"The resurgence of the Dresden football club has surprised many observers. Led by star forward Willi Scheer "

Bock's eyes went wide in the unlit darkness of his room. Unable even to look at the lit radio dial, his eyes found the open window and stared at the stars of evening.

Petra, dead.

He knew it was true, knew better than to tell himself it was impossible. It was all too possible inevitable, in fact. Apparent suicide! Of course, just as all the Baader-Meinhof members had apparently committed suicide, one having reportedly shot himself in the head three times. "A real death-grip on the gun," had been the joke of the West German police community of the time.

They'd murdered his wife, Bock knew. His beautiful Petra was dead. His best friend, his truest comrade, his lover. Dead. It should not have hit him as hard as it did, Gunther knew. What else might he have expected? They'd had to kill her, of course. She was both a link with the past, and a potentially dangerous link with Germany's socialist future. In killing her, they'd further secured the political stability of the new Germany, Das Vierte Reich.

"Petra," he whispered to himself. She was more than a political figure, more than a revolutionary. He remembered every contour of her face, every curve of her youthful body. He remembered waiting for their children to be born, and the smile with which she'd greeted him after delivering Erika and Ursel. They, too, were gone, as totally removed from him as though they'd also died.

It was not a time to be alone. Bock dressed and walked across the street. Qati, he was glad to see, was still awake, though he looked ghastly.

"What is wrong, my friend?" the Commander asked.

"Petra is dead."

Qati showed genuine pain on his face. "What happened?"

The report is that she was found dead in her cell - hanged." His Petra, Bock thought in delayed shock, found strangled by her graceful neck. The image was too painful for contemplation. He'd seen that kind of death. He and Petra had executed a class enemy that way and watched his face turn pale, then darken, and The image was unbearable. He could not allow himself to see Petra that way.

Qati bowed his head in sorrow. "May Allah have mercy on our beloved comrade."

Bock managed not to frown. Neither he nor Petra had ever believed in God, but Qati had meant well by his prayer, even though it was nothing more than a waste of breath. At the very least, it was an expression of sympathy and good will and friendship. Bock needed that right now, and so he ignored the irrelevancy and took a deep breath.

"It is a bad day for our cause, Ismael."

"Worse than you think, this cursed treaty -"

"I know." Bock said. "I know."

"What do you think?" One thing Qati could depend on was Bock's honesty. Gunther was objective about everything.