'You heard me the first time,' Ernst said, thinking, How sweet is vengeance! 'We have to destroy it.'

'But it hasn't even been test-flown yet!'

'We still have to destroy it.'

Schriever's a.s.sistant, Miethe, arrived, also wiping his hands on an oily rag. Schriever glanced at him with widening eyes, then turned back to Ernst.

'Why?' he asked.

'To prevent it from falling into the hands of the Soviets, of course,' Ernst told him as flatly as possible.

'But we can arrange a test flight almost immediately!'

'You may be too late. The Soviets are advancing fast. We're also concerned about Czechoslovak patriots who already are causing trouble in Prague and may have men planted here, just waiting for the Soviets to get close.'

Schriever was looking desperate. 'But without even a test flight...'

'I'm sorry. We can't think about that now. We must destroy the saucer.'

Looking increasingly suspicious, and even aggressive, Schriever glanced automatically at Miethe, who was cleverly keeping his mouth shut. Schriever turned back to Ernst. 'I've been receiving instructions direct from Himmler's office not from Nordhausen so why are you suddenly taking over?'

'Nordhausen was evacuated and Himmler sent me to arrange the same thing here.'

'We're evacuating now?'

'Do you wish to shake hands with the Soviets?'

'Why can't we take the saucer with us?'

'The risk is too large. We might get captured. We don't want them to get it.'

Schriever looked even more suspicious. 'Do you have written authority, Captain Stoll?'

'No. Of course not. Officially, this project doesn't exist. No project, no papers.'

'Then why did Himmler's office not contact me?'

'Berlin was being encircled,' Ernst lied blandly, 'and Himmler's phones were cut off. The city, as you know, has since been cut off, so you can't ring through to them. Now please do as I say, Flugkapitn Schriever, and stop all this nonsense.'

'Himmler may have ordered the saucer to be destroyed, but not without a test flight. I insist on a test flight!'

'When can it be arranged?'

'Tomorrow morning. Ten sharp.'

'Fair enough,' Ernst said.

He went straight to the commander, the young lieutenant, and gained his trust by sharing confidences with him, as if with an old friend.

'He can't be trusted,' he told Metz. 'We've had problems with him before. The Reichfhrer asked me to ensure that this project was obliterated, but Flugkapitn Schriever, if his test flight is a failure, will insist on more time. We have to destroy it, no matter what, so I need you and your men. Will you help?'

'Of course, sir!'

Ernst did not sleep well that night. He rarely slept well anymore. His sleep was haunted by nightmares of death and destruction, by dreams of Ingrid and his children and all his other failures and betrayals.

It was dreams and nightmares, but also constant noise: the bombers growling overhead, the exploding bombs, the wailing sirens, the Soviet guns belching in the distance, but sounding closer each hour.

You couldn't tell how close they were you never saw them; you just heard them and Ernst, who had once dreamed of glory, was glad to get out of bed.

It was just after dawn. He wandered around the East Hall. He saw the sun burning through mist and the pall of smoke from the bombing raids, the smoke drifting from the city to the fields that were pockmarked with sh.e.l.l holes. He tried to think of another world, a normal world, without war, but every image in his head contained violence, destruction, blood and tears, flame and smoke, all created by a dream of omnipotence, the perversion of science.

He had helped to create it.

He was hungry but couldn't eat, so he lit a cigarette instead, and smoked it while gazing across the destroyed fields at the ruins of Prague. He smoked a lot that morning, just kneeling there, waiting, and then stood up when the doors of the East Hall opened and the engineers walked out.