate them about their political beliefs. Listen, my friend, one learns from one's enemies. Anyway, there is a way we can deal with the Americans. The Communists say that power comes from the barrel of a gun. Well, I'll show them power, all right. I'll show them the barrel of our gun." He smashed his fist into his open palm and stamped his foot on the floor. "How can they blame us for doing the same things, eh? I don't give a damn about the Jews in other countries. But here, this is Germany's business. This is our business."

For a moment it seemed to Ingersoll as if Hitler had forgotten he was in the room. He seemed to be speaking to all the unseen hordes of disenfranchised Germans out there somewhere. And his fervor was hypnotic. Ingersoll's heart began to race. Then just as quickly the voice became quiet again. He turned back to Ingersoll, his eyes still burning with the fever of power.

"As for the British? Compromisers, that's their style. The Britishers are tough and proud. And they are exploiters. England is a psychological force embracing the entire world. They are protected by a great navy and a very courageous air service. But these things will be dealt with in their time.

"I say the hell with the rest of the world," he whispered, leaning over Ingersoll. "Another year and ours will be the most powerful political party in history and all Europe will be on its knees before us. Tomorrow we will be the world, my young friend."

So, Hitler's mind was already preparing for war, thought Ingersoll. To him it is an inevitability.

Hitler paused, saw the unconcealed excitement in Ingersoll's face.

"You believe that, don't you, Ingersoll?"

Entranced, Ingersoll nodded.

He is hooked, Hitler said to himself. Der Schauspieler is ours. "And you want to be an important player in this crusade, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"More than just making contributions to the party, yes?"

"Yes, mein Fhrer!"

"And so you shall, Herr Ingersoll," Hitler said, patting Ingersoll's knee, "so you shall."

Looking over Hitler's shoulder through the frosty window, Ingersoll saw Willie Vierhaus scurrying awkwardly down the icy footpath toward the tea house.

SIX.

As cold as Vierhaus obviously was, he stood outside the tea house and knocked. Hitler waved him in.

"My God it's cold out there," he complained as he burst through the door. "That trooper out there says it's ten below freezing!"

He scrambled to the fire and immediately stood with his back to it, hiding the mound on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and shivered as the crackling flames warmed him.

"We'll have to start a war in Africa, Willie, just so you can be comfortable," Hitler said.

"Worse, much worse," Vierhaus answered. "Dust. I think dust is worse than the cold."

"Everybody to their own discomfort," Hitler said. "Hans hates mud worse than cold. You hate dust worse than cold."

"And you, mein Fhrer, what do you hate worse than cold?"

"Failure," Hitler said.

"Sometimes they go together," Vierhaus said. "Napoleon met both in Russia."

"The trouble with the French is they always put more on their plate than they can eat," Ingersoll said, fixing a sandwich.

"The trouble with the French is that they have no stomach for fighting," Hitler added. "They'd rather make love than win a battle."

"At the Somme I saw a whole battalion of infantry turn their backs on us and run," Ingersoll said, nibbling on the sandwich and washing it down with a swallow of wine. "As far as the eye could see, nothing but French behinds."

"A lovely sight, I'll bet," Vierhaus said and laughed.

"Absolutely beautiful," Ingersoll answered.

"Probably running back to Paris to find a bottle of wine and a Frulein for the night," Hitler said, chuckling. "Can you believe they actually think their Maginot line will stop us? Ha! A concrete cow fence is going to stop the Wehrmacht? I can hardly wait for that day."

He snipped off another piece of sausage and chewed it passionately, rolling the meat around on his tongue, sucking every gram of juice from it before swallowing.

"It's beginning to snow, Fhrer," Vierhaus said. "The plane from Berlin may have a problem landing in Linz."

"I'm sure Hermann will not let his pilot turn back. The head of the Luftwaffe will not be denied by a little snow."

"Well, there is good news. Albert's plane has landed. He is on his way up from the village at this very moment."

"Splendid!"

"I left a message for him to come on down when he arrives. I trust that's all right?" Vierhaus said.

"Yes, yes," Hitler quickly agreed. "I am anxious for Speer and Hans here to get together. Two creative geniuses matching wits, that should be stimulating."

He stood up and joined Vierhaus in front of the fireplace, his back to the flames, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I had hoped Leni Riefenstahl could be here but she is finishing a film. When Leni is finishing a film she is as if . . . in a trance."

"Fritz Lang thinks she's one of the greatest cinematographers alive today," Ingersoll said.

"One of?" said Hitler. "She is the greatest cinematographer alive today. That is why she is the official cameraman of the Third Reich. Take Speer, for instance. Speer has majestic vision. It is impossible for him to think small. If I asked for a pebble he would deliver me a mountain."

"I saw the Brown House this morning," Ingersoll said. "It's magnificent."

"Tell him," Hitler said. "He loves to be flattered, although he tries not to show it."

"I hope he brings the Nuremberg model," Vierhaus said.

"Everything Albert does soars," Hitler said. "He is my architect because he lifts Germany's spirits. But the stadium at Nuremberg, it will be a symbol. I will promise you this, when we hold the rally to celebrate its completion, every German will know that the Third Reich is their destiny."

He stood in front of Ingersoll and clenched his fists tightly against his chest.

"You see, what I am talking about is pride, Schauspieler. Hitler is pride. Speer is pride. Wagner is pride." He paused for effect, leaned an inch closer to Ingersoll. "Johann Ingersoll is pride."

Now for the piece de resistance.

He leaned closer to Ingersoll, glancing for a moment at Vierhaus, then settling his hard, almost fevered stare on Johann Ingersoll.

"I am sure you are familiar with the Schutzstaffel, the SS, my personal elite corps. More powerful than the army, the SA, and the police all put together. Himmler is in charge. You have seen the uniform?"

"The black is very impressive," Ingersoll said.

"You have brought great credit to the Fatherland," Hitler went on. "It would be to my advantage, and I think to yours, if you would accept a commission in the Schutzstaffel."

Ingersoll was stunned. "A commission? For doing what?"

"You will be my personal representative in the world of the arts. Wearing the uniform at official events will give the SS added prestige and respect. I was thinking perhaps . . . Colonel Hans Wolfe."

A colonell Ingersoll said to himself. My God, a colonel in Hitler's own elite corps.

"I am flattered, mein Fhrer."

"You will accept then?"

"With honor, sir!"

"Excellent! Willie, get me the Bible from that table over there. I will administer the oath personally."

"Yes, mein Fhrer."

Vierhaus got the Bible and handed it to Ingersoll.

"Raise your right hand and repeat after me," said Hitler.

Ingersoll held the Bible in his left hand and raised his right.

Hitler repeated the oath of the SS:"I swear to thee Adolf Hitler,

As Fhrer and Chancellor of the German Reich,

Loyalty and bravery.

I vow to thee and to the superiors

Whom thou shalt appoint

Obedience unto death,

So help me God."