Chapter 14Vermok, February 26, 1943
Track Three
Stanislaus Lis could feel the repetitive thud of the turbine as a dull throb in his breastbone. At first it had been hard to pick out the sound over the swirl of the wind and the roar of the waterfall, but now it filled the air, overwhelming, inescapable, signaling the journey’s end.
This would be the journey’s end. It had to be.
He’d said that to himself before, of course. Every time. Every attempt had been conceived as the last one, the successful one, the journey’s end. By definition—it was not as though any time traveler would don an SS uniform and a persona and stalk the Fuhrer’s afternoon walk from Obersalzberg with an endgame plan of “get arrested and escape only by the skin of the teeth and the grace of a timepiece.” No one went i
