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As Wolfgang Kappler picked up the telephone receiver, he looked at it and thought, I do not know for certain if the line is being listened to by the SS, but Allen Dulles told me that I must assume everything I do is—“You cannot afford to take any chances whatever from this point forward.”

And on the assumption that my conversations are being listened to, I believe I will mention whatever I can think of that will confuse whoever is out there listening.

Kappler was tired, but made himself use a chipper tone as he spoke into the telephone. “My darling! How good it is to hear your voice. How are you and Anna? . . .

“That is wonderful, dear. And, yes, I know it has been two weeks since we have talked. . . .

“I understand. But I was out of the country on business—actually in Portugual first, and just now back from Bern—and simply unable to call. But that is why I call you now. . . .

“No, I have had no communication with Oskar in many weeks. I’m sure he’s all right, my dear, and busy with the war effort. We would have heard otherwise were that not the case. . . .

“Yes, of course, I cannot wait to see Anna and you, too, my love. I need to be at my Berlin office, and will probably be up there in a day or so. Please be sure not to go anywhere until we can see each other. . . .

“Yes, to you, too. Good-bye.”

Thank God I kept that short, before she had a chance to possibly mention the Ruhr bombings.

I wonder if she is even aware of that? If not, that is why I want to be the one to tell her, as well as what I’ve told Oskar. . . .

He hung up the receiver, then stood and went to the large plate glass window. It had a reflective film on the inside that allowed for anyone in the office to look out but did not allow anyone on the manufacturing floor to see what or who was behind the window.

As he looked out over the factory floor, he heard behind him a light rap at his door and then a familiar voice.

“Herr Kappler?” Walter Höss said, his uneven tone betraying his nervousness.

Kappler turned. “Walter. Please come in. How are you?”

Höss walked to the desk. He was a small-framed, frail-looking thirty-five-year-old who in his neat but bland two-piece suit and tie looked like the overly organized accountant he had been before Kappler had promoted him. Kappler towered over him, and it was obvious that he was made uneasy by Kappler’s intense green eyes that were surveying him hawk-like.

“I am fine, Herr Kappler. We, uh, we were not given word to expect you.”

We? The royal “we”?

Has your new temporary chief officer title gone to your head?

“Did my Berlin office not call ahead?” Kappler said. “There were instructions to do so.”

Actually, I did not make that call on purpose, Walter.

Surprise visits from the boss can be quite useful for a number of reasons.

“No, there was no word.”

“So you said.”

Höss stared back awkwardly.

“Well, that’s quite all right,” Kappler said. “No harm done. I am here now.”

“A lot has happened since your last visit—it’s been at least a month—right before Sturmbannführer Schwartz’s going-away party.”

Kappler felt his skin crawl with Höss’s use of the SS rank.

That’s how indoctrinated that bastard Schwartz made everyone with that ridiculous SS costume.

Kappler forced a smile.

“I do well remember, Walter. And right after Herr Schwartz’s party, I had you assume the duties of my assistant until we found Schwartz’s replacement.”