An Arab in full flowing gear in his forties or fifties strode forward and shook the winning jockey’s hand. “I’m glad to see my family’s money ...as a not gone to waste.”“Samed Basm.” Fenella Hashwillow, lady of the manor at Ernley Estate and Stud, whispered in Ingrid’s ear. “Heir to the Basm conglomerate of petroleum products.”“Thank you sir.” The jockey replied. “And it’s Marco.”“Come, let’s celebrate.” Samed clapped a hand on the jockey’s shoulders and led him away without any indication he. Months earlier, orders had come all the way from Himmler to destroy anyevidence of the camps. A foolish hope; there was just too much. Theovens had run out of fuel. It would have taken a small army and muchmore time than we had available to remove the corpses, fill in the pitsand destroy all evidence. Besides, armies, even small ones, were justnot possible at this stage of the war. They only existed in Hitler'sdelusional imagination. Unfortunately for the camp guards, there wouldbe enough. More

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