Weapons of choice

A black-uniformed SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer knocked at the door. Only a member of Hitler's personal bodyguard could gain admission to his private dining room, where talk of military campaigns was banned and officers of the Wehrmacht were not generally welcome. If the SS colonel was so bold as to interrupt lunch, there must indeed be something wrong.

"Yes?" he asked peremptorily.

"I am sorry, Mein Fuhrer, but Reichsfuhrer Himmler is here with Lieutenant General Hiroshi."

"What a curious couple," mused Hitler. "Perhaps they have something to confess. Admit them and we shall see."

The bodyguard clicked the heels of his jackboots, saluted, and left. He did not mention the cream in Hitler's mustache, either.

As soon as Himmler entered he saluted, rubbed a finger under his nose, and whispered, "Mein Fuhrer."

Hitler licked his mustache, finding the dollop there.

"Oh, thank you, Heinrich. Martin, Josef, you should have said something earlier."

Both men looked suitably abashed.

"Sit down, sit down, gentlemen. Ambassador Hiroshi, such a pleasant surprise to find you out here. I do hope nothing is wrong. Or is something right? Has Churchill died of brain syphilis, perhaps?"

Bormann roared with laughter and Gobbels smiled, but no light touched his dark, sunken eyes.

Hiroshi bowed formally and pulled out a chair. The table was large and there was plenty of room for the newcomers, although the ornate silver service had only been set for three. Glancing at the sickly sweet German cakes and the big pot of coffee, Hiroshi was secretly relieved.

"We bring news of an unusual nature, Reichschancellor," he said. "Most unusual. In fact, you must promise not have us chased from the building like madmen when we tell you. For that is exactly what we shall sound like."

Gobbels was instantly alert. He wore the look of a wolf, sniffing at some new predator on its hunting ground. Bormann simply looked overstuffed from his lunch. Hitler tilted his head, supporting it on his fingertips as he considered the fearful expression on Himmler's sallow face, which compared unfavorably with Hiroshi's bemused smile.

"What is the matter, Reichsfuhrer?" he asked, speaking directly to Himmler.

Himmler eased himself into a chair like a man nursing a painful wound.

"Do you remember that fellow Brasch? The one we sent to Japan?" he said. "The medal winner."

"I do," Gobbels replied, rolling his eyes. "Shell shock, a head case. He broke after the fighting on the Eastern Front. I understood his mission to Japan was simply a cover to get him out of the news."

"It was," said Himmler. "But something has happened out there. Something terrible. Brasch has been giving technical assistance with some engineering issues. It sounded like madness when I first heard of it, but I'm afraid that I am now convinced. As are the ambassador and Grand Admiral Yamamoto."

Hitler reached over and plucked a glace cherry from the chocolate icing atop a half-eaten piece of torte in front of him. He popped it in his mouth and licked his fingers.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," he said.

"No," muttered Himmler. "No, of course not."

His face flushed bright red and he fumbled about inside his briefcase.

"An SD agent in Tokyo sent this," he said. "It is called a flexipad."

TOKYO, 2121 HOURS, 9 JUNE 1942

Franz Steckel was far more than a mere civil servant. He served as an SS-Obersturmfuhrer of the SD-Ausland, a lieutenant in the Nazi Party's foreign intelligence service. He had been assigned to Tokyo station three months earlier, on the direct orders of Reinhard Heydrich, who suspected that the Reich's embassy harbored a small clique of homosexuals.

Lieutenant Steckel, an attractive young man, had resigned himself to the most bestial depravities in the service of National Socialism. The world was full of perverts, and it was his unpleasant duty to hunt them down and ensure the purity of the Aryan race.

At first he had been annoyed that so important an investigation should be compromised by the lunacy of Commander Hidaka. But one visit to the Indonesian vessel changed all that. After nervously sending the initial details back to Berlin by safe hand courier, he now found himself reporting directly to Reichsfuhrer Himmler on the miracles in the East.

The grand inquisitor surprised Steckel by accepting the extraordinary tale of time-traveling Untermensch, apparently without demur. So Steckel was ordered to finalize the embassy investigation, personally sanction the deviants, and concentrate all his efforts on the mystery ship. Like Yamamoto, Himmler was less immediately interested in the technology than in the information contained within the Sutanto's electric archives.