He looked at it and straightened it, and when he took his hand from the inside, he had the Q pill. He put the hat on his head and coughed, and the Q pill was between his teeth.
Here? he wondered, surprisingly calm. Or should I wait to see what happens?
“The call witl go from here to Vienna, which is sometimes difficult,” the Gestapo agent said. “But from Vienna, we have a direct line to Berlin.”
“Fine,” Fulmar said, not moving his jaws. He ran his tongue against the slippery vial between his teeth.
“Eric!” a male voice called. “Eric von Fulmar!” Fulmar and the Gestapo agent turned to see who was calling.
A tall, thin, aristocratic man wearing a Homburg was standing on the platform of one of the cars.
“Heil Hitler!” Eric said. The Q pill was now loose in his mouth.
He was afraid he would either swallow it, or cough and spit it out. He coughed again, aware that it must sound artificial, and had the Q pill in his hand again.
“Where in the world are you going?” the man said.
“Tell him,” the Gestapo agent said, “that you’ll be back in just a moment.” The sonofabitch is suspicious.
“I’ll be right back,” Fulmar called out. “We have to call Berlin.” The man jumped off the train and walked quickly to them.
Now the Gestapo agent was annoyed.
He dug into the pocket of his ankle-length leather overcoat and came out with his aluminum Gestapo identity disk, holding it out for the man to see.
“Gestapo,” he announced.
“I surmised as much,” the man said. “Be good enough to explain this.
“This is none of your business, mein Herr!”
“Oh, but my dear sir,” the man said icily, “it is my business.” The man then reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a pigskin folder, something like a thin wallet. He held it in front of the Gestapo agent’s face.
“Be so good as to examine this,” he said softly.
The Gestapo agent took a good look. He had never actually seen one before in the hands of the person it had been issued to. He had seen examples of them, of course, in school.
It was an identity card issued by the Minister for State Security, signed by Heinrich Himmler himself. In the name of the Fuhrer, it commanded all German law-enforcement authorities to place themselves at the orders of the bearer, Brigadefuhrer SS-SD Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz.
“I am at your orders, Herr Brigadefuhrer,” the Gestapo agent said.
“Then you will be so kind as to explain what you’re doing?”
“If I may be so bold, Herr Brigadefuhrer,” Fulmar said. “This officer was simply doing his duty.”
“Indeed? How is that?” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“There is a call out for someone meeting my description. What this gentleman was doing was making sure I am who I say I am.”
“Obviously, Herr Brigadefuhrer,” the Gestapo agent said, “that will no longer be necessary.” Von Heurten-Mitnitz ignored him.
“Your aunt Beatrice told me you were probably going to be on this train,” he said. “I looked for you in Vienna but couldn’t find you.” “I almost missed the train,” Eric said.
“With your permission, Herr Brigadefuhrer,” the Gestapo agent said, “I will return to my duties.” Von Heurten-Mitnitz dismissed him with a casual wave of his arm, in a sloppy Nazi salute.
“Heil Hitler,” he mumbled.
The Gestapo agent started back to the train.
“You, there!” von Heurten-Mitnitz called after him, and when the Gestapo agent turned, added, “Your zeal is to be commended.”
“Thank you, Herr Brigadefuhrer,” the Gestapo agent said, pleased.
“That was rather close, wasn’t it?” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“How was he going to check you out?”
“I was going to call Muller,” Fulmar said.
“He wouldn’t have been there,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “The moment I heard about what happened on the train from Switzerland, I tried to call him. He’s still at Rastenburg with Kaltenbrunner.”
“I thought he’d changed his mind,” Fulmar said, “or been bagged.
I was about to bite that fucking pill.” Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz looked at him intently for a moment but didn’t reply.
“Is there anything else I should know? Was there any trouble in Marburg?”