DOCTOR LANS FACED THE LEADER with inherent dignity, a dignity and presence that three years of "protective custody" had been unable to shake. The pallor and gauntness of the concentration camp lay upon him, but his race was used to oppression. "I see," he said. "Yes, I see ... I can perform that operation. What are your terms?"
"Terms?" The Leader was aghast. "Terms, you filthy swine? You are being given a chance to redeem in part the sins of your race!"
The surgeon raised his brows. "Do you not think I know that you would not have sent for me had there been any other course available to you? Obviously, my services have become valuable."
"You'll do as you are told! You and your kind are lucky to be alive."
"Nevertheless I shall not operate without my fee."
"I said you were lucky to be alive—" The tone was an open threat.
Lans spread his hands. "Well—I am an old man...."
The Leader smiled. "True. But I am informed that you have a—a family...."
The surgeon moistened his lips. His Emma—they would hurt his Emma ... and his little Rose. But he must be brave, as Emma would have him be. He was playing for high stakes—for all of them. "They cannot be worse off dead," he answered firmly, "than they are now."
It was many hours before the Leader was convinced that Lans could not be budged. He should have known—the surgeon had learned fortitude at his mother's breast.