"Pintz is a real charmer," observed Kinch. He had just come up from the radio room, after a session of communication that had taken up the entire morning.

The others had just eaten, and Newkirk pushed his empty plate aside. "I've got a few other words for him," he said. "Is it right, what Carter said?"

"Seems to be - thanks, Louis," said Kinch, as LeBeau brought him his share of the food. "It's mostly hearsay, but there are at least three cases that our contact was able to confirm. Two of the girls refused the offer, and had brothers sent to the Eastern Front. The third had just got married, and she gave in to save her husband." Kinch paused, and looked at the colonel. "It made no difference. He was posted to Stalingrad. Never stood a chance."

Carter, who was sitting cross-legged on his bunk, trying not to be noticed, clasped his hands together in his lap, and looked away. He knew how close Sabine had come to giving Pintz what he wanted, and he had guessed how little use it would have been, but he still hadn't wanted to hear it confirmed.

"How does he get away with it?" asked LeBeau, unable to hide his disgust.

"The girls are probably too scared, or too ashamed, to tell anyone. He's careful picking his targets," Kinch went on. "It's never a girl whose family might have influential friends. Pintz is one of General Burkhalter's most trusted officers. If a complaint was made, it's pretty safe nothing would come of it."

Hogan pushed his chair back. "Anything else?"

"Pintz has other women as well. He's a regular at the Hotel Hammelburg, with a new one every week. Spends a lot of money on them - in fact, he throws it around pretty freely. More than he should, on a major's salary."

"Interesting," murmured Hogan. "What about the girl?"

"Sabine Richter. Her father, Thomas Richter, trained as an electrical engineer in the States, after the first war. Highly qualified, but he can't get work at the level of his abilities."

"What's the problem?" said Hogan. "He should be able to walk into any job he wants. They're crying out for competent engineers."

Kinch shook his head. "Not a Party member. In fact, he's refused to join."

"That'll do it," muttered Newkirk.

"The family moved from Dresden to Hammelburg two years ago, when Richter started at the hydro-electric works. Richter, his wife Lillian and the daughter. They seem pretty well-liked, but they keep to themselves, and they haven't made a lot of friends. Richter's just been taken on at a printery, doing general maintenance on the presses. It's heavy work, and not well paid. And it won't keep him from being drafted."

"What are the prospects for using him?" asked Hogan.

"The Underground have been checking him out. They're satisfied he's genuine, but not sure if he's up to it. He may not want to put his family at risk, and physically he's not very strong. But then, neither is Schnitzer, and he manages fine."

"Is there any chance Richter might fail the physical?" LeBeau put in.

Newkirk gave a short laugh. "Not a hope, if they're still using the doctor that passed me. If he's got a pulse, he's in. And even if he hasn't, it's probably negotiable."

Hogan disregarded this, still following his own train of thought. "Have any of our people approached him yet?"

"They've made contact, but so far he's not showing any interest. They never do, at first, Colonel," said Kinch. "It takes time."

"He may not have time," Hogan ran his hand across the back of his neck. "Sabine told Carter he'd be called up within a week. That could mean by Friday, or it could mean tomorrow. We have to take care of Pintz now." He got up and began pacing, arms folded, his brow furrowed. "The major spends a lot of money. Where do you suppose he gets it?"

"He's a blackmailer," said LeBeau promptly. "Maybe sometimes he asks for money instead of other things."

"Probably. But that's not going to bring in a lot. The man doesn't deliver on the deal, remember, so he's not getting any repeat business. So what other opportunities are there for a man in his position?"

"He'd be in charge of the departmental accounts," observed Kinch. "It wouldn't be that hard to skim something off the top, or fiddle the supply invoices, or the pay records."

"That's an idea," added Newkirk. "Klink's done the same thing. If he can manage it, anyone can."

"You guys are learning," said Hogan appreciatively. "But if Pintz is smarter than our beloved Kommandant - and how could he not be? - he'll know enough to hide his tracks. Kinch, who have we got that knows about book-keeping?"

Kinch considered. "Hartnell, in Barracks 7," he suggested. "He was an accountant before he enlisted. He's been checked out, he's sound."

"Does he speak German?"

"Enough to get by, but his accent's bad," said Newkirk.

"Worse than yours?" Hogan grinned at the look Newkirk gave him. "Okay, it doesn't matter. We'll just make sure he doesn't have to talk."

"What is it you have in mind, Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

Hogan put a hand on his shoulder. "Louis, my boy, we're going to arrange a surprise audit of the recruiting office. But not until after we've planted the evidence."

It took twenty-four hours for Hogan to plan the operation, which he did in meticulous detail. Only then did he assemble his men, including Hartnell. After the briefing, he gave them a few moments to get things clear in their minds before continuing.

"Now, let's make sure we've all got it right. We go in when?"

"Tomorrow at fourteen hundred hours, sir," said Newkirk promptly. "Carter will be the SS general, you're his aide, I'm the driver."

"LeBeau, where are you?"

"I'm outside with Hartnell, on the north side of the building, near the fire escape. Both of us will be wearing the same uniform as Newkirk."

"Kinch?"

"At thirteen fifty, I ring Pintz and tell him that General Friedlieb will be arriving any minute to make an inspection. Then I call the Auditor General's staff and request a surprise audit of the recruiting office, on behalf of General Burkhalter. They're to arrive at sixteen hundred hours, precisely."

"Good. Carter?"

Carter took a deep breath. He hated this part of the briefing; even when he was certain he knew the plan perfectly, he always got mixed up trying to repeat it back. "I get Pintz to take us on a tour of the building."

"And...?"

Unsure, Carter glanced around. Everyone was watching him; even Hartnell, who hardly knew him, had that look on his face. Hogan waited, then sighed, and answered for him, "You send Newkirk back to the car."

"Yes, sir. I knew that."

"Right. Don't forget it. Newkirk, what do you do then?"

"I double back, hang about in the corridor till the coast is clear, then I open the window at the far end, the one that gives onto the fire escape, and let Hartnell in. We get into Pintz's office and I open the safe."

"Meanwhile, I take Newkirk's place as driver, and wait with the car," added LeBeau.

Hogan turned to Hartnell. He was a preposterously lanky young man with a face like a caricature of Stan Laurel, but he knew his stuff. "I go through the books to see if there's any evidence of dodgy dealing. If I don't find any, I put some in." He looked as if he was enjoying the prospect.

"Right," said Hogan. "But get Newkirk to do the writing. He's probably a better forger than you are." Hogan glanced from Hartnell to Newkirk. "Remember, you've got exactly one hour. That's as long as I think we'll be able to keep Pintz out of the way."

"Yes, Colonel," said Newkirk. "Once we're done, we leave by the fire escape, and go straight to the rendezvous point to wait for you."

Hogan turned back to Carter, who said tentatively, "We have to be out of the building by thirteen fifty."

"Fifteen thirty," said Hogan.

"Right. Fifteen thirty." Carter flushed, and looked at the floor.

Hogan cast up his eyes. "It's just as well I'm going to be with you, Carter. Any questions?"

Hartnell raised his hand. "What happens if someone notices that LeBeau isn't Newkirk?"

"They never notice," said Newkirk. "Nobody ever looks at the driver."

"Yeah, we've based our whole operation around that concept," added Hogan. "Anything else?"

Hartnell looked from Newkirk to LeBeau, then glanced at Carter, and a slow grin unfolded. "No, I guess you guys have got everything under control."

As the briefing ended, and the team dispersed, Carter slipped quietly out of the barracks, and settled on the low bench outside the door. He'd managed to get things happening, after all, but he wasn't looking forward to this operation. His personal interest in the outcome was likely to make things difficult. On top of that, outings that involved the assumption of character were never easy for him. He knew it was necessary, and that, for reasons that weren't always clear to him, he was often the best choice for the central role, but he was starting to hate it. Newkirk, a player at heart, breezed through the performance, but Newkirk never strayed far from his own personality. For Carter it was different; often it was as if something else, some part of him that he hardly knew was there, took over once the uniform was on. The reason it worked - the only reason it worked - was that it wasn't really him.

It didn't help that it was often so hard to get back into himself afterwards. Once, he'd found himself continuing with some quirk of behaviour from one of those impersonations, long after the mission was completed. He'd come up with an excuse: Once I learn something, I learn it. But it wasn't so much learned as generated from within, and that was something he found troubling.

There was no choice. He'd made a commitment to Sabine, and he'd dragged the rest of the team into it. To draw back now was out of the question.

Kinch came out and sat on the other end of the bench. "Smart move, getting out of there," he said. "LeBeau's making a mustard plaster for Newkirk's cold. I don't know what else he's put in it, but there's something that sure ain't mustard."

Carter smiled, but didn't reply. For a while neither of them said anything. Finally, Kinch broke the silence. "You really liked that girl, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess. But it's not that," said Carter. "It's just...I dunno, Kinch. We spend so much time doing all this stuff, and it wrecks people's lives, and most of the time I don't even think about it."

"It's better if you don't, Carter," Kinch replied. "We're at war. It's got to be done."

"I know. I get that. It's just, every so often, it doesn't seem right."

Kinch was looking at him with a troubled frown. It wasn't like Carter to be introspective. "Carter, you can't get cold feet, just because some guy lost his job and you think it's your fault. There are people suffering all over Europe because of what those guys in Berlin started. You know they're still dropping bombs on civilians in England. You know what they've done in the occupied countries, and even what happens here in Germany. You know about those other camps, the ones we hear rumours about. It has to be stopped, Carter. And sometimes that means doing things we may not be proud of. Just for once, you're getting the chance to make it up. Be glad of that. It's not going to happen very often."

He got up, and headed back inside. "Hey, Kinch?" Carter called after him. "What about when it's all over? Will it be worth it?"

"Carter," replied Kinch quietly, "I think that depends on which side wins."