Garden of Beasts

know about this aircraft. It’s constructed in a way that those familiar with aviation would spot as unique. They could deduce that it is being mass produced. Lindbergh could easily recognize this. He himself designed his Spirit of St. Louis, I believe.”
    Avoiding eye contact with Ernst, Göring predictably said, “We must begin to let our enemies know our strength.”
    “Perhaps,” Ernst said slowly, “a possibility would be to display one of the prototypes of the one-oh-nine at the Olympics. They were constructed more by hand than our production models and have no armament mounted. And they’re equipped with British Rolls-Royce engines. The world could then see our technological achievement yet be disarmed by the fact that we are using our former enemy’s motors. Which would suggest that any offensive use is far from our thoughts.”
    Hitler said, “There is something to your point, Reinhard. . . . Yes, we will not put on an air show. And we will display the prototype. Good. That is decided. Thank you for coming, Colonel.”
    “My Leader.” Bathed in relief, Ernst rose.
    He was nearly to the door when Göring said casually, “Oh, Reinhard, a matter occurs to me. I believe a file of yours was misdirected to my office.”
    Ernst turned back to examine the smiling, moonish face. The eyes, however, seethed from Ernst’s victory in the fighter debate. He wanted revenge. Göring squinted. “I believe it had to do with . . . what was it? The Waltham Study. Yes.”
    God in heaven . . .
    Hitler was paying no attention. He unfurled an architectural drawing and studied it closely.
    “Misdirected?” Ernst asked. Filched by one of Göring’s spies was the true meaning of this word. “Thank you, Mr. Minister,” he said lightly. “I’ll have someone pick it up immediately. Good day to—”
    But the deflection, of course, was ineffectual. Göring continued. “You were fortunate that the file was delivered to me. Imagine what some people might’ve thought to see Jew writing with your name on it.”
    Hitler looked up. “What is this?”
    Sweating prodigiously, as always, Göring wiped his face and replied, “The Waltham Study that Colonel Ernst has commissioned.” Hitler shook his head and the minister persisted. “Oh, I assumed our Leader knew about it.”
    “Tell me,” Hitler demanded.
    Göring said, “I know nothing about it. I only received—mistakenly, as I say—several reports written by those Jew mind doctors. One by that Austrian, Freud. Someone named Weiss. Others I can’t recall.” He added with a twist of his lips, “Those psychologists.”
    In the hierarchy of Hitler’s hatred, Jews came first,Communists second and intellectuals third. Psychologists were particularly disparaged since they rejected racial science—the belief that race determined behavior, a cornerstone of National Socialist thought.
    “Is this true, Reinhard?”
    Ernst said casually, “As part of my job I read many documents on aggression and conflict. That’s what these writings deal with.”
    “You’ve never mentioned this to me.” And with his characteristic instinct for sniffing out the merest hint of conspiracy Hitler asked quickly, “Defense Minister von Blomberg? Is he familiar with this study of yours?”
    “No. There’s nothing to report at this time. As the name suggests it’s merely a study being conducted through Waltham Military College. To gather information. That’s all. Nothing may come of it.” Ashamed to be playing this game, he added, putting some of Goebbels’s sycophantic shine in his eyes, “But it is possible that the results will show us ways in which to create a much stronger, more efficient army to achieve the glorious goals you’ve established for our fatherland.”
    Ernst could not tell if this bootlicking had any effect. Hitler rose and paced. He walked to an elaborate model of the Olympic stadium grounds and stared at it for a long moment. Ernst could feel his heartbeat thudding all the way to his teeth.
    The Leader turned and shouted, “I wish to see my architect. Immediately.”
    “Yes, sir,” his aide said and hurried to the ante-office.
    A moment later a man entered the room, though it was not Albert Speer, but black-uniformed Heinrich Himmler, whose weak chin, diminutive physique and round black-rimmed glasses nearly made you forget that he was theabsolute ruler of the SS, Gestapo and every other police force in the country.
    Himmler gave his typical