I had someone to care about, to look after, and to do the right thing for. All this . . .” Rossett pointed at his stomach. “It was worth it. It was all worth it to find myself again.”

They sat quietly as someone at the other end of the ward called for a nurse.

Nobody answered. Schmitt was doing his job.

“So, what happens to me now? Do I go to prison?” Rossett said.

“No.”

“Executed?”

“What’s the point? You’re already half dead.”

“So what, then?”

“You’re the British Lion, John, the Führer’s favorite Englishman, remember? You’re a hero, and the Reich needs heroes.” Koehler spun his cap again, then looked at Rossett. “So the Reich needs you.”

Rossett raised an eyebrow. “The Reich needs me or you need me?”

Koehler waved his hand and continued.

“The statement the British High Command will release is going to say that you were shot by the resistance as you tried to stop gun smugglers at Wapping docks. You were working for the Reich, assisting in the glorious battle against the cowardly communist and royalist resistance, who are determined on undermining the glorious future of Great Britain and the British Fascist Party. You bravely tackled a group of men who were about to launch a terror campaign against the civilian population. You nearly died protecting a platoon of German soldiers.” Koehler turned to Rossett. “The diary we found on you, the one you had in your pocket? It was pretty water damaged, but there were a lot of useful names and addresses we can use. That alone has given the Gestapo enough reason to celebrate.”

“No mention of Jacob?”

“Nobody will miss one Jewish kid.”

“Kate?”

“If anyone asks, she’s been transferred up north.”

“But nobody will ask?”

“Probably not. It’s best not to when ­people disappear, you know that.”

“But I don’t disappear. Why?”

“You’re a hero, and you will be rewarded for your heroism.”

“Rewarded.”

“You’re getting a medal.”

“What if I don’t want it? What if I don’t agree to this?”

Koehler shook his head and puffed out his cheeks.

“That is where things get tricky. If you don’t comply with this arrangement, all of this arrangement, I’ve been authorized to explain to you that you’ll tragically die of your wounds, probably here, probably today.”

“And you?”

“No doubt I’ll succumb to infection as well, or, if I’m really unlucky, I’ll end up out east fighting the Chinese and the Russians.”

Both men sat in silence, surrounded by curtains, amid the smell of hospital food and disinfectant.

The patient down the ward called out again, this time louder, but with no more success than before.

Rossett looked at Koehler.

“Die of my wounds?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe that would be easier?”

“Don’t be stupid, John. Just nod your head and we come through in one piece. Shake it and things will be exactly the same, except you’ll be dead and my wife will be a widow.”

“Why are they doing this for me?”

Koehler clenched his fist again and leaned forward, looking down at his boots once more.

“This hand hurts like hell.”

Rossett looked at the hand, then at his stomach.

“Swap?”

They stared at each other for a moment before Koehler’s eyes seemed to dim, the bright blue turning a sad shade of gray.

“If you die, the English High Command have to explain why they let the British Lion, the Führer’s favorite Englishman, charge around getting shot, just before the Führer sends someone to London to give him a medal. The Führer needs you, and he wants you standing up, not lying in a box. Keeping the Führer happy, that’s the number-­one rule of being a high-­ranking German officer. And the high-­ranking German officers I answer to know this; that is why you will come through the other side of this.” Koehler straightened up again and looked squarely at Rossett. “The last few days have been—­well, let’s just say they haven’t gone well for me. The shootings all over London, the dead soldiers—­none of it looks good for my bosses and me, unless we can put a positive spin on the events. If we can paint you as a hero, things will improve, and my bosses can stand behind you. You get to take the glory, and we get to fight another day. If you die, I die, either in a cell in London or a trench in Russia. I’ll be honest, I don’t fancy either much.”

“If I die, what do I care?”

“Not a lot, but . . .”

“But?”

“They’ll follow up on Kate. She was my secretary, and she was seen with you before she fell off the face of the earth. We know she was helping you; we aren’t idiots. You might have got her out of the country with the kid, but they’ll track her down easily enough if they want to.” Koehler shook his head. “They can make things go badly for her over there.” Koehler leaned in close.