Fatherland

manner through the ubiquitous manila files. March took a seat in the farthest corner of the room. He switched on an angle-poise lamp, bent its shade low over the table. From inside his tunic he drew the three sheets of paper he had taken from the Reichsarchiv.
    They were poor-quality photocopies. The machine had been set too faint, the originals had been thrust into it hastily and skewed. He did not blame Rudi for that. Rudi had not wanted to make the copies at all. Rudi had been terrified. All his schoolboy bravado had vanished when he had read Heydrich's invitation. March had been obliged virtually to drag him to the photocopier. The moment the historian had finished, he had darted back into the storeroom, shoveled the papers back into the boxes, put the boxes back onto the shelves. At his insistence, they had left the archive building by a rear entrance.
    "I think, Zavi, we should not see each other for a long time now."
    "Of course."
    "You know how it is . . ."
    Halder had stood, miserable and helpless, while above their heads the fireworks had whooshed and banged. March had embraced him—"Don't feel bad. I know: your family comes first"—and quickly walked away.
    Document one: Heydrich's original invitation, dated November 19, 1941:

    On 7/31/41, the Reichsmarschall of the Greater German Reich charged me, in cooperation with all the other relevant central agencies, to make all the necessary preparations with regard to organizational, technical and material measures for a complete solution of the Jewish question in Europe and to present him shortly with a complete draft proposal on this matter. I enclose a photocopy of this commission.
    In view of the extraordinary importance which must be accorded to these questions, and in the interest of securing a uniform view among the relevant central agencies of the further tasks concerned with the remaining work on this final solution, I propose to make these problems the subject of a general discussion. This is particularly necessary since from October 10 onward the Jews have been evacuated from Reich territory, including the Protectorate, to the East in a continuous series of transports.
    I therefore invite you to join me and others, whose names I enclose, at a discussion followed by luncheon on December 9, 1941, at 12:00 in the office of the International Criminal Police Commission, Berlin, Am grossen Wannsee, No. 56-58.
    Document two: a photostat of a photostat, almost illegible in places, the words rubbed away like an ancient inscription on a tomb. Hermann Goering's directive to Heydrich, dated July 31, 1941:

    To supplement the task that was assigned to you on January 24, 1939, which dealt with the solution of the Jewish problem by emigration and evacuation in the most suitable way, I hereby charge you with making all necessary preparations with regard to organizational, technical and material matters for bringing about a complete solution of the Jewish question within the German sphere of influence in Europe.
    Wherever other governmental agencies are involved, these are to cooperate with you.
    I request you further to send me, in the near future, an overall plan covering the organizational, technical and material measures necessary for the accomplishment of the final solution of the Jewish question which we desire.
    Document three: a list of the fourteen people Heydrich had invited to the conference. Stuckart was third on the
    list; Buhler, sixth; Luther, seventh. March recognized a couple of the other names.
    He ripped a sheet from his notebook, wrote down eleven names and took it to the issuing desk. The two detectives had gone. The registrar was nowhere to be seen. He rapped on the counter and shouted, "Anyone at home?" From behind a row of filing cabinets came a guilty clink of glass on bottle. So that was her secret. She must have forgotten he was there. A moment later, she waddled into view.
    "What do we have on these eleven men?"
    He tried to hand her the list. She folded a pair of plump arms across a greasy tunic. "No more than three files at any one time without special authorization."
    "Never mind that."
    "It is not permitted."
    "It is not permitted to drink alcohol on duty, either, yet you stink of it. Now get me these files."
    To every man and woman, a number; to every number, a file. Not all files were held at Werderscher-Markt; only those whose lives had come into contact with the Reich Kriminalpolizei, for whatever reason, had left their spoor