"Ah, what a wonderful place Berlin was in those days! Surely the most exhilarating city in the world. Just imagine, all the most brilliant minds in Germany, all the artists, writers and thinkers, all together in one place, working and creating and living the high life. Or the low life, if that was their preference. As for me, it was the happiest time of my life. I had everything a man could dream of. Youth, fame, fortune, women – oh, the women! They simply wouldn't leave me alone. You know, I had an affair with Marlene Dietrich. Well, when I say affair, what I mean is, we were photographed together once or twice, at nightclubs. Beyond that, my lips are sealed."

Theodore Hase squared his shoulders with an air of conscious virtue, and as much dignity as was possible while sitting on a low wooden bench outside the barracks, with Kinch on one side and Carter on the other. He glanced around in the clear expectation of further interrogation on this important point. But though the bait was tempting, the fish didn't bite.

"I thought writers were supposed to suffer for their art," remarked Newkirk, who stood slouching against the wall with his hands in his pockets and his eyes half-closed against the sunlight.

"Oh, yes, I suffered," said Hase. "Just not very much."

Kinch cleared his throat. "Sir, I don't want to rush you, but is any of this relevant? That was all a long time ago. What's it got to do with the fix you're in now?"

"I'm getting to that. But first I have to set the scene, establish the mood, paint in the background."

"Or maybe you could cut to the chase." Kinch's patience was wearing thin. "I'm sure you've got plenty of material for when you get round to writing your memoirs, but seeing we probably don't have a lot of time to talk, how about for now you just give us the abridged version?"

Hase gave him a puzzled look. "That's what I was doing."

It wasn't easy, particularly given the gleam of laughter in Newkirk's eye, but Kinch kept a straight face. "Okay, so you're in Berlin, living it up with Marlene Dietrich. What happened next?"

Thrown out of his stride, the author responded tersely: "I wrote a book."

Newkirk uttered a soft, dry chuckle. "You wrote a book? Well, fancy that, who'd have thought it?"

"Actually, Newkirk, that's just what you'd expect him to do," said Carter. "Seeing as he's a writer and all."

"Oh, well, now it all makes sense. Thank goodness you're here, Carter. You should be on the Brains Trust, mate."

Before Carter could work out whether he'd just been insulted, Kinch regained control of the conversation. "Mr Hase, you've written a lot of books. What was the big deal about this one?"

"Oh, the other books!" A flick of Hase's fingers consigned his body of work to the realms of unimportance. "Mere trifles, quickly read and as quickly forgotten. I grew tired of spinning fluffy little tales about circuses and milkmaids. I wanted to write something more significant, something of substance. So I turned away from my usual subjects and looked elsewhere for my inspiration. And I found it."

A melancholy smile played on his lips as he looked back on his triumph. "It was one of my finest pieces of work, the masterpiece of comic genius I had been born to write. Never before or since have the words flowed so easily. The plot sang, the characters lived and breathed, the whole work seemed charged with a kind of brilliance. All in all, I was really rather pleased with it. It wasn't until my publisher rejected the manuscript that I began to have doubts."

"Your publisher didn't like it?" said Kinch

"They didn't think there would be a market for it. To be fair, they had been expecting another Brunhilda book, so they were surprised to receive a vigorous satirical farce with a protagonist who happened to bear a passing resemblance to one of Germany's most prominent political leaders."

It was all Kinch could do not to cover his eyes. "Oh, you didn't."

"Let me guess," said Newkirk. "It was called 'Tis Pity He's A Fascist."

"Of course not. Do you take me for a fool?" replied Hase in a superior tone.

"So what did you call it, then?"

The author raised his chin, and one hand gestured into the distance as he pronounced the title: "The Importance of Being Adolf."

"Oh, boy!" muttered Kinch.

A short, rising whistle from Brodkin, who was keeping watch at the corner of the barracks, put the briefing on hold. By the time the goon appeared, a completely different, entirely innocuous narrative was in progress, performed as a kind of duet.

"…so it's absolute bedlam all over the camp, clouds of smoke pouring out of the Kommandant's office, and old Klink standing in the window, dripping wet, screaming for someone to bring him a ladder. Just as if they'd leave ladders lying around in a prison camp where the prisoners could snaffle them…"

"…and anyway, it's not like he was on the roof or anything like that. It was only a five-foot jump, for Pete's sake. He wouldn't even have busted his monocle falling that far. But since he was so darned panicky about it, me and Newkirk got a blanket to catch him in…"

"…only the silly old sod doesn't trust us, does he? He won't jump, no matter how many times we say we'll catch him. So finally we think, well, he's not going to chance it, and we give up…"

"…it wasn't our fault he made up his mind to jump, just when we dropped the blanket. But he was real mad with us, which I thought was kind of unfair, because we were only trying to help …"

"Tell you what, next time he needs his life saving, he can do it his bleedin' self. Right, Carter?"

"Right, Newkirk."

The guard had slowed down to listen to this tantalising fragment of history. But duty required him to complete his rounds. As slowly as he dared, he continued on to the other end of the building where Walters was hanging around as though he had nothing else to do, and went on around the corner.

Hogan, standing at the window with his arms folded across his chest, watched him pass by, then turned a stern gaze on Marya. "How long after you got Hase involved did you find out about this?" he said curtly.

She shrugged, allowing her fur coat to droop from one shoulder. "Does it matter? The important thing is..."

"How long?" repeated Hogan inexorably.

Marya gave an exaggerated sigh. "Why do you never trust me, Hogan?"

"Because I know better."

"All right, I will admit I had doubts about Dodo from the beginning. He adored it when I flattered him, and admired him, and told him how wonderful he was. Just like every other man - almost." Her voice deepened, and a gleam of irony showed in her eyes as she studied Hogan's unyielding countenance. "But as soon as I told him he should start writing again, he became nervous and started trying to avoid me. So I knew there was something he wanted to hide."

"Really?" Hogan felt his jaw tightening. "So you had doubts, but you went ahead anyway."

"Darling, what else could I have done? The plan was already going so well."

"Maybe so, but..." His voice trailed off, and his aspect turned even grimmer. "Wait a minute. Already going well...?"

"Of course. The Propaganda Ministry had promised their full support, and had even agreed to Dodo's request to have Sitzer handle all publicity. So all I had to do was to meet Dodo and make him come out of retirement."

"You're telling me you landed Hase in the middle of your crazy scheme without him knowing about it?" He waited no more than a few seconds before answering the question himself. "Of course you did. That's how you start every mission."

"It was easier to do it that way," she replied, as though it were a perfectly reasonable argument. "Why should I go to the trouble of dragging him all the way from Bad Grauenberg to Berlin without first making sure the Ministry would be interested?"

"Yeah, sure," growled Hogan. "Just like it's easier to tell every German general you meet all about our operation, and let me deal with the consequences."

"And you always deal with them, Hogan. Brilliantly."

"Cut out the soft soap." The compliment, and the sly smile which came with it, served as added fuel to the flame of his irritation. He needed to cool off; with intent, he went off on a tangent. "So, Bad Grauenberg. That's some kind of ritzy spa town, right? Sounds like your kind of place."

"It used to be very exclusive, but now it is all government big wheels and second-rate actresses." A scornful wave dismissed the pretensions of such arrivistes. "Dodo goes there every year to take the cure. It's supposed to be very stimulating. You should try it some time."

"I just might do that," replied Hogan, with a tight, cynical smile. He went over to the bunk, and leaned against the corner post. "Okay, Hase's funny little story about Hitler was too hot for his publishers to handle. I guess that wasn't the end of it, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Of course not. Dodo was convinced it was his best work ever. Do you think he would throw it on the fire?"

"I very much doubt it. And based on our brief acquaintance, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be prepared to keep it under wraps, either. So, what did he do?"

"He gave it to a friend in Munich, who ran a Kabarett."

"Don't tell me they turned it into a stage show."

"They called it Putschen an der Ritz. It was a big hit," said Marya smugly.

"I'll bet it was," muttered Hogan.

The guard, making his return pass, paused to glance through the window. At sight of Marya, he showed signs of loitering; but the icy glare he received from Hogan gave no encouragement to linger, and the goon went on, around the side of the hut and past the prisoners again. They had moved on to another anecdote, so it seemed.

"...but there's one thing I don't understand," said Hase. "How did the tank get into the recreation hall in the first place?"

"That's a very good question," replied Kinch. "The door was locked, and the only person with a key was Colonel Klink. We had our suspicions, but of course he never owned up to it."

"If there's one thing our Kommandant know how to organise," added Newkirk, "it's a cover-up. Just as well none of his men have any idea he was behind the whole thing, otherwise they'd be at the Russian Front before they could say do svidanija."

The hint had its intended effect, as the guard, abandoning his slow, measured pace, scuttled off like a scared rabbit. Brodkin watched him out of sight, then nodded to the others.

"Okay, he's gone," said Kinch. "Go on, Mr Hase. Seems to me you and your pals were asking for trouble, making fun of the Führer on stage. You didn't think the Nazis were going to laugh it off, did you?"

Dodo's eyes flashed. " As a matter of fact, we took pride in standing up to their threats. We refused to be intimidated."

"And what did old Adolf make of it?" drawled Newkirk. "Seeing as he's a big fan of yours, he must have been a bit put out."

"Well..." Hase's air of self-satisfaction subsided. After a pause, he went on petulantly, "Nobody outside the Kabarett knew I'd written it. I used a pseudonym."

"Smart move," said Kinch dryly.

The author tilted his head back, so he could look down his nose. "If you think I was frightened, you are very much mistaken. I just didn't want my reputation to suffer if the show was a failure. As it happened, it was a great success for the first three weeks. I believe it could have run for months…if the theatre hadn't burned down."

"Uh-huh." Kinch drew a deep breath. "I guess that was no accident."

"Fortunately, nobody was hurt. But it was the end of the Kabarett. The owner went to Paris, the lead actor joined a repertory company in Cairo, and the soubrette eloped to Italy with the set dresser."

"And you went to Mecklenburg and wrote a book about birdwatching."

Hase raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Not my best work, I fear, but after the shock I'd had, it was a miracle I could ever write again. I felt terrible about what had happened. I even considered writing to the Führer and explaining that it was all my fault. But what good would it have done?" He paused, gazing across the parade ground in melancholy reflection. "My foolish arrogance got my friends into trouble. It was fortunate that they managed to escape from Germany before the Nazis took over, but I knew it was my fault. As for myself, I thought I was safe, until that woman came into my life."

"You mean Marya?"

"As soon as she started talking about my early work, I realised she must be a Gestapo agent," said Dodo. "It can only mean one thing. She knows I wrote The Importance of Being Adolf."

"I have a feeling you're right about that," said Kinch gravely. "How do you think she found out?"

Dodo heaved a deep, melancholy sigh. "I only wish I knew."


"It was Sitzer who discovered the truth," said Marya. "His sources are better informed than mine."

Hogan's brow wrinkled as he contemplated Sitzer's possible motives. "And you trust him?"

"Don't judge by appearances. This is not the first time Sitzer has acted according to his conscience."

"Is that right? Because the last time we met, he was perfectly happy to toe the party line," retorted Hogan sharply.

Marya brushed his vexation aside with a wave of her hand. "You can ask him about it later. But first we have to decide how to save Dodo. If Sitzer can find out about his little indiscretion with only a few phone calls, then so can the Gestapo. And as soon as he is known to be writing a new book, they are sure to start making calls."

He studied her with narrowed eyes. "Why should I even get involved in saving Hase? How come you're not just arranging for him to defect to Russia?"

She gave him a condescending smile: "In the first place, he wouldn't be happy in Russia. It gets very cold in winter. In the second place, if Dodo were to defect now, it would reflect badly on Sitzer. He already has one black mark against his name over some Englishwoman with a ridiculous name..."

"Leslie Smythe-Beddoes."

She paid no attention to the interruption. "...and one more could spell the end of his career with the Propaganda Ministry. He would be of no use to our side if he was transferred to a front-line position. We need a plan to get Dodo out of Germany without any blame falling on Sitzer."

"And you want me to come up with that plan?"

Marya gave a low chuckle. "Why should I leave you out, when I know how much you enjoy it?"

Her evident amusement irritated him still further. "I thought you were worried about Dodo."

"I was. But now that it's in your hands..." She ran her fingers lightly down his arm. "Think it over. Tomorrow you will tell me how we are going to do it."

"And just supposing I don't," growled Hogan, not giving an inch. "What if I can't think of anything? Or what if I decide it's not my problem?"

Marya gave another soft laugh, and opened the door. "Hogan, darling," she said on her way out, "we both know that's not going to happen."