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"He's a brilliant physicist and he's studying in London."
"Shit."
"But I've thought of someone else."
"Good!"
"Did you ever know Heinrich von Kessel?"
"I don't think so. Was he at our school?"
"No, he went to a Catholic school. And in those days he didn't share our politics, either. His father was a big shot in the Centre Party--"
"Which put Hitler in power in 1933!"
"Correct. Heinrich was then working for his father. The father has now joined the Nazis, but the son is wracked by guilt."
"How do you know?"
"He got drunk and told my sister, Frieda. She's seventeen. I think he fancies her."
This was promising. Volodya's spirits lifted. "Is he a Communist?"
"No."
"What makes you think he'll work for us?"
"I asked him, straight out. 'If you got a chance to fight against the Nazis by spying for the Soviet Union, would you do it?' He said he would."
"What's his job?"
"He's in the army, but he has a weak chest, so they made him a pen pusher--which is lucky for us, because now he works for the Supreme High Command in the economic planning and procurement department."
Volodya was impressed. Such a man would know exactly how many trucks and tanks and machine guns and submarines the German military was acquiring month by month--and where they were being deployed. He began to feel excited. "When can I meet him?"
"Now. I've arranged to have a drink with him in the Hotel Adlon after work."
Volodya groaned. The Adlon was Berlin's swankiest hotel. It was located on Unter den Linden. Because it was in the government and diplomatic district, the bar was a favorite haunt of journalists hoping to pick up gossip. It would not have been Volodya's choice of rendezvous. But he could not afford to miss this chance. "All right," he said. "But I'm not going to be seen talking to either of you in that place. I'll follow you in, identify Heinrich, then follow him out and accost him later."
"Okay. I'll drive you there. My car's around the corner."
As they walked to the other end of the alley, Werner told Volodya Heinrich's work and home addresses and phone numbers, and Volodya committed them to memory.
"Here we are," said Werner. "Jump in."
The car was a Mercedes 540K Autobahnkurier, a model that was head-turningly beautiful, with sensually curved fenders, a bonnet longer than an entire Ford Model T, and a sloping fastback rear end. It was so expensive that only a handful had ever been sold.
Volodya stared aghast. "Shouldn't you have a less ostentatious car?" he said incredulously.
"It's a double bluff," Werner said. "They think no real spy would be so flamboyant."
Volodya was going to ask how he could afford it, but then he recalled that Werner's father was a wealthy manufacturer.
"I'm not getting into that thing," Volodya said. "I'll go by train."
"As you wish."
"I'll see you at the Adlon, but don't acknowledge me."
