He smiled. "Incidentally, do not be alarmed by her. Such telepathy is not continually operative. At least under ordinary circumstances it must be consciously turned on, otherwise the constant mental noise becomes intolerable. Also, persons like ourselves seem to have a built-in shield against telepathic snooping; she is unlikely to discern your thoughts. Your secrets. It would be interesting to know hers however."
"The round-shouldered, graying red-haired woman is a gypsy. She…"
That was as far as Schurz got, because Otto and Philipp came in. Macurdy took toothbrush and paste from the small kit issued to him and went into the latrine. When he was done, he came back.
"What is our job here?" he asked Schurz. "No one has told me what I am to do."
Manfred Eich had returned by then, and it was he who answered, before Schurz had time to. "Each of us has his own work, according to his intelligence," Eich said. "In the morning you will report to the stable, to clean up behind the colonel's horses."
"Oh," said Montag, "that will be easy for me. It was part of my work at home when I was a boy."
Manfred sneered, disappointed that his victim showed no hurt. Schurz simply looked at Montag quizzically.
At 9:55, Schurz blinked the lights. By that time Macurdy was already in bed, eyes closed, reviewing the day. Somehow neither he nor the OSS people who'd prepared him had foreseen the risk of psychic detection, an oversight that seemed to him a major bit of stupidity on their part and his. Kupfer hadn't noticed anything, but what might Colonel Landgraf see? Landgraf or someone else. He wasn't convinced that a persistent and perceptive telepath couldn't learn something dangerous from his mind; his aura had already compromised him. And if Landgraf lacked the talent, what of the instructors here? Almost certainly they were psychics, and presumably more powerful, even much more powerful, than Edouard Schurz or Berta Stark.
They were foreigners, according to rumor; he should soon know.
He wondered what tomorrow would be like.
23
The Voltar
Shortly after breakfast the next morning, Schurz took Montag to Kupfer's office, and Kupfer, through a connecting door, delivered him to Landgraf's, saluting as he entered. "Heil Hitler," he barked; it was their first meeting of the day, and the formality was required.
"Heil Hitler." Lieutenant Colonel Karl Gustaf Richard Landgraf neglected to stand. If necessary, he could claim exemption on the basis of a war wound received as a young cavalry officer on the Vistula. That had been in August 1915; the German army had fought on an eastern front before.
It was an injury that hampered him only when convenient. "Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer," Kupfer said, "this is Herr Montag, a psychic turned over to us at the Gestapo office in Kempten yesterday. His papers are on your desk."
"I have looked at them. Thank you, Kupfer, you may leave. I will speak with Herr Montag."
He looked calmly at this newcomer he thought of as young. "I see you are married, Herr Montag. Are you worried about your wife? How she will get by in your absence? Do not be concerned. Here you will have no expenses. We will take good care of you; even your cigarette ration costs you nothing. And being restricted to the grounds, you will need no money for visits to town. Your pay will be that of a lance corporal, and all but five marks a month will be sent to your wife."
Montag stood as if all this was incomprehensible. Reading auras while looking dull and confused had taken practice, but he did it well. Landgraf looked like the stereotypic Prussian aristocrat, erect, in charge, autocratic-and in fact he was. He wore black riding breeches, and glossy black riding boots that reached his knees; Macurdy wondered how he got them off.
But his aura reflected a mildness, a humanity that might make him one of a kind in the SS.
And he was a lieutenant colonel. The officer in charge of the Occult Bureau, Colonel von Sievers, was only one rank higher. Perhaps Landgraf had brought his rank with him from some earlier command. Or did an aristocratic family still count for something in the Third Reich?
"Yessir, Herr General sir!" Montag barked.
General? thought Landgraf. When Schmidt wrote "retarded" on the form, he was at least marginally correct. "I am not a general," Landgraf replied mildly. "Call me-" He paused. Keep it simple, he cautioned himself. "Call me colonel."
"Yessir, colonel sir!"
You must work with what God sends you, Karl, the colonel thought. "Tell me, Herr Montag, do you ever get angry?"
"No sir, colonel sir!"
"Never?"
"Hardly ever."
"Ah. If someone does something to you that is very unjust, what do you do about it?"
"I try to keep away from him, colonel sir."
"Um. And p you want something very much, what are you willing to do to get it?"
"I would work very very hard, sir."
"When you are very angry at someone, is there something you sometimes do about it?"
"Sometimes I beat them up. After that they left me alone.'I see. Now-" He paused meaningfully. "If there were some very bad people who wanted to destroy your country and your Fuhrer, would you want to do something to prevent that?"
"Yessir, colonel sir!"
"Would you be willing to destroy them?"
"Yessir, colonel sir!"
"Good. Because there are such people, and we want to teach you to do something that will destroy them."
Landgraf took a cigarette holder from his desk and put a cigarette in it. "I am told you can light my cigarette with your finger. Show me how you do that."
He put the holder between his teeth, and Montag lit the cigarette, Landgraf watching with interest.
"Very good, Herr Montag. That was well done. Now suppose I am on one side of the room and you are on the other, and I want you to light my cigarette. How would you do that?"
"I would walk over to you."
"And if you were unable to walk over to me?"
"I-" Montag stopped.
"Well… Can you get the idea of lighting my cigarette from across the room?"
Montag's features reflected confusion. "Yessir, colonel sir!"
"How might you do that?"
Montag stared blankly.
"No matter. Now I want you to imagine someone very bad. Can you imagine shouting angrily at him?"
"Yessir, colonel sir!"
"What is the worst thing you can imagine shouting at him?" There was a long pause. "Pig."
"Nothing worse than that?"
Montag swallowed, seeming visibly troubled. "Cow turd?"
"Very good, Herr Montag. If you could shout something at them that would make them roll on the ground screaming, would you do that? for your Fuhrer?"
"Yessir, colonel sir!"
"Good. We will give you a chance to do that."
Kupfer had left the door open between the two offices, the usual procedure, and Landgraf raised his voice instead of pushing the intercom button. "Hauptsturmfuhrer Kupfer, came in here please."
Kupfer stepped in, and Landgraf told him to take Montag to "Baron Greszak." They'd left then, Kupfer steering Monta with a hand on the arm. When they were gone, Landgraf shoo his head tiredly Here we have someone who tries hard to be civilized, and it is my duty to de-civilize him. What kind of world are we trying to make?