Not long after my arrival at Landsberg, Hermann Priess, the former commander of the offending SS troop at Malmédy, during the Battle of the Bulge, had told me about this kind of rough treatment at the hands of the Americans. Before their trial for the murder of ninety U.S. servicemen, Priess, Peiper, and seventy-four other men had been hooded and beaten and forced to sign confessions. The whole incident had caused quite a stink at the International Court of Justice and in the U.S. Senate. Since I hadn’t yet been beaten, it was perhaps a little too early to say that the American military was incapable of learning a lesson in human rights, but underneath my hood, I wasn’t holding my breath.

“Congratulations, Gunther. That’s the longest anyone wearing a hood in here has ever kept his mouth shut.”

The man was speaking German, quite good German, too, but I was sure it wasn’t Silverman or Earp. For the moment I kept my mouth shut. And what was there to say? That’s the thing about being interrogated: You always know that eventually someone is going to ask you a question.

“I’ve been reading over the case notes,” said the voice. “Your case notes. The ones made by Silverman and Earp. By the way, they won’t be joining us for the rest of your questioning. They don’t approve of the way we do things.”

All the time he was speaking, I was tensed for the blow I felt sure was coming. One of the other prisoners told me the Amis had beaten him for a whole hour in Schwabisch Hall in an effort to get him to incriminate Jochen Peiper.

“Relax, Gunther. No one is going to hit you. So long as you cooperate, you’ll be just fine. The hood’s for my protection. Outside of this place it might be awkward for both of us if you ever recognized me. You see, I work for the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“And what about your friend? The other man in here? Does he work for the CIA as well?”

“You’ve got good ears, Gunther, I’ll say that for you,” said the other Ami. “Maybe that’s why you’ve lived so long.” His German was good, too. “Yes, I’m also with the CIA.”

“Congratulations. That must make you both very proud.”

“No, no. Congratulations to you, Gunther. Silverman and Earp have cleared you of any criminal wrongdoing.” This was the first voice speaking now. “They’re satisfied that you didn’t murder anyone. At least not by the inflated standard of everyone else who’s in here.” He laughed. “I know. That’s not saying much. But there it is. As far as Uncle Sam is concerned, you’re not a war criminal.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said. “If it wasn’t for these handcuffs, I might punch the air.”