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The Gestapo had arrested every person found in possession of a copy, but to no avail. It was the only time in the history of the Third Reich that there had been a public outcry against any government action.
The clampdown was savage, but it did no good: the duplicates of the sermon continued to proliferate, more clergymen prayed for the handicapped, and there was even a protest march in Akelberg. It was out of control.
And Macke was to blame.
He bent over Peter. The priest's eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow, but he was conscious. Macke shouted in his ear: "Who told you about Akelberg?"
There was no reply.
Peter was Macke's only lead. Investigations in the town of Akelberg had turned up nothing of significance. Reinhold Wagner had been told a story about two girl cyclists who had visited the hospital, but no one knew who they were, and another story about a nurse who had resigned suddenly, writing a letter saying she was getting married in haste, but not revealing who the husband was. Neither clue led anywhere. In any case, Macke felt sure this calamity could not be the work of a gaggle of girls.
Macke nodded to the technician operating the machine. He turned a knob.
Peter screamed in agony as the electrical current coursed through his body, torturing his nerves. He shook as if in a fit, and the hair on his head stood up.
The operator turned the current off.
Macke screamed: "Give me his name!"
At last Peter opened his mouth.
Macke leaned closer.
Peter whispered: "No man."
"A woman, then! Give me the name!"
"It was an angel."
"Damn you to hell!" Macke seized the kn
ob and turned it. "This goes on until you tell me!" he yelled, as Peter shuddered and screamed.
The door opened. A young detective looked in, turned pale, and beckoned to Macke.
The technician turned the current off, and the screaming stopped. The doctor leaned forward to check Peter's heart.
The detective said: "Excuse me, Inspector Macke, but you're wanted by Superintendent Kringelein."
"Now?" said Macke irritably.
"That's what he said, sir."
Macke looked at the doctor, who shrugged. "He's young," he said. "He'll be alive when you get back."
Macke left the room and went upstairs with the detective. Kringelein's office was on the first floor. Macke knocked and went in. "The damn priest hasn't talked yet," he said without preamble. "I need more time."
Kringelein was a slight man with spectacles, clever but weak-willed. A late convert to Nazism, he was not a member of the elite SS. He lacked the fervor of enthusiasts such as Macke. "Don't bother any further with that priest," he said. "We're no longer interested in any of the clergymen. Throw them in camps and forget them."
Macke could not believe his ears. "But these people have conspired to undermine the Fuhrer!"
"And they have succeeded," said Kringelein. "Whereas you have failed."
Macke suspected that Kringelein was privately pleased about this.
"A decision has been made at the top," the superintendent went on. "Aktion T4 has been canceled."
Macke was flabbergasted. The Nazis never allowed their decisions to be swayed by the misgivings of the ignorant. "We didn't get where we are by kowtowing to public opinion!" he said.
