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"Coffee!" Willi exclaimed when they got to the room where they worked. He disappeared, presumably heading for the canteen, and came back five minutes later with a foam cup from which fragrant steam rose. He gulped it down, then sighed blissfully. "Ahhh!"
Heinrich wanted a cup, too. Even so, he said, "I've seen drunks who didn't cozy up to a bottle of cheap schnapps the way you did with that coffee."
"If you're going to enjoy something, you shouldenjoy it, shouldn't you?" Willi said. "Why only go halfway?"
"Because sometimes all the way is too far?" Heinrich suggested. Willi laughed at him again. It wasn't surprising that he should. National Socialist ideology scorned the idea of restraint. It always had. Heinrich wondered if Heinz Buckliger could change that, or if it had even occurred to the new Fuhrer to try. He had his doubts.
He also had his work. He got some coffee for himself. With it unmelodramatically sitting there on the desk in front of him, he got down to business. Sure enough, with their assessments reduced, the Americans were paying even less than they had been. They were trying to see just how much the Reich would let them get away with before it clamped down. If he hadn't already been sure they would do that, it would have infuriated him.
The coffee hadn't had time to get cold before the telephone rang. He picked it up. "Analysis section, Heinrich Gimpel speaking."
"Guten Morgen, Herr Gimpel," an American-accented voice said. "Charlie Cox here.Wie geht's mit Ihnen? "
"I'm fine, thanks," Heinrich answered automatically. Then he blinked. "It's not morning where you are, Herr Cox. It's still the middle of last night. Are you up early or up late?"
"Late," Cox said easily. "I wanted to ask you something unofficial."
"Well, go ahead," Heinrich told him. "Of course, an answer to a question like that is worth its weight in gold."
"Aber naturlich,"Cox said. He knew the answer wouldn't really be unofficial, then. By the nature of things, it couldn't be. That meant the "unofficial" question wasn't, either. Cox proceeded to ask it: "Just exactly how serious is Herr Buckliger about reforming the National Socialist system?"
"That's a good question," Heinrich said. He could see why the American and his leaders wanted to find out. A lot of other people in the Germanic Empire and in the Greater German Reich wanted to find out, too. Heinrich wouldn't have been surprised if Heinz Buckliger were one of them. He went on, "The only thing I can tell you, though, is that I don't know."
"Unofficially, dammit." Charlie Cox sounded a
You idiot. Don't you think there's a bug on this phone? Someone will be listening to you-and to me-if not right this second, then when he plays a tape. Aloud, Heinrich replied, "Official or unofficial, you'd get the same answer from me. Come on, Charlie. Use your head."You'd better. "I'm not at the level that makes policy. All I do is carry it out."
"the Fuhrer talks to you," Cox said.
So that news had got across the Atlantic, had it? Either it had spread more widely than Heinrich thought or the Americans had better spies than Intelligence gave them credit for. That wasn't Heinrich's immediate worry, though. He said, "For heaven's sake, he just asked me for a few figures sohe could set policy. That's what the Fuhrerprinzip is all about."
"Ja,"Cox agreed. "But if he likes the first edition as much as he says he does, how much does he care about the Fuhrerprinzip? "
A lot of people in the Empire and in the Reich were also wondering about that. "I'm very sorry," Heinrich said, "but I still don't know. If you want advice-"
"I'll take whatever you give me," the American broke in. "You've always seemed like a decent fellow."
Are you naive enough to assume that about anyone in the Reich,or do you think I'm naive enough to be flattered? In a way, Heinrichwas flattered, but not in a way that would do Cox any good. He said, "The only real advice I can give you is, wait and see. What the Fuhrer does will show you exactly what he has in mind."
"I was hoping for a little advance warning." But he must have realized he wouldn't get it from Heinrich. With what might have been either a sigh or a yawn, he said, "All right. I'm going on home to bed. Thanks for your time,Herr Gimpel." He hung up.
So did Heinrich, with quite u
"An American," Heinrich said. "I think I'd better write up a report." If he did, the people surely monitoring the line would have less reason to read disloyalty into anything he'd said. As he began to type, though, he wondered how much good it would do. If the powers that be decided he was disloyal, they wouldn't worry about evidence. They'd invent some or do without and just get rid of him.
Will they, under this Fuhrer?That Heinrich could wonder said how much things had changed-and how much they hadn't.
Walther Stutzman was a straight-thinking, rational man. He had to be, to make himself a success at the Zeiss computer works. Every so often, though, he found himself bemused by what he and a few others did-had to do-to keep themselves hidden from the all-too-nearly omniscient eye of the state.
Hitler had thundered that there was a Jewish conspiracy against the German Volk, against the Reich. At the time, he'd been talking through his hat. The Jews hadn't been plotting against Germany. Most of the Jewsin Germany had thought of themselves as being as German as anybody else. Now, on the other hand…
Now the handful of Jews remaining in Berlin, in Germany as a whole, had to conspire against the Reich if they wanted to go on breathing. Hitler's extermination camps had had the ironic effect of calling into being what hadn't existed when he started making speeches. Even now, it wasn't the sort of conspiracy he meant. It didn't aim to take over the Reich, just to hide the few surviving Jews from it. But a conspiracy it undoubtedly was.
Here sat Walther, controlling computer codes that would have earned him a bullet in the back of the neck if anyone knew he had them. Some of the codes erased his tracks after he'd used others, which made discovering him harder. Over at Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, Heinrich Gimpel kept his ear to the ground. There was a Jew in a fairly high place in the Foreign Ministry. There were even three or four in the SS. Walther had helped create false pedigrees for a couple of them. The others he just knew about; he wasn't sure how they'd established their bona fides. His own work there still worried him. If it unraveled, so much was liable to unravel with it. Several other important ministries also held a Jew or two.
When a Jew in one place heard something that might be important, others soon found out about it. A chief undersecretary or a deputy assistant minister could meet with a friend at di
And that chief undersecretary or deputy assistant minister sometimes got to propose a policy that-purely by chance, of course (of course!)-made things a little easier, a little safer, for the Jews. Or, bureaucracy being what it was, one of those functionaries could sometimes ignore or soften a directive that might have hurt his people. Very often, one bad scheme blocked was worth three good ones started.
A Jewish conspiracy at the heart of the Reich. Hitler would have had kittens. He would have ordered all the Jews killed, and made horrible examples of the Germans who'd missed them. Walther thought of knives and piano-wire nooses. Himmler would have killed the Jews and made examples of some Germans, too, but he would have got rid of them more humanely. Kurt Haldweim would have got rid of the Jews and reprimanded, maybe demoted, the Germans.