The Buried Crown

SS-Hauptsturmführer Kurt Adler sat in the marbletiled hallway waiting to be called. An hour had passed since he’d first arrived and still the pair of great ebony doors in front of him stayed firmly shut.
He stared up at the steely-blue gaze of the man in the portrait hanging above them.
He hadn’t been told exactly why the Führer wanted to see him – though it would be about the mission, of course. Top secret; the orders for it had come from the man himself. A flush of pride swept through him. It was a supreme honour to have been chosen to lead it and he would make a success of it – or die in the attempt.
He glanced at the fair-haired young private sitting next to him. He was dressed in the uniform of the regular army, not SS. A pale-cheeked bookish type who looked like he’d be more at home in a library than on the battlefield; probably waiting to deliver a message when the secretary came back.