“I understand, Herr Kanzler,” Reiss said.
“Good day, Konsul.” The Reichskanzler rang off.
Kreuz vom Meere watched intently as Reiss hung up the phone. “Was I right?”
Reiss shrugged. “No dispute, there.”
“Write out an authorization for us to return this Wegener to Germany forcibly.”
Picking up his pen, Reiss wrote out the authorization, signed it, handed it to the SD chief.
“Thank you,” Kreuz vorn Meere said. “Now, when the Jap authorities call you and complain—”
“If they do.”
Kreuz vom Meere eyed him. “They will. They’ll be here within fifteen minutes of the time we pick this Wegener up.” He had lost his joking, clowning manner.
“No string quintet violinists,” Reiss said.
Kreuz vom Meere did not answer. “We’ll have him sometime this morning, so be ready. You can tell the Japs that he’s a homosexual or a forger, or something like that. Wanted for a major crime back home. Don’t tell them he’s wanted for political crimes. You know they don’t recognize ninety percent of National Socialist law.”
“I know that,” Reiss said. “I know what to do.” He felt irritable and put upon. Went over my head, he said to himself. As usual. Contacted the Chancery. The bastards.
His hands were shaking. Call from Doctor Goebbels; did that do it? Awed by the mighty? Or is it resentment, feeling of being hemmed in… goddam these police, he thought. They get stronger all the time. They’ve got Goebbels working for them already; they’re running the Reich.
But what can I do? What can anybody do?
Resignedly he thought, Better cooperate. No time to be on the wrong side of this man; he can probably get whatever he wants back home, and that might include the dismissal of everybody hostile to him.
“I can see,” he said aloud, “that you did not exaggerate the importance of this matter, Herr Polizeifuhrer. Obviously, the security of Germany herself hangs on your quick detection of this spy or traitor or whatever he is.” Inwardly, he cringed to hear his choice of words.
However, Kreuz vom Meere looked pleased. “Thank you, Consul.”
“You may have saved us all.”
Gloomily Kreuz vom Meere said, “Well, we haven’t picked him up. Let’s wait for that. I wish that call would come.”
“I’ll handle the Japanese,” Reiss said. “I’ve had a good deal of experience, as you know. Their complaints—”
“Don’t ramble on,” Kreuz vom Meere interrupted. “I have to think.” Evidently the call from the Chancery had bothered him; he, too, felt under pressure now.
Possibly this fellow will get away, and it will cost you your job, Consul Hugo Reiss thought. My job, your job—we both could find ourselves out on the street any time. No more security for you than for me.
In fact, he thought, it might be worth seeing how a little foot-dragging here and there could possibly stall your activities, Herr Polizeifuhrer. Something negative that could never be pinned down. For instance, when the Japanese come in here to complain, I might manage to drop a hint as to the Lufthansa flight on which this fellow is to be dragged away… or barring that, needle them into a bit more outrage by, say, just the trace of a contemptuous smirk—suggesting that the Reich is amused by them, doesn’t take little yellow men seriously. It’s easy to sting them. And if they get angry enough, they might carry it directly to Goebbels.
All sorts of possibilities. The SD can’t really get this fellow out of the PSA without my active cooperation. If I can only hit on precisely the right twist…