“You might say that after spending six months in one American prison after another I began to hate them. You might say that, but it wouldn’t be true. Of course, the best lies contain some truth, so that’s not entirely false. Then you might say that I don’t share their worldview, and that wouldn’t be entirely false. In some ways I admire them, but I also dislike the way they don’t ever seem to live up to their own ideals. I think I might like the Amis a lot more if they were like everyone else. One might forgive them more. But they preach about the magnificence of their democracy and the enduring power of their constitutional freedoms, while at the same time they’re trying to fuck your wife and steal your watch. When I was a cop, we gave the people of whom more was expected severer sentences when they turned out to be crooks. Lawyers, policemen, politicians, people in positions of responsibility. Americans are like them. They’re the crooks who should know better.

“But you might also say I’m tired of the whole damned business. For twenty years I’ve been obliged to work for people I didn’t like. Heydrich. The SD. The Nazis. The CIC. The Peróns. The Mafia. The Cuban secret police. The French. The CIA. All I want to do is read the newspaper and play chess.”

“But how do you know I’m not going to oblige you to work for me?” Mielke chuckled. “Since you sent that letter to me, you’re halfway to working for the Stasi right now.”

“I won’t work for you, Erich, any more than I’ll work for them. If you make me, I’ll find a way to betray you.”

“And suppose I threaten to have you shot? Or send you to prison to await a delivery of whole-meal bread? What then?”

“I’ve asked myself this question. Suppose, I said, he threatens to kill you unless you work for the Stasi? Well, I decided that I’d rather die at the hands of my own countrymen than get rich in the pay of some foreigners. I don’t expect you to understand that, Erich. But that’s how it is. So go ahead and do your worst.”

“Of course I understand.” Mielke smacked himself proudly on the chest. “Before everything else, I am a German. A Berliner. Like you. Of course I understand. So, for once, I am going to keep my word to a fascist.”

“You still think I’m a fascist, then.”