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When the wheezing Körtig reached the end of the alley, he saw that Lang was halfway down the path through the park across the street and almost on Calle Talcahuano.

Körtig thought, The bastard should have walked slower.

Körtig waited for the traffic light to change, then crossed the street and entered the small park. At the far side of it, there was opportunity for him to glance over his shoulder. Fassbinder was crossing the street between the opera house and the park.

Körtig sat on a bench along the path through the park. He opened his La Nacíon. Fassbinder walked past him a minute or so later. As far as Körtig could see, no one was following, or watching, Fassbinder.

Lang was now on Calle Talcahuano approaching number 1044. Fassbinder walked past him, then entered 1044. Lang followed.

Körtig waited until he had time to really make sure that he was neither being followed nor under observation, then stood up, tucked La Nacíon under his arm again, and walked quickly out of the park, crossed Calle Talcahuano, and entered 1044.

Neither Fassbinder nor Lang was in sight, and the door from the foyer was closed.

Körtig took a penknife from his vest pocket, slipped it into the lock, depressed the spring-loaded stop, and pushed the door open. The interior corridor was empty. He could hear the whine of the elevator, and as he walked up to its door, it came down to the foyer.

He slid the accordion door open, got on the elevator, and rode it to the fourth floor.

When he stepped into the foyer there, the door to 4-C opened, and he walked to it and entered.

As soon as the door closed behind him, former SS-Brigadeführer Ludwig Hoffmann offered Körtig his hand.

“This had better be important, Ludwig,” Körtig said.

—

Mannhoffer led everyone to the dining room table. He picked up the thick envelope of photograph proofs.

“I think you both should take a careful look at these,” he said.

“What are they?” Gerhard Körtig said.

“Pictures of people getting off the SAA flight from Berlin this morning.”

Körtig sat and took them from the envelope. He examined the first one carefully but without expression, then handed it to Horst Lang.

“I was hoping that von und zu Aschenburg had died in the East,” Lang said, after examining it. “I heard that he had been shot down.”

“We should have eliminated him in 1944, when his relationship with Canaris became known,” Mannhoffer said.

“Became suspected, Ludwig,” Körtig said. “There was never any proof, was there? And in 1944, Canaris wasn’t suspected of anything, was he? No one dreamed he would betray the Führer.”

“I would say we have it now. The both of them betrayed their oath,” Lang said.

“And Canaris was hung as a traitor. Von und zu Aschenburg apparently escaped punishment,” Körtig said. He paused and waved one of the proofs. “Who is this? He looks familiar.”

“Kapitän Wilhelm Grüner,” Mannhoffer said.

“Karl-Heinz’s son?”

“That’s him.”

“What’s he doing on that plane? And with von und zu Aschenburg?”

“That’s one of the things we have to talk about.”

“Ah, von Wachtstein,” Körtig said, turning to another proof. “We know how seriously he took his oath to the Führer, don’t we? He and his despicable father.”

He turned to the next proof.