"Do you know her cover name?"

"No." Becker responded in the same language.

"Do you know her address?"

"No."

"Do you know if she's operating in London?"

"She could be operating on the moon for all I know."

Vicary exhaled loudly in frustration. It was all interesting information but, like the discovery of Beatrice Pymm's murder, it put him no closer to his quarry. "Have you told me everything you know about her, Karl?"

Becker smiled. "She's supposed to be an incredible fuck." Becker noticed the color in Vicary's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Alfred. Jesus Christ, I forget what a prude you are sometimes."

Still speaking in German, Vicary said, "Why haven't you told us this before--the business about the special agents?"

"But I have, Alfred old man."

"Who have you told? You've never told me."

"I told Boothby."

Vicary felt blood streaming to his face, and his heart began to beat furiously. Boothby? Why in the world would Boothby be interrogating Karl Becker? And why would he do it without Vicary being present? Becker was his his agent. Vicary arrested him, Vicary turned him, Vicary ran him. agent. Vicary arrested him, Vicary turned him, Vicary ran him.

His face calm, Vicary said, "When did you tell Boothby?"

"I don't know. It's hard to keep track of time in here. A couple of months ago. September maybe. No, maybe it was October. Yes, I believe October."

"What did you tell him, exactly?"

"I told him about the agents, I told him about the camp."

"Did you tell him about the woman?"

"Yes, Alfred, I told him everything. He's a vicious bastard. I don't like him. I'd watch out for him if I were you."

"Was there anyone with him?"

"Yes, tall fellow. Handsome, like a film star. Blond, blue eyes. A real German superman. Thin, though, skinny as a stick."

"Did the stick have a name?"

Becker threw his head back and made a show of searching his memory.

"Christ, it was a funny name. A tool or something." Becker pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, something you use in the house. Mop? Bucket? No, Broome! That's it, Broome! Imagine that--the guy looks like a fucking stick and calls himself Broome. You English have a marvelous sense of humor sometimes."

Vicary had collected the suitcase radio and was rapping his knuckle against the thick door.

"Why don't you leave the radio, Alfred? It gets lonely here sometimes."

"Sorry, Karl."

The door opened and Vicary stepped through. "Listen, Alfred, the cigarettes and chocolate were wonderful, but next time bring a girl, will you?"

Vicary went to the chief guard's office and asked for the logbooks for October and November. It took him a few moments, but he found the entry he was looking for.

DATE: 5-10-43.

PRISONER: Becker, K. Becker, K.

NUMBER OF VISITORS: 2.

NAMES/DEPT: No, thank you. No, thank you.

25.

BERLIN.

"My God, but it's cold this morning," said Brigadefuhrer Walter Schellenberg.

"At least you still have a roof over your head," replied Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. "The Halifaxes and Lancasters had quite a time last night. Hundreds dead, thousands homeless. So much for the invulnerability of our illustrious thousand-year Reich."

Canaris looked to Schellenberg for reaction. As always, he was struck by how young the man was. At just thirty-three he was head of Section VI of the Sicherheitsdienst Sicherheitsdienst--better known as the SD--the intelligence and security service of the SS. Section VI was responsible for gathering intelligence on the Reich's enemies in foreign countries, an assignment very similar to that of the Abwehr. As a result, the two men were locked in a desperate competition.

They were a mismatched pair: the short, laconic, white-haired old admiral who spoke with a slight lisp; the handsome, energetic, and thoroughly ruthless young brigadefuhrer. The son of a Saarland piano maker, Schellenberg was personally recruited to the Nazi security apparatus by Reinhard Heydrich, the chief of the SD who was assassinated by Czechoslovakian resistance fighters in May 1942. One of the Nazi Party's bright lights, Schellenberg thrived in its dangerous, paranoid atmosphere. His cathedral-like office was thoroughly bugged and he had machine guns built into his desk, giving him the ability to kill a threatening visitor with the press of a button. On those rare occasions when he permitted himself to relax, Schellenberg liked to spend time with his elaborate collection of pornography. Once, he displayed the photographs to Canaris the way a man might show snapshots of his family, boasting about the pictures he choreographed himself to satisfy his own bizarre sexual appetites. On his hand Schellenberg wore a ring with a blue stone, beneath which lay a capsule of cyanide. He had also been fitted with a false tooth containing a lethal measure of the poison.

Now, Schellenberg had just two goals: destroy Canaris and the Abwehr and bring Adolf Hitler the most important secret of the war, the time and place of the Anglo-American invasion of France. Schellenberg had nothing but disdain for the Abwehr and the cluster of old officers surrounding Canaris, whom he derisively referred to as Santa Clauses. Canaris knew perfectly well Schellenberg was gunning for him, yet between the two there existed an uneasy truce. Schellenberg treated the old admiral with deference and respect; Canaris genuinely admired the brash, brilliant young officer and enjoyed his company.

Which was why they began most mornings the same way, riding side by side on horseback through the Tiergarten. It gave each man a chance to check up on what the other was doing--to spar, to probe for weakness. Canaris liked their rides for one other reason. He knew that for at least one hour each morning the young general was not actively plotting his demise.

"There you go again, Herr Admiral," Schellenberg said. "Always looking at the dark side of things. I suppose that makes you a cynic, doesn't it."

"I'm not a cynic, Herr Brigadefuhrer. I'm a skeptic. There's an important difference."

Schellenberg laughed. "That's the difference between us in the Sicherheitsdienst Sicherheitsdienst and you old-school types in the Abwehr. We see nothing but endless possibility. You see nothing but danger. We are bold, not afraid to take risks. You prefer to have your head in the sand--no offense, Herr Admiral." and you old-school types in the Abwehr. We see nothing but endless possibility. You see nothing but danger. We are bold, not afraid to take risks. You prefer to have your head in the sand--no offense, Herr Admiral."

"None taken, my young friend. You are entitled to your opinion, however misinformed it might be."

Canaris's horse threw back its head and snorted. The breath froze into a cloud, then drifted away on the gentle morning wind. Canaris looked around him at the devastation of the Tiergarten. Most of the lime and chestnut trees were gone, burned by Allied incendiary bombs. Ahead of them, on the pathway, was a bomb crater the size of a Kubelwagen. Kubelwagen. Thousands more were scattered throughout the park. Canaris, tugging on the reins, led his horse around it. A pair of Schellenberg's security men trailed softly after them on foot. Another walked a few feet in front of them, head slowly wheeling from side to side. Canaris knew there were more he could not see, even with his well-trained eye. Thousands more were scattered throughout the park. Canaris, tugging on the reins, led his horse around it. A pair of Schellenberg's security men trailed softly after them on foot. Another walked a few feet in front of them, head slowly wheeling from side to side. Canaris knew there were more he could not see, even with his well-trained eye.

"Something very interesting landed on my desk yesterday evening," Schellenberg said.

"Oh, really? What was her name?"

Schellenberg, laughing, spurred the horse into a light trot.

"I have a source in London. He did some work for the NKVD a long time ago, including recruiting an Oxford student who is now an officer inside MI-Five. He still talks to the man from time to time, and he hears things. He passes those things on to me. The MI-Five officer is a Russian agent, but I share in the harvest, so to speak."

"Remarkable," Canaris said dryly.

"Churchill and Roosevelt don't trust Stalin. They keep him in the dark. They have refused to tell him anything about the time and place of the invasion. They think Stalin might leak the secret to us so the Allies will be destroyed in France. With the British and Americans out of the fight, Stalin would try to finish us off alone and grab all of Europe for himself."

"I've heard that theory. I'm not sure I put much stock in it."

"In any case, my agent says MI-Five is in crisis. He says your man Vogel has mounted an operation that has scared the pants off them. The investigation is being led by a case officer named Vicary. Ever heard of him?"

"Alfred Vicary," Canaris said. "A former professor at University College in London."

"Very impressive," Schellenberg said genuinely.

"Part of being an effective intelligence officer is knowing your opponent, Herr Brigadefuhrer." Canaris hesitated, allowing time for Schellenberg to absorb the jab. "I'm glad Kurt is giving them a run for their money."

"The situation is so tense Vicary has met with Churchill personally to update him on the progress of his investigation."

"That's not so surprising, Herr Brigadefuhrer. Vicary and Churchill are old friends." Canaris cast a sideways glance at Schellenberg to see if his face registered any trace of surprise. Their conversations often turned into point-scoring contests, each man trying to surprise the other with tidbits of intelligence. "Vicary is a well-known historian. I've read his work. I'm surprised you haven't. He has a keen mind. He thinks like Churchill. He was warning the world about you and your friends long before anyone took notice."

"So what is Vogel up to? Perhaps the SD can be of some assistance."

Canaris permitted himself a rare but short burst of laughter.

"Please, Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg. If you're going to be so transparent, these morning rides will lose their appeal very quickly. Besides, if you want to know what Vogel is doing, just ask the chicken farmer. I know he's bugged our telephones and planted his spies inside Tirpitz Ufer."

"Interesting you should say that. I raised that very question with Reichsfuhrer Himmler over dinner last night. It seems Vogel is very careful. Very secretive. I hear he doesn't even keep his files in the Abwehr central registry."

"Vogel is a true paranoid and extremely cautious. He keeps everything in his office. And I wouldn't think about trying to get rough with him. He has an assistant named Werner Ulbricht who's seen the worst of this war. The man's always cleaning his Lugers. Even I I don't go near Vogel's office." don't go near Vogel's office."

Schellenberg pulled back on the reins until his horse came to a stop. The morning was still and quiet. In the distance came the growl of the morning's first traffic along the Wilhelmstrasse.

"Vogel is the kind of man we like in the SD--intelligent, driven."

"There's only one problem," Canaris said. "Vogel's a human being. He has a heart and a conscience. Something tells me he wouldn't fit in with your crowd."

"Why don't you let the two of us meet? Perhaps we can think of some way to pool our resources for the good of the Reich. There's no reason for the SD and the Abwehr to be always at each other's throats, like this."

Canaris smiled. "We're at each other's throats, Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg, because you are convinced I am a traitor to the Reich and because you tried to have me arrested."

Which was true. Schellenberg had assembled a file containing dozens of allegations of treason committed by Canaris. In 1942 he gave the file to Heinrich Himmler, but Himmler took no action. Canaris kept dossiers too, and Schellenberg suspected the Abwehr file on Himmler contained material the Reichsfuhrer would rather not be made public.

"That was a long time ago, Herr Admiral. It's in the past."

Canaris jabbed the heel of his riding boot into his horse and they started moving again. The stables appeared in the distance.

"May I be so bold as to offer an interpretation of your offer to be of assistance, Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg?"

"Of course."

"You would like to be a part of this operation for one of two reasons. Reason one, you could sabotage the operation in order to further lower the reputation of the Abwehr. Or, reason two, you could steal Vogel's intelligence and claim all the credit and glory for yourself."

Schellenberg slowly shook his head. "This mistrust between us, such a pity. So distressing."

"Yes, isn't it."

They rode together into the stables and dismounted. A pair of stable boys scampered out and led the horses away.

"A pleasure as always," Canaris said. "Shall we take breakfast together?"

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid duty calls."

"Oh?"

"A meeting with Himmler and Hitler, eight o'clock sharp."

"Lucky you. What's the topic?"

Walter Schellenberg smiled and laid his gloved hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"How was the Old Fox this morning?" Adolf Hitler said as Walter Schellenberg walked through the door at precisely eight o'clock. Himmler was there, sitting on the overstuffed sofa sipping coffee. It was the image Schellenberg liked to present to his superiors--too busy to arrive for a meeting early and engage in small talk, disciplined enough to be prompt.

"As cagey as ever," Schellenberg said, pouring himself a cup of the steaming coffee. There was a jug with real milk. Even the staff at the SD had trouble securing a steady supply these days. "He refused to tell me anything about Vogel's operation. He claims he knows nothing about it. He has permitted Vogel to work under extremely secretive circumstances, allowing himself to be kept in the dark about the details."

"Perhaps it's better that way," Himmler said, his face impassive, his voice betraying no emotion whatsoever. "The less the good admiral knows, the less he can betray to the enemy."

"I've done some investigating of my own," Schellenberg said. "I know that Vogel has sent at least one new agent into England. He had to use the Luftwaffe for the drop, and the pilot who flew the mission was very cooperative." Schellenberg opened his briefcase and withdrew two copies of the same file, handing one to Hitler and the other to Himmler. "The agent's name is Horst Neumann. The Reichsfuhrer may remember that business in Paris some time back. An SS man was killed in a bar in Paris. Neumann was the man involved in that."

Himmler let the file fall from his hands onto the coffee table around which they were seated. "For the Abwehr to use such a man is a direct slap in the face to the SS and the memory of the man he murdered! It shows Vogel's contempt for the party and the Fuhrer."

Hitler was still reading the file and seemed genuinely interested in it. "Perhaps Neumann is simply the right man for the job, Herr Reichsfuhrer. Look at his dossier: born in England, decorated member of the Fallschirmjager, Fallschirmjager, Knight's Cross, Oak Leaves. On paper a very remarkable man." Knight's Cross, Oak Leaves. On paper a very remarkable man."