“You will accept then?”
“With honor, sir!”
“Excellent! Willie, get me the Bible from that table over there. I will administer the oath personally.”
“Yes, mein Führer.”
Vierhaus got the Bible and handed it to Ingersoll. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me,” said Hitler. Ingersoll held the Bible in his left hand and raised his right. Hitler repeated the oath of the SS:
“I swear to thee Adolf Hitler,
As Führer and Chancellor of the German Reich,
Loyalty and bravery.
I vow to thee and to the superiors
Whom thou shalt appoint
Obedience unto death,
So help me God.”
Ingersoll repeated the entire oath verbatim.
Hitler smiled and held out his hand.
“Congratulations, Colonel. I will put you in touch with my personal tailor in Berlin. Your uniform will be my gift. Along with this.”
Hitler held his hand out. Vierhaus took a package from his coat pocket and gave it to him. It was wrapped as a present, a long slender box, about a foot long, four or five inches wide. Hitler offered it to Ingersoll.
“Congratulations,” he said with a smile. Yet, as Ingersoll met his gaze, he saw more than a smile. He saw pride. And he saw anticipation.
The actor slowly took the package in both hands and stared at it a moment. Subconsciously he hefted it once or twice, a throwback to his childhood when the heaviest gifts were always the best. It was heavy enough.
“Open it, open it,” Hitler said impatiently.
Ingersoll put it on the edge of the table and took off the wrapping paper. It was a mahogany box. Inside was a dagger, the official SS long knife, ebony handled with a gleaming double-edged blade almost a foot long scabarded in black leather. On the hilt was the official SS insignia, two jagged lightning streaks in gold. He turned it over and on the opposite side of the handle was a golden eagle perched on a wreath which encircled a diamond-studded swastika. He drew the dagger from its scabbard. Just below the hilt, pressed into the steel, were the initials “A.H.”
Ingersoll was struck dumb. In a matter of moments he had been commissioned a colonel in the SS and presented with a personal gift signed by the Führer.
He looked at Hitler with adoration.
“I can tell you this now,” he stammered. “Although we have been keeping it a very guarded secret, I’ve made five horror films in less than two years and frankly, I want to get away from these thrillers, play a dramatic part. Stretch my talent. We plan to have the world premiere of Der Nacht Hund on February twenty-seventh in the Kroll. On that night I plan to appear as myself and end this publicity charade. It’s become a terrible burden. Now I can go as Colonel Hans Wolfe. The publicity impact will be even greater!”
Hitler looked at Vierhaus for a moment and pursed his lips.
Now is the time, Hitler thought. He is ready.
Hitler began to stride the room, Lands behind his back, slapping a fist into the palm of his other hand. He stared at the ceiling of the room as he spoke.
“You have a unique combination of talents, my friend. You are a superb actor. You speak four languages fluently, you are a master of dialects and accents. You are a master of disguise, a soldier and a survivalist, an acrobat. You believe in the Third Reich. And . . you are a killer. Two squads of American Marines in one encounter, correct?”
He stopped and looked down at Ingersoll.
“Yes, Führer, that is correct.”
“Was it difficult? The killing, I mean?”
Ingersoll stared at him for a few seconds and smiled. “On the contrary, Führer, it was very satisfying,” he said.
“There, you see,” Hitler said, spreading his arms to his sides. “Unique talents. One of a kind. Did I tell you, Willie?”
“Yes, mein Führer, you told me,” Vierhaus agreed, accepting the fact that the plot had suddenly become Hitler’s.
“Is the Third Reich your dream, 1-lans?”
“Yes.”
“The most important thing in the world?”
“Yes.”
“More important than your career, even life itself?”
“Yes!”
Hitler poured himself another glass of wine. His gaze was riveted to Ingersoll’s. He sipped the wine and leaned forward again and nodded.
“I believe you. And I believe that if I told you I had an impossible mission to be performed, a mission requiring great personal sacrifice, one which would require giving up your name, your career, your fortune—everything—I do believe that if I asked you to take on such a mission, you would say yes.”
Ingersoll said nothing. Hitler’s words had put him in a near trance of ecstasy.
“Even if this mission meant living in a country you detest for years, six, seven, perhaps?”
Now Hitler leaned closer, his voice a whisper.
“Even if I tell you this mission is so secret that I cannot tell—even you—what it will be. Only the professor and I will know, until it is time for you to act. Even then I believe you would accept such an assignment.”
“It would be an honor even to be considered for such a task,” Ingersoll whispered back.
“Well, Hans Wolfe, so you are. You are the man I want to carry out that mission.”
Stunned, Ingersoll looked back and forth between the two men.
Is he serious, he wondered. Is this some kind of a test of my loyalty, my trust in him?
“There is within the SS a highly guarded unit called Die Sechs Füchse, the Six Foxes. It is headed by Professor Vierhaus. There are only five members, including himself. Each of the other four is a unique individual, like yourself. Each has been given a specific mission to perform. Each is known by a code name known only to Willie and myself. Even Himmler does not know their identities or their individual objectives. There are no written reports and no records kept by the Six Foxes. The reason is that these missions are so sensitive, so secret, that we cannot afford even the slightest breach of security. The individuals themselves do not know the nature of the assignments. Obviously if they were caught and gave up the secret, that mission would have to be abandoned. And each of these missions is vital to the future of Deutschland.”
“I understand,” Ingersoll said.
“The agents of Die Sechs Füchse report only to Vierhaus and he reports only to me. The particular assignment we have in mind for you would, in the event war is imminent with the United States, paralyze their war effort and neutralize them. It would, we are certain, keep the United States out of the war. In other words, Hans, this mission could directly affect the outcome of our struggle. So, if you choose to accept and are successful, you will be the single most important war hero in the history of the Third Reich.”
Ingersoll’s excitement flooded over. He began to speak but Hitler held up a finger.
“Before you say anything, Hans Wolfe, you must understand if you accept this job, both Hans Wolfe and Johann Ingersoll must die. You would become a man without an identity. A number.”
“A number?”
“Willie ………. Hitler said.
“You would be known only as Siebenundzwanzig.”
“Twenty-seven? Why twenty-seven?”
“You will understand in time,” Vierhaus said. “Between the three of us, we will shorten it to Swan. I would suggest that we move your personal fortune to Swiss banks, although you would have to promise never to draw money from these accounts until the mission is complete. Upon your death, your property would be sold and those funds, too, would be deposited in Switzerland. We cannot afford to establish the remotest kind of paper trail. Does that make sense?”