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“I beg your pardon?” Fulmar asked coldly.
“It was an attempt at humor, Herr Sturmbannführer,” the sergeant said. “No offense was intended.”
“None so far has been taken,” Fulmar said. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I simply presumed that since the Herr Sturmbannführer is on the staff of Reichsführer-SS, he might be looking for a certain very senior officer, also stationed in Berlin. I repeat, Herr Sturmbannführer, that no offense was intended. ”
“I took none,” Fulmar said, and smiled,“but I know a certain Standartenführer who might.”
“If we are talking about the same Standartenführer, Herr Sturmbannführer, I would be grateful if you would not—”
“Of course not,” Fulmar said. “He’s here in Marburg already?”
“Oh, no, sir,” the sergeant said. “There was a teletype message, unofficial, of course, that the unexpected duty would preclude his visiting Hauptsturmführer Peis this weekend.”
Fulmar took the news that Müller was not going to show with a calm that surprised him. That “possibility” had been planned for. The only question was why he wasn’t coming. Had he really been given some duty that kept him from coming here? Or had he backed out at the last moment? Or had the entire operation been compromised?
“I guess that happened after I left Berlin,” Fulmar said. “I hadn’t heard about that. I was just told…” He stopped and smiled. “Oh, I see! You thought I was delivering a little gift, to make the lady’s disappointment a little less?” Fulmar asked.
The sergeant shrugged.
“I must say that you are both alert and perceptive,” Fulmar said. “But that’s not it.” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s a message for me at Burgweg. I gratefully accept your kind offer of a ride.”
"It is my pleasure. Herr Sturmbannführer," the sergeant said.
When they reached the Dyer house, the sergeant said that he could wait if he wasn’t going to be long.
“The very least I’ll have to do is call Berlin,” Fulmar said. “And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there was an errand or two for me to run.”
The Unterscharführer didn’t seem suspicious. He replied that he would be on duty all weekend, and if the Herr Sturmbannführer needed a ride, all he had to do was call.
Fulmar thanked him and went to the door.
He knew the building, but he had never been inside before. Gisella had never wanted him to come to her house.
When he rang the bell, a small, hunched-over middle-aged woman, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, came to the door. She looked at him suspiciously.
“Fräulein Gisella Dyer, please,” Fulmar said.
“Top of the stairs and to the right,” the middle-aged woman said.
Gisella opened the upstairs door. She recognized him immediately, and there was fear in her eyes.
“Heil Hitler!” Fulmar barked, for the benefit of the woman who he was sure was listening at the foot of the stairs.
“Heil Hitler,” Gisella replied. “How may I help you, Herr Sturmbannführer? ”
“I have a message from a mutual friend,” Fulmar said.
“Please come in,” she said.
When he had gone past her, she closed the door and leaned against it.
“My God, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Where did you get that uniform? Are you crazy?”
“Where the hell is Müller?” Fulmar countered. “He was supposed to be here. Or send word when he would be.”
Instead of replying, she put her finger in front of her lips and pulled him into the kitchen and turned the water faucets on.
