The butt of his StG 44 banged against it, causing Evans to flinch.

“Good afternoon, Chief Superintendent.”

“Good afternoon, Major Dannecker.”

“You know why I am here?”

“I do, sir.”

“Why am I here?”

“I have one of your men in custody.”

“Why is that?”

Becker, over by the cabinet, adjusted his position slightly and Evans looked up at him. The big German stared back so blankly, Evans felt like he was falling into a trance. It took him a few seconds to finally drag his attention back to Dannecker.

“He was involved in a shooting; he killed an Amer—”

“Do you know what?” Dannecker cut Evans off by airily waving his hand as he turned his head away. “I really don’t care about all of that. Honestly, I’m sorry I asked. Just tell me why he is in your cells.”

Evan reached for the pen he’d put down moments ago, swallowed, and then tried again.

“As I was saying, he is accused of—”

“Who do you think you are?” Dannecker interrupted again.

“Excuse me?” Evans looked at Dannecker, then Becker.

“Who do you think you are?” Dannecker said it again, his voice low, his German accent loose around the edges of his clipped English.

“I . . . I don’t know.” Evans leaned back from his desk an inch. He realized his secretary had retreated and silently closed the door behind her.

He was alone.

He put the pen down again, being careful not to let it make a sound on the desktop.

“Answer the question.” Dannecker tilted his head this time.

Evans swallowed. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

Dannecker squinted, then rubbed his right temple with the palm of his hand. When he finally spoke he sounded exhausted.

“I have a terrible headache, and I am very, very tired.” He dropped his hand into his lap. “So to speed things up, I’ll tell you who you are, Chief Superintendent. That way if you are stupid enough to meet me again under these circumstances, it’ll save us some time.” Dannecker paused, stared, then smiled.

“You are nobody.” Dannecker waited to see if Evans wanted to say anything, then continued when he was satisfied the Englishman didn’t. “You are a failed policeman in a failed city. You don’t want this job, and I don’t blame you. It is a shit job. Only an idiot would want it. The problem you have, though, is that you’ve made it shitter than it need be. Much, much, shitter.”

“Major, I had no choice . . .”

“Considerably shitter.” Becker spoke for the first time.

“Even the staff sergeant agrees with me, Chief Superintendent. You have a shit job, and you are doing a shit job of it.”

Evans tried again with Dannecker. “What am I supposed to do? Your man committed a . . .” Evans paused, then lifted his hands toward Dannecker. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You telephone me and we sort it out,” Dannecker said quietly. “You don’t hold him without telling me.”

“If . . .” Evans leaned forward, hands still out in front of him, as if he were trying to hand the words he couldn’t find over the table. “If it had been an Englishman he’d shot, I could have done that. But this is an American, sir, and a consul at that. The arresting officers contacted London before I could intervene. I had to do something.” Evans turned to Becker, desperate for support from someone. “Your man didn’t even try to explain to the arresting officers what was going on. If he had, maybe he could have talked himself out of the arrest. But he didn’t even try, Major. What were they to do?”

Dannecker broke the silence after a few seconds.

“Where is Captain Bauer?”

Evans swallowed.