Herman Schmidt smoked a cigarette and waited for his men to report back. Thirty minutes had gone by and there was no sign of his prey. He had heard no more howling of wolves, nothing.

Schmidt sighed, exhaled smoke through his nose and looked down at the little old man, dead as the tree Schmidt was sitting on. He wondered how the fellow had figured into all of this. He suspected this had been the man the Gestapo agents had seized.

But there was no asking them because they, too, ...