Hoffner turned back to the map and dropped the pin into its box. Another time, he thought. He checked his watch and, placing the card in his pocket, grabbed his coat and headed for the stairs.
This time, Kroll was in his office when Hoffner knocked. A quick “Come” ushered him in: Kroll looked up from behind his desk and immediately stood. From the abruptness of the movement, he seemed oddly tense. “Hello, Nikolai,” he said as he stepped out to extend a hand. It was all far more formal than Hoffner had expected. Not sure why, and not wanting to break the mood, Hoffner took his hand.
“Uwe.”
No less forced, Kroll said, “We saw your Alexander, Friday. Charming boy, Nikolai. Really. He’s grown into quite a young man.”
For a fleeting moment, Hoffner wondered if the tone on the telephone, and now here, had something to do with Sascha’s visit to the Krolls. Had something been said? Was there a reason for the two fathers to talk? That would be unpleasant. Worse than that, Hoffner couldn’t for the life of him remember Kroll’s boy’s name. There was no way to return the compliment and move on quickly. “Thank you,” said Hoffner. “Yes. Sascha couldn’t stop talking about the lovely evening he had.”
“Good, good. Johannes really enjoys the time they spend together.”
“Johannes,” said Hoffner, doing his best not to show his relief. “Yes. I haven’t seen him in years. Also a wonderful boy.”
“Yes. . Thank you.”
The two men stared at each other for several seconds. Finally, in a moment of sudden recollection, Hoffner blurted out, “The Deutscher Rundflug. The four of us went to the opening to see Knig fly. My old partner.”
“Yes,” said Kroll, remembering eagerly.
Hoffner had no inkling why they had slipped into this bizarre little scene. He had known Uwe for far too long. Nonetheless, he continued to watch as his friend nodded uncomfortably: it quickly became apparent that Kroll’s behavior had nothing to do with either of the boys. Finally, Hoffner said, “The material, Uwe. Is there something I should know?”
Kroll stopped nodding. “The material,” he repeated distractedly. “Yes.” He pointed to a chair and headed back behind his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, Nikolai.”
Hoffner sat. Kroll sat, his mood more serious. “About the material. I ran a few tests.” He seemed unsure how to explain what he had found. “It’s military.”
This was the one thing Hoffner had hoped not to hear. “Military,” he repeated.
“Yes. Used during the war and, not surprisingly, developed here, at the Institute. There are files that are very”-Kroll tried to find the right word-“selective. I haven’t been able to look at all of them, but I’ve made an appointment for us to go up and see the Direktor. I’ve told him who you are, the work you do. He’s agreed to talk with us, but with the understanding that any information will remain strictly. .” Again Kroll had trouble finishing the thought.
“Selective,” said Hoffner.
“Yes. Exactly.” Kroll stood and motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
Hoffner hesitated. “You mean now?”
“Yes.” Kroll was already out from behind the desk. “He’s expecting us. Please.”
The glass on the fifth floor office had the word DIREKTOR stenciled across it: Kroll knocked, then stepped through to an anteroom fitted with desk, chairs, and several filing cabinets. A plump woman, with her hair pulled back in the tightest bun Hoffner had ever seen, was seated behind the desk: he was amazed that the skin had yet to tear on her forehead. She stood.
“Good afternoon, Frau Griebner,” said Kroll, with a quick click of the heels: his anxiety had mutated into a strict Germanic decorum.
“Good afternoon, Herr Doktor Kroll.” She offered an equally perfect nod: her manner was as efficient as her hair. She took no notice of Hoffner. “I will tell the Herr Direktor you are here.” She stepped out from behind her desk and disappeared through a second door. Almost immediately she returned. “The Herr Direktor will see you now, Herr Doktor.” Hoffner followed Kroll into the office.
The room was large and filled with lamps, though the light seemed inclined to shine on only a few select areas. The rest of the space lay in half-shadows, less the result of poor positioning than of an ominous afternoon sky that hovered outside the four vast windows. The gloom seemed to be drawing the light out through the glass: Hoffner wondered if closing the drapes might, in fact, have helped to brighten the place up.
The Direktor had done his best to construct a small preserve of light for himself across the room. He got to his feet. “Herr Doktor Kroll,” he said. “Hello, hello.” He came out into the shadows to greet them. The Direktor was much younger than Hoffner had expected, a man of perhaps forty with a somewhat unruly moustache beneath a wide nose and basset hound eyes. Even more unexpected was the remarkable smile that seemed so out of place in the impressive, though dour surroundings.
“Herr Direktor,” said Kroll. “Allow me to present Herr Kriminal-Kommissar Nikolai Hoffner. Herr Hoffner, this is Herr Professor Doktor Albert Einstein.”
Hoffner recalled Kroll having mentioned Einstein once or twice, over the years. The man had come up with some theory that Kroll had described as either ludicrous or genius. Hoffner couldn’t remember which. The three shook hands and retreated to the desk. Einstein did his best to expand the pocket of light; even so, Hoffner and Kroll were forced to lean in over the edge of the desk in order to escape the shadows.
Einstein reached down and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a thin file with the word RESTRICTED in bold type across its front. There was also a long paragraph describing the penalties for disseminating the material, written in much smaller print below. “This is for a criminal case?” said Einstein.
“Yes, Herr Direktor,” said Hoffner.
Einstein nodded. “I’ve always been fascinated by criminal cases. They’re like little puzzles. Quite a bit like what we spend our time on.”
“Except no one ends up dead, Herr Direktor.”
Again Einstein nodded. “How little you know about science, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar.” He paused, then added, “Anyway, you wanted to hear about something that was meant to be helpful on the battlefield.” He slid the dossier over to Hoffner. “It was called Ascomycete 4. One wonders what happened to numbers one through three.” Einstein was the only one to enjoy the joke.
Hoffner took the folder and opened it. Kroll quickly interrupted: “That’s all very technical stuff, Nikolai. Formulations and so on.” Kroll reached over and flipped to the last few pages. “The gist of the thing is at the back. This bit here.” Again, Hoffner began to read, and again Kroll cut in. “It was developed for trench fatalities,” said Kroll. “And, on occasion, no-man’s-land retrievals.”
Hoffner looked up. Evidently there would be no need for reading. “For men already dead,” said Hoffner, inviting more of the lesson.
“Yes,” said Kroll. “During the beginning of the war-and later on, during the worst of the fighting-it was impossible to transport the dead back to the field hospitals in order to prepare them for burial. Too many bodies were rotting on the front. Not only was contagion an issue, but morale, as well. Men needed to know that if they went down, at least an entire corpse would be returned to their families. The military decided that it needed something to keep the bodies as fresh as possible so that, during those periods of isolation, they could minimize the distraction and disease produced by the corpses, and also treat the dead with as much decency as possible. So they came to the Institute.”