Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated around the wooden table in the center of Hochstetter's apartment, sipping Klink's champagne and staring mournfully at the plate of Kartoffelpuffer, blackened beyond all recognition. Klink sighed. "Now we will never know if Hochstetter is actually a good cook or not."

Hochstetter frowned slightly. "I could just make more."

"Don't bother," Burkhalter said. "I can't stay too much longer. I have an important meeting with General Geizhals later this afternoon." He swirled the champagne in his glass idly. He could guess what the meeting was about, and if the deer-in-the-headlights look in Klink's eyes was any indication, he could, too. But it concerned Burkhalter, not Nimrod, so until he knew for sure, there was no sense in telling Hochstetter.

"I honestly sometimes forget that you two are in the Wehrmacht." Hochstetter, oblivious to his thoughts, reached across the table to refill his glass. "So, Kant, you were talking an awful lot about 'coordinating' earlier… I assume you have more ideas than just new code names."

Burkhalter's mouth twitched in a barely perceptible frown. Even though he'd chosen the name himself, it was still odd to hear. He supposed he'd get used to it. Still… "We don't have to use them now; only during Nimrod-related activities where others might overhear." He set his glass down on the table and folded his hands. "And yes, there is more that I wanted to discuss."

Klink leaned forward slightly. "Like what?"

"Practical concerns," Burkhalter said. "For instance, with the exception of this last one, we've all been going out together on every single mission. But there are bound to be times when one or more of us won't be available. So we need to figure out in advance who can and who can't carry out certain types of jobs."

"So what you're saying is," Hochstetter said thoughtfully, "you want us to try to determine what we are good and not-so-good at."

Burkhalter nodded. "That's right. While it's true that none of us has much experience with the espionage game, we do have certain skill sets, and certain failings. In order to function as a team, we need to lay these out in the open with honesty and a critical mindset. And even though it will be very difficult for all of us…" He smiled wryly. "...we can't allow our egos to get in the way."

It amused Burkhalter greatly that, after that last remark, Hochstetter's eyes almost automatically strayed to Klink. "Alright," he said, leaning back and folding his arms. "Since it's your idea, why don't you go first?"

"Fine." Burkhalter, having brought up the idea, had the advantage of having thought through the question beforehand. "I am clearly the only one of us with any significant experience operating radio transmitters, and, thanks to my time spent in ground combat, I am also the only one who knows even a little bit about making improvised explosives. Besides that, I have a vast and growing network of connections in high places, and I know how to strategize and delegate efficiently. It is, however - " he laid a hand on his stomach " - difficult for me to sneak around, or carry out otherwise physically demanding field missions."

Hochstetter looked like he wanted to make some kind of quip, but he seemed to realize it was low-hanging fruit, and so refrained. "So, basically, you're the mastermind," he said, a sarcastic edge in his voice.

"Basically." Burkhalter smiled wryly. "But enough about me. Would you like to go next?"

Hochstetter folded his arms. "Fine. As we are all aware, I am a homicide detective with the Berliner Kripo. That means I know my way around the criminal justice system, and I know how to do pretty much anything and not get caught." He smirked. "I also have undercover experience and weapons and hand-to-hand combat training, and I can pick a lock if it's not too complicated. As for negatives…" He thought about it. "I don't have the same level of access to classified information as you two, and I am not particularly good at wheedling it out of others. I refuse to brown-nose for this, by the way," he said, looking at pointedly Klink.

Klink frowned sourly, but he didn't try to deny the unspoken jab. Instead, he said, "Shall I go next?"

Burkhalter nodded, and Klink straightened as much as he could, sitting as he was on Hochstetter's sagging couch. "Well, I have the best English," he boasted, "and I can sound the closest to the real Nimrod. That's made me the best choice for face-to-face contact with the Underground, so I already have connections among their agents. I also have a number of old friends in various branches of the Wehrmacht, and because I am a good administrator, I often have direct access to Luftwaffe documents and files."

Burkhalter waited for him to continue, but he seemed reluctant to do so. Of course, they didn't actually need Klink to tell them about his own shortcomings since they were so infuriatingly plain to see, but it was the spirit of the exercise.

Finally, Klink spoke up again. "Of course, the sheer force of my charismatic personality does tend to make me stand out in people's memories - "

"Klink!" Burkhalter scowled. "What part of 'honesty' did you not understand?"

"To be fair," Hochstetter said, smirking, "he's right about being unforgettable… though for different, more annoying reasons."

Klink huffed, shaking his finger at Hochstetter. "Don't try to pretend that you are not annoying, either!" He sat back, wrapping his arms around himself. "You get angry over nothing and then turn into a human-sized howler monkey."

"Bah!" Hochstetter glared daggers at Klink. It looked like he was trying to either formulate an appropriately withering insult or burn a hole through Klink's head. Burkhalter was disappointed when he ultimately succeeded at neither. Instead, Hochstetter simply turned the direction of his glare from Klink to Burkhalter himself. "Alright, so we've done that. Now what?"

"Now we delegate," Burkhalter said. "Klink, you'll keep making handoffs and contacting Mama Bear and the Underground. I'll continue to plan our missions and handle anything dynamite-related. And Hochstetter…" Burkhalter paused, a thin smile slowly spreading across his face. He'd suddenly gotten an idea. A brilliant, dangerous idea. In fact, it was probably the best, boldest idea he'd had in a long time. And Hochstetter was going to hate it.

Hochstetter must have gotten a vague sense of his intent, because he narrowed his eyes, trepidation showing on his face. "...Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

Burkhalter's smile widened. "You said that you don't have access to classified information. And since Klink and I are in the Wehrmacht, neither of us can join political parties. That means that none of us has any connection to the NSDAP."

Hochstetter looked disgusted. "You want me to join the Nazis?!"

"Even better." Burkhalter was full-on grinning now. He just couldn't help himself. "I want you to join the Gestapo."

Hochstetter was silent for a while, his mouth hanging open slightly, while he processed what Burkhalter had just said. Then his eyes widened until they looked like they were bulging out of their sockets, and his jaw dropped. "WHAAAAAT?!"

Burkhalter couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer volume and duration of the scream. That man had a powerful set of lungs.

Once it was over, Hochstetter took a series of heavy breaths, his shoulders heaving. After a few seconds, he managed to calm down enough to sputter, "You want me to join the Gestapo?! WHY?!"

"Because the Gestapo is our greatest threat, and having one of us working from within their ranks would be invaluable," Burkhalter explained. "And you are perfect for the job. You said it yourself; you have undercover experience, and you're a detective. The Gestapo love hiring career policemen, especially when they can steal them from the Kripo."

Klink looked more frightened than he had any right to be. "B- But isn't being a spy and joining the Gestapo kind of like walking into a lion's den wearing a suit made out of fresh meat?"

"I don't care about the danger," Hochstetter snapped, making Klink flinch. "And I don't care how 'invaluable' it would be, either! Even if it's as an undercover spy, I will not become one of them!"

All three of them fell into an uneasy silence. Burkhalter had expected that Hochstetter would not accept this easily, but there was a sudden strong emotion in his voice that gave him pause. "It's entirely up to you, of course," Burkhalter said quietly. Used to giving orders, he hadn't initially been planning on giving Hochstetter the option. He'd just have to sway him somehow. "Don't think of it as joining them. You'd be sabotaging the Gestapo's operations from the inside. There isn't a single more effective way of stopping them than that. Yes, there's substantial risk involved in infiltrating the Gestapo, but what we've done so far is completely insignificant compared to what you'd be able to accomplish if you did. You're the only one of us who could do it."

Hochstetter slowly leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his chin up behind folded hands. He was silent for a while, wrestling with the issue in his head. When he spoke, his eyes were focused blankly on the edge of the table in front of him. "...You don't know how close the Kripo already is to them," he said, his voice sounding oddly subdued. "At the end of a long maze of red tape and bureaucratic nightmare, 'Kripo' and 'Gestapo' are both departments under the RSHA. It's happened to me more than once; you're out on a case and some plain-clothes Kriminalrat walks up, flashes a warrant disc, and suddenly you have to drop everything and stay out of it. You'll be forced to give him your files, but he'll never open them. And you'll know in your bones that whoever he arrests won't be allowed to stand trial." He fell silent again, then raised his head to look Burkhalter in the eye. "I'll do it. But I'm not going to like it. So you'd better be right about this giving them hell."

Burkhalter's mouth twitched in a tiny smile. "Have I ever let you down?"

Hochstetter smiled wryly. "Not yet." He leaned back in his chair, the smile stretching into a smirk. "But you are old friends with Klink, so you'll understand if I'm concerned."

Klink, though a little put-out, also appeared genuinely confused. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that, if anyone asks, I'm only loosely affiliated with you," Burkhalter said, then turned back to Hochstetter. "You're making the right choice," he said, a little more seriously. "You need to stay in Deutschland. Don't let them assign you to any occupied territories. And if there's even the slightest possibility that one of them suspects you, tell us immediately. We'll find some way to get you out."

Hochstetter nodded, then paused. "Wait. Why is it so important that I 'stay in Deutschland?' You're not going anywhere, are you?"

Burkhalter could see Klink watching him again, blue eyes wide. He sighed. "I don't know what my meeting with General Geizhals will be about, but I can guess. Most likely, I am being called back into active service. The same will probably soon be true for Klink, as well. We are at war, after all. I've been getting in touch with friends in high places, looking into positions that would let one or both of us stay here to continue our espionage, but my search has thus far been fruitless. The likelihood that I will find something eventually is high, of course. But there will undoubtedly be some time when both of us are gone, and you will have to carry out Nimrod's missions alone."

Hochstetter looked somewhat taken aback by this, though he hid it behind a scowl. "So first you send me into the lion's den wearing a meat suit, and then you abandon me. Toll. Ich hab' so gute Freunde."

"Believe me, I would much rather wear the meat suit into the lion's den than to the front," Klink said, shivering.

"Enough about the meat suits," Burkhalter said, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the image. Beneath the snark, however, he was almost ashamed to admit that, in this instance, he shared Klink's fear. He didn't particularly want to go back into the line of duty, either, especially considering everything they'd already done to sabotage their own war effort. What would it be like this time, he wondered; fighting a war that he didn't believe in? He supposed it didn't matter.

The three of them sat, chatting and sipping champagne, for another half hour before Burkhalter had to excuse himself to attend his meeting. On his way out of the apartment, he was surprised when Hochstetter shook his hand. "Viel Glück," he said seriously.

Burkhalter nodded once, a slight dip of his head. "...Gleichfalls."

"Maybe the meeting will be about something else," Klink said, though he sounded like he didn't really believe it himself. "You never know. Perhaps they're giving you a promotion."

Burkhalter laughed dryly. "Klink, despite our vastly differing records, you and I have both been Obersten since the last war." He pulled open the door and began to step outside. "I doubt I'm going to become 'General Burkhalter' any time soon."

- - March 23, 1940 - -

The interviewer let out a quiet sigh, tapping his pencil distractedly against the page full of notes laid out on his desk before him. The bored body language, of course, did not mean that the interview wasn't going well - far from it, actually. The man in front of him was probably the most qualified candidate he'd ever seen. Had it been in his power, the interviewer would have accepted his transfer application the instant he sat down. But this was the Gestapo, and the same general principles in the interrogation rooms applied to the interviewer's office, as well; if nothing else, always make them sweat a little. Leaning back in his chair, the interviewer cast a half-lidded glance at the man seated across from him. "So, Herr Hochstetter, why did you decide to transfer to the Gestapo from the Berliner Kripo?"

Hochstetter gave a vaguely determined-looking scowl. Despite his small stature, there was something inherently intimidating about him. The interviewer could feel the hatred rolling off of him in waves. "Because I am the most patriotic Nazi who ever lived," he snapped, "and I wanted to bathe in the blood of the enemies of the state."

The interviewer fell silent, regarding Hochstetter with a raised eyebrow. He held that pose for a long stretch of time; the man's expression didn't change. Finally, the interviewer pursed his lips and nodded. "Passionate," he muttered, scribbling on his sheet of notes. "That's good."

Hochstetter must have had a headache, because he leaned forward slightly and held a hand up to his forehead.

- - April 2, 1940 - -

Hochstetter stood on the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at the huge statues perched atop the giant stone arch that served as entrance to 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Straße. The figures seemed oddly sympathetic to him, leaning out over the street below as if to say, 'Please let me come down off of this horrible architectural atrocity.' Hochstetter found himself scowling. He'd be happy if he never saw another faux Greco-Roman column ever again.

Verdammt. Not even through the door on his first day and he already hated working here. Why did he have to listen to Burkhalter, anyway? He took a deep breath to quell his annoyance. It never worked, but no harm in trying.

Clenching his fists resolutely, he crossed the sidewalk, climbed up the three short steps into the archway, pulled open the double doors, and stepped into Gestapo headquarters.

Once he did so, he found himself in a massively high-ceilinged lobby, at the foot of a huge, wide staircase that would almost definitely be more at home in an opera house. At the top of the staircase, he could see down a long, wide hall lined with busts of important figures and hanging banners bearing the Hakenkreuz. Despite the good number of people milling about and rushing up and down the stairs, the space was so large, so ridiculously open that it still felt empty. He snorted. Fascist arrogance at its finest.

There was a desk off to his right, behind which sat a young female receptionist with blonde hair and perfect posture. When she noticed Hochstetter standing around looking lost, she cleared her throat. "Can I help you, sir?"

Hochstetter sighed, then walked over to the desk. "Ja. Kriminalinspektor Hochstetter. I'm supposed to report to Reichskriminaldirektor Bösemann…"

The girl smiled warmly at the mention of the name, briefly checked through some papers on her desk, and got to her feet. "Of course. Please follow me."

Hochstetter trailed a few paces behind her as she crossed the lobby and started heading up the stairs. The girl glanced briefly over her shoulder at him, that warm smile still on her face. "You will like working with Herr Bösemann," she said. "He's a very pleasant man. Kriminalrat Zolle loves him to death."

And you do, too, Hochstetter added silently, noting the faint blush on the girl's cheeks. He had to wonder just how 'pleasant' a man could actually be when he was in charge of a division of Gestapo.

Eventually, they came to a small common room lined with office doors. There was a bench, a few chairs, a potted plant in the corner, and, Gott sei dank, a coffee pot on a low countertop that ran along the back of the room. Leaning against the counter and sipping from a mug was a thin, mousy-looking man with large round spectacles and a tiny mustache. He glanced up at Hochstetter's approach, smiling broadly. Unlike the girl's, however, this smile was unsettling and utterly devoid of warmth. "Ah, you must be the new Kriminalinspektor," he said, placing his mug on the counter and stepping forward, hand outstretched. "Hochstetter, oder? Es freut mich. Ich bin Richard Zolle. Willkommen ins Gestapo!"

Hochstetter reluctantly shook the man's hand. His fingers were bony and cold. "Danke," he muttered. For some reason, he couldn't stop staring at Zolle's teeth. They were large, straight, and blindingly white.

The receptionist motioned Hochstetter over towards a door on the right side of the room. "This is Herr Bösemann's office," she said, then knocked on the door and peeked her head inside. "Kriminalinspektor Hochstetter to see you, sir."

"Ah, gut," replied a deep voice from within the office. "Bitte, komm rein."

The girl opened the office door for him, then dipped her head slightly and started walking back towards the lobby. Hochstetter stepped into the office, swinging the door shut.

The first thing he noticed was that the office was unnaturally symmetrical. There was a large desk in the very center of the room, flanked by two identical filing cabinets, one in the back left corner and the other on the right. There were two small, round-backed chairs in front of the desk, one on either side of the door. Two very similar impressionist oil paintings of city streets hung facing each other on the left and right walls, and the obligatory picture of Hitler had been placed at the exact center of the back wall. Even the piles of paperwork on the surface of the desk itself were neatly organized.

The desk's occupant looked up at him with an amiable smile. "Herr Hochstetter," he said, standing and extending his hand over his desk. "I am Reichskriminaldirektor Heinrich Bösemann. Es freut mich sehr." He was a tall man with an average build, and he wore the crisp black uniform of an SS Standartenführer, sans peaked cap. He had a firm jawline, white-blonde hair, and clear grey eyes. Small wonder the receptionist was so taken with him. Though his oddly-shaped eyebrows, pencil-thin at the outside ends and fat and fuzzy at the inner tips, were not exactly attractive.

"Freut mich." Hochstetter accepted Bösemann's handshake with a nod. The other man had a firm grip.

Letting go of Hochstetter's hand, Bösemann sat back down behind his desk and motioned to the chair on the left. "Please, take a seat." While Hochstetter did so, Bösemann folded his hands on the surface of his desk. "Welcome to Department A2. I must say, I'm glad to have you with us. Your reputation as a detective precedes you." He smiled warmly. "I'm sure you'll do well here."

Hochstetter eyed the man warily. Though he wasn't nearly as unabashedly creepy as Zolle, there was still something about Bösemann that didn't sit well with him. Perhaps it was because he seemed so sincere. There was no such thing as sincerity among the Gestapo. "Danke," he said, drumming his fingers on the chair's armrest. "I am looking forward to it."

Bösemann looked amused. Hochstetter realized, belatedly, that some of his displeasure must have made it into his expression. "Well, you don't seem fond of niceties," Bösemann remarked, laughing a little, "so I won't trouble you with any more of them. Basically, my expectation is that you do good work in a professional manner. I don't concern myself unduly with formalities. So please, call me 'Herr Bösemann' if you like - 'Reichskriminaldirektor' is too long."

"Fine," Hochstetter said, still tapping his fingers. He just wanted to get out of this office. "Anything else I should know before I start?"

"Eager to get to work, eh? Then I won't keep you." Bösemann stood, motioning for Hochstetter to follow him out of the office and into the common area. "This is Major Zolle," he said, motioning to the Kriminalrat, who was still sipping his coffee. Zolle looked up and grinned, showing off his huge teeth.

Hochstetter couldn't help but grimace. "We've met."

Zolle put down his mug and moved to the center of the room. "Herr Bösemann, I can show Hochstetter around if you're busy." In the presence of his boss, he displayed the same sort of butt-kissing manner as Klink, though Zolle's version was subtler.

"Ah, danke sehr." Bösemann gave Hochstetter a mildly apologetic look. "I am, unfortunately, swamped with work. I'd like to find time to get to know you better, though. For now, I'll leave you in Zolle's hands." He ducked back into his office, saying, "I look forward to working with you" before closing the door.

Zolle turned to Hochstetter, smiling that too-wide smile of his. "So, Hochstetter… do you have a first name?"

Hochstetter scowled. "Yes."

"..."

"..."

"...Well, what is it?"

"...Wolfgang," Hochstetter grumbled, folding his arms. "But you won't need to use it. We're colleagues, not friends."

Zolle's humorless smile didn't falter. "Oh, natürlich." He gestured around him. "This is what you would call the hub of our division. My office is over there," he said, pointing to a door on the left side of the common area. "And yours is right next to mine."

Hochstetter walked over to the office in question, squinting at the brass nameplate on the door. "'Hugo Wallner?'"

"Oh, they haven't gotten round to switching that out yet," Zolle explained. "That office used to belong to Kriminalrat Wallner. But he was forced to… disappear." When Hochstetter whipped his head around to face him, eyes wide with anger, Zolle giggled. "Hee hee hee, oh, you should see your face! No, no, he broke his back while pursuing a perp. He's living with his family in Frankfurt-am-Main. So we had to find someone to take his place." A hint of ill intent seemed to creep into his voice. "That is the only reason why Herr Bösemann was so eager to bring you on."

Hochstetter scowled. "Look, I just want to get started on my caseload."

"Right, of course." Zolle, though still smiling, seemed to give him a dark look. "Well, if you have any questions, feel free to ask." He then opened his own office door and disappeared inside, slamming it shut.

Hochstetter wasted no time in following suit, stepping into his new office and shutting the door tight. The room was completely bare aside from the furniture, which included a modest desk, a swivel chair, a filing cabinet, and a single lightbulb on the ceiling. There was a small stack of files sitting on the surface of the desk - his first cases.

He walked around to the other side of the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down, pulling the stack of files closer to him. He then picked up the first one off the top of the pile and flipped it open, scanning its contents. Karl Baumhauer, thirty-five years old, suspected of sheltering Underground agents. From the information in his file, it looked like an open-and-shut case.

Hochstetter picked up his pen, smirking. He'd find a way to change that.

Author's Note: This one took longer than usual. Uff. But here it is.

Just so you know, this is probably going to be the second-to-last of what I've termed the "set-up chapters." We should be actually at Stalag 13 by or after the next one. That's why we're skipping around in time a lot now. ^_^;

And Hochstetter's finally in the Gestapo (though he's not a major [Kriminalrat] yet). I just watched "Hello, Zolle" recently, and that man gave me the willies, so he got quite a bit of screen-time here. I think it's very telling that he is smiling in all of his Google images results. As for Bösemann, he's a character of my own invention. Don't judge me for this, but I've actually appropriated him from my own original novel, because he's in the SS in that story, too, and I thought he'd fill the role of Hochstetter's boss nicely. Fun fact: his name literally means "bad/evil man." Among such punny names as "Klink" and "Hochstetter," I figured he'd fit right in.

Today's German translations:

RHSA: Reichssicherheitshauptamt, or Reich Main Security Office. A conglomeration of the Kripo, Gestapo, and SD (Sicherheitsdienst).

Toll. Ich hab' so gute Freunde: Great. I have such good friends.

Gleichfalls: Likewise.

Hakenkreuz: Swastika

Hochstetter, oder?: Hochstetter, right?

Es freut mich: Pleased to meet you.

Willkommen ins Gestapo!: Welcome to the Gestapo!

Bitte, komm rein: Please, come in.

Reichskriminaldirektor / Standartenführer: Bösemann has two ranks because he, like some real Gestapo officers were, is also a member of the SS. (Hochstetter will end up with two ranks eventually, as well.) So "Reichskriminaldirektor" is the Gestapo rank, and "Standartenführer" is the SS version. The Gestapo characters will use the Gestapo rank, while Wehrmacht personnel will probably use the SS rank.

Hugo Wallner: The name of the character played by Howard Caine in "Judgment at Nuremberg." :D