And then he remembered that he actually knew somebody in French North Africa, a policeman like himself, Obersturmbannfuhrer SS-SD (Lieutenant Colonel) Johann Muller, who had been raised on a farm in Kolbe not three miles from where Peis sat, was on the staff of the Franco-German Armistice Commission for Morocco.
Muller, who came home to see his mother from time to time, had once been a simple Wachtmann (Patrolman) on the Kreis Marburg police.
But he had been smart enough to join the Nazi Party early on, and he had been transferred to Berlin and commissioned in the SS-SD. And now he was a big shot.
Who just might, Peis thought, spend the rest of the war in an American POW cage. But better that, Peis decided, than the Eastern Front It was an hour and a half before he saw Professor Friedrich Dyer walking toward the car.
“You won’t mind, Professor, if I see the Reichsminister safely onto his train?” Peis said when Dyer had gotten into the car.
“We all must do our duty,” Dyer said dryly.
Peis discreetly followed the Reichsminister’s convoy to the Hauptbahnho On the way from the Hauptbahnhof to the university, Peis asked, as casually as he could, zwhat did Reichsminister Speer want with you?” There was no reply for a moment, as Dyer considered his response.
“We spoke of the molecular structure of tungsten carbon alloys,” Dyer finally said. “Specifically, the effect of high temperatures on their dimensions, and the difficulties encountered in their machining.” Peis had no idea what that meant, and he suspected that Dyer, aware of that, was rubbing his ignorance in his face. Yesterday, the professor would not have dared antagonize him. But they both knew that things had changed.
“I have no idea what that means,” Peis admitted. And then he changed the subject before Dyer had a chance to reply, “Radio Frankfurt just said the Americans have invaded North Africa.”
“Really?”
“You’re an educated man, Professor,” Peis said. “Why would the Americans want North Africa?”
“No telling,” Professor Dyer said. And then he added, “You must remember, Herr Obersturmfuhrer, that the Americans are crazy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, they believe they can win this war,” Dyer said.
“Wouldn’t you say that makes them crazy?” Peis’s face tightened as he realized that the professor had mocked him again. And his anger grew as he realized that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Peis did manage a parting shot, however. As the professor was about to slip out of the car, Peis stopped him with his hand and gave him a knowing, confidential look. “Do please give my very best regards to Fraulein Dyer,” he said through his very best smile.
Professor Dyer had no reply to make to that.
TWO] Sszr es Boule, IYOROCCO 0700 Hours 2b November 1942 The palace of the Pasha of Ksar es Souk was pentagonal. It was half a millennium older than the nearly completed world’s largest office building, the Pentagon, in Washington, D. C. , and bore little resemblance to it.
But it was un arguably five-sided, and it pleased the somewhat droll sense of humor of Eric Fulmar to think of the palace as
“The Desert Pentagon.” There were five observation towers at each angle of the Desert Pentagon. Over the centudes, lookouts had reported from these the approach of camel caravans, tribes of nomads, armies of hostile sheikhs and pashas-and in more recent times, patrols and detachments of the French Foreign Legion and the German Wehrmacht.
Today, there was nothing in sight on the desert in any direction, and it was possible to see a little over seven miles.
Eric Fulmar, who was tall, blond, and rather good-looking, sat in the northwest tower of the Desert Pentagon holding a small cup of black coffee. Except for olive-drab trousers and parachutist’s boots, he wore Berber attire, robes and a burnoose. The cords around his waist, as well as those holding the burnoose to his head, were embroidered in gold, the identification of a nobleman.
Depending on whether his dossier was read in Washington, D. C. , or in Berlin, Germany, he was 2nd Lieutenant FULMAR, Eric, Infantry, Army of the United States, or Eric von Fulmar, Baron Kolbe.