What do I do now? thought Carter desperately, gazing at Thomas Richter.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pintz shifting impatiently. It was clearly necessary that something be done, right now. Carter took a deep breath, opened his mouth and said the first thing that came into his head:
"Why is this man here?"
There was no response, as neither Pintz nor Hogan seemed sure who the general was addressing. Carter turned, and directed an icy glare at Pintz. "Well?"
"Herr General, this is a recruiting office," Pintz replied. "This man is a recruit."
"Are you trying to be funny, Pintz?" Carter kept his voice quiet, to chilling effect.
"No, Herr General. Not at all," said Pintz. "All of these men have been drafted according to regulation."
"But not all of these men are quite so far past their prime, Major," Carter snapped back. "The German army doesn't need men who will reach retirement age before they finish basic training." He cast a calculating eye over the hapless Richter. "He looks feeble. I expect he couldn't even run ten miles without getting short of breath. Hans, have you ever seen a more pathetic specimen?"
Come on, Colonel, help me out here!
"Not recently, sir," replied Hogan, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows as he studied Richter. "Herr General, please excuse me, but I think I know this man."
Pintz jumped; he hadn't expected that. Richter was staring at Hogan with a perplexed expression. "I don't remember you, Captain," he said.
"You look very familiar to me," Hogan went on. "Tell me, did you ever live in Dresden?"
"Yes, for twenty years," said Richter. "My daughter was born there." He shot a quick, hostile look at Pintz. It appeared he had at least some idea of what had been going on; perhaps Sabine had confided in him, after all.
"Aha, you see, Herr General?" said Hogan, adopting a mildly triumphant air.
"I certainly do," replied Carter, who hadn't the slightest clue what Hogan was getting at.
"Perhaps if we could see his file?" Hogan continued, turning on Pintz with his most affable smile.
The first hint of distrust had appeared in Pintz's eyes; he was beginning to have doubts. "I'm afraid all personnel files for current recruits are classified," he replied. The looks of surprise exchanged between his staff said otherwise. Hogan's eyes flickered back to Carter; it was his turn to advance the play.
He moved towards Pintz, with slow, deliberate steps, until he was almost standing on the major's toes. It was remarkable, and very useful, how uncomfortable big men sometimes got, when a slightly smaller man got right up close. Carter, slighter in build than Pintz and shorter by half a head, had no difficulty forcing the man to retreat, until he came up against the edge of the reception clerk's desk and could go no further.
The general allowed him to stew for several seconds, then without taking his eyes off Pintz, snapped his fingers at the clerk. The clerk scrabbled among the dossiers in front of him, almost upsetting the lot, before handing a folder to Carter, who didn't even look at it, but passed it straight to Hogan.
"Hmm...Richter. Thomas Richter," murmured Hogan, perusing the documentation. Then he looked up, with a dawning smile of recognition. "Thomas...of course! Herr General, this is Thomas Richter. I knew him well when I was stationed in Dresden. I'm sure I told you about him."
"I'm sure you did, Hans," replied Carter, with splendid indifference.
Richter appeared totally confused, and deeply apprehensive, as Hogan strode forward and grasped his hand. "It's great to see you again, Richter," he said with great enthusiasm. "You do remember me, don't you? Hans Weber, from Leipzig. We were in the chess club together."
"Uh...yes, I suppose..." faltered Richter, unwilling to confess complete ignorance of the aide of an SS general, even one that played chess.
Carter shook his head, with a sigh. "The people he met at that chess club...!"
Hogan gave a reminiscent laugh. "Do you remember that trip to Berlin, for the Strength Through Joy championship chess tournament? What a week that was! We went up to Kreuzberg," he explained to Carter, "me and Thomas and...what was his name?" He turned back to Richter. "Andreas, of course. You can't have forgotten Andreas."
Richter nodded slowly, a gleam of enlightenment appearing in his eyes. "Andreas. Yes, that name rings a bell," he said. So Sabine had told him. That would make things easier.
"Oh, boy, that night...!" Hogan went on, then caught Carter's eye. "Sorry, sir," he murmured. "It's just whenever I meet an old friend, I get a little carried away. I didn't know you'd moved from Dresden, Thomas. Say, what are you doing these days? Still in engineering?"
Richter looked around the recruitment office. "No, not at the moment," he replied.
"Oh, that's right. Called up. I'm sorry, that was tactless. Well, it's great to see you again. We must catch up, some time," said Hogan cheerfully.
"One moment, Hans." Carter broke into the conversation. "This man Richter is an engineer?"
"Only the best electrical engineer in Saxony, when I knew him." Hogan spread his hands, as if words could not convey the level of Richter's skill.
"I see," said Carter. "Major Pintz, perhaps you could explain to me how a man of such abilities is being drafted as a common soldier?"
Pintz had gone very white, and very still, and the look he cast at Carter was murderous. It took him several seconds to command his voice enough to reply. "The man is unemployed, and of military age."
"And can serve the Fatherland better as a competent engineer than as an incompetent private." Carter stepped back, and turned to speak to Hogan. "Hans, we will take your friend with us. I may have a proposition for him."
"General Friedlieb..." Pintz spoke furiously. Carter swung back, and met his eyes full on. Nobody in the room so much as breathed, as they fought it out in silence.
Pintz was the first to look away.
"Thank you for your time, Major Pintz," said Carter, icily triumphant. He swept past Hogan and Richter and headed for the foyer.
As they gained the street, Richter began to recover his self-possession. "Who are you?" he whispered.
"Friends of your daughter," replied Hogan quietly. "To the right, Carter - the car's in the next side street."
Richter looked at him in bewilderment. "You're not...?"
"No, not me," said Hogan, and nodded towards Carter. He could almost have laughed at the expression on Richter's face. No matter how Sabine had described Carter to him, there was no way that it would square with the general.
LeBeau was walking back and forth next to the car. At sight of the approaching party he started forward; then at the look Hogan sent him, he scuttled round to the driver's side. Hogan opened the rear door and pushed Richter inside, before jumping into the front passenger seat. Carter got in behind LeBeau, and collapsed against the upholstery, completely spent.
"Get moving, LeBeau," ordered Hogan. He glanced into the back seat. Richter, having discovered his daughter was there, was reduced to a stunned silence as he put his arm around her. She hid her face against his shoulder, shaking with relief.
"You okay, Carter?" Hogan asked. This was the longest sustained impersonation, and the most difficult, that Carter had ever had to get through. It had taken a lot out of him, but he nodded.
Hogan looked at his watch. "LeBeau, take us round the block, and go past the recruiting office on the opposite side. I want to check."
There was a large, official car parked outside the building. Next to it two men in uniform, very neat and precise, were deep in conversation. As LeBeau slowed down, one of the men consulted his watch, then both of them started up the steps towards the entrance.
"Who are those men?" asked Richter.
Hogan had started to smile as soon as he saw them. "They're Major Pintz's pigeons, coming home to roost," he replied. "LeBeau, take us to Gärtnerstraße."
In the office on the first floor, Pintz had just swallowed a large glass of brandy to steady his nerves. This had all gone terribly wrong. Richter wasn't supposed to have important friends. Yet the general's aide knew him; and that little bitch of a daughter, who had made him look so ridiculous, had obviously recognised the general when she saw him. What did she have to do with General Friedlieb?
Who was General Friedlieb, anyway?
The doubts that had started to pester him, a few minutes ago, now began to multiply. He couldn't remember ever hearing of Friedlieb before today. For the life of him, now, he couldn't recall whether anyone - the general, his aide, or the officer who had phoned him beforehand - had told him what division Friedlieb belonged to, or the location of his headquarters.
Pintz stared at the phone, wondering who he should call, to make enquiries.
At the back of his consciousness, sensed but not yet perceived, was the first awareness of a faint, lingering smell that pervaded his office, an odd mixture of mustard and stale goose fat. But that thought, with all it implied, was never to be realised. As he sat, running through his mental list of contacts within the SS, there was a knock on the door. And though he didn't know it yet, that sound marked the moment when his little empire fell into ruins.
As dusk began to descend across the town, Hogan had LeBeau stop the car, a little distance from the Richter's home. "We'll let you out here," he told Richter, as he opened the door to let the engineer and his daughter out. "You don't want the neighbours to see you arriving in a car full of SS officers."
Richter, still apparently in a state of mild shock, agreed wholeheartedly. He continued to hold Sabine close, aware of what she had been through for him. "I can't thank you enough," he said. "Are you sure it's over, as far as Pintz is concerned?"
"I think we can be pretty sure of that," replied Hogan confidently. "And it's Carter you should thank, not me."
Richter glanced at Carter, who had stayed in the car, too tired to get out. He looked embarrassed at the attention, but smiled bashfully. It seemed impossible to reconcile such a nice young man with the fearsome General Friedlieb.
Hogan looked around to make sure nobody was watching, then spoke quickly and quietly. "In the next few days, some people will be in touch. They have a proposition to put to you. Please listen to it very carefully, but don't make a decision before you talk to your wife and daughter. It affects them too. I hope you'll agree to it; it'd make a lot of difference to the work we do. But don't accept it unless you're sure."
"I think I understand what you mean," said Richter.
"Good." Hogan nodded farewell, and went back to the car. He got in beside the driver. "Right, LeBeau, let's go fetch the accounting team."
"They probably started walking by now," observed LeBeau, as he set the car in gear. "Or else Newkirk already strangled Hartnell. I would have."
Carter wasn't listening. As the car drove off, he gave Sabine a small, hesitant wave. She nodded, and smiled at him, the same timid smile as on that first meeting.
"Okay, Carter," said Hogan, after a while. "It worked out. But next time we see a girl wandering the roads by moonlight, I'm sending LeBeau to deal with it."
LeBeau laughed at him. "No point, Colonel," he said. "I would have done just the same as Carter."
"You know," Hogan replied, looking over his shoulder at Carter," I'm not sure I wouldn't, either. But let's not make a habit of it."
* * *
Another night; another full moon. This time, the meeting was not on any isolated country road, but on platform three of the Hammelburg railway station.
Thomas Richter was standing in front of the baggage room. There was a serenity about him, and a new sense of purpose. His wife, an energetic little woman, and his quiet, pretty daughter stood with him, waiting for the train that would bring them to Magdeburg, and the new work that lay ahead.
At first none of the family noticed the two men approaching them. Then Richter turned his head, and saw them. With a gentle smile, he touched his daughter's shoulder to attract her attention. Sabine glanced at her mother for permission, before coming to meet them.
"I didn't think I'd see you here," she said, looking up at Hogan. She was still a little shy of him.
"We couldn't let you all leave without saying goodbye," he replied. "After all, we're the ones that organised the new job for your father in Magdeburg." He glanced at Carter, then at Sabine again; realised he was one too many, cleared his throat, and added, "I'll just go and have a word with...yep, I'll leave you to..." The words trailed off as he moved away to speak to Sabine's parents.
Neither Carter nor Sabine spoke for a moment.
"Well, you're off, then," said Carter, at last.
"In a few minutes," she replied.
"It'll be okay, you won't get caught in any air raids tonight," Carter went on. "We checked." He paused, then added, "Guess we won't see each other much from now on. I don't suppose you'll be back here, and I can't get there."
"I know," said Sabine. "Maybe we can find a way to send letters."
"Sure, that'd be nice." It would never happen; they both knew it wasn't possible. Carter changed the subject. "Sabine - you're sure about all this? It's dangerous work, you know."
"I'm sure. We're all sure, Andreas."
"Okay, then. I just thought I'd mention it." He looked over his shoulder. "There's the train."
Sabine nodded, and held out her hand, just as she had on that first night. Even after everything that had happened, she was too reserved, and Carter too diffident, for anything more than a handshake. But friendship between uncomplicated souls expresses itself in simple ways, and neither Carter nor Sabine felt as if anything was missing.
Then she went back to join her family.
Soon the train was out of sight, but Carter lingered, his eyes on the tracks as they gleamed in the moonlight, until even the sound of the engine faded into distance and memory.
