Erwin Keitel lived on a pension, and not an especially comfortable one at that. Its necessity came from two facts. First, he was a former Lieutenant-Colonel in the East German Stasi, the intelligence and counter-intelligence arm of the defunct German Democratic Republic; second, he had liked his work of thirty-two years. Whereas most of his former colleagues had acknowledged the changes in their country and for the most part put their German identity ahead of whatever ideology they'd once held - and told literally everything they knew to the Bundes Nachrichten Dienst - Keitel had decided that he was not going to work for capitalists. That made him one of the 'politically unemployed' citizens of the united Germany. His pension was a matter of convenience. The new German government honored, after a fashion, pre-existing government obligations. It was at the least politically expedient, and what Germany now was was a matter of daily struggling with facts that were not and could not be reconciled. It was easier to give Keitel a pension than to leave him on the official dole, which was deemed more demeaning than a pension. By the government, that is. Keitel didn't see things quite that way. If the world made any sense at all, he thought, he would have been executed or exiled, exactly where he might have been exiled to, Keitel didn't know. He'd begun to consider going over to the Russians - he'd had good contacts in the KGB - but that thought had died a quick death. The Soviets had washed their hands of everything to do with the DDK, fearing treachery from people whose allegiance to world socialism - or whatever the hell the Russians stood for now, Keitel had no idea - was somewhat less than their allegiance to their new country. Keitel took his seat beside Bock's in the corner booth of a quiet Gasthaus in what had formerly been East Berlin.

"This is very dangerous, my friend."

"I am aware of that, Erwin." Bock waved for two liter glasses of beer. Service was quicker than it had been a few years before, but both men ignored that.

"I cannot tell you how I feel about what they did to Petra," Keitel said, after the girl left them.

"Do you know exactly what happened?" Bock asked, in a level and emotionless voice.

"The detective who ran the case visited her in prison - he did so quite often - not for interrogation. They made a conscious effort to push her over the edge. You must understand, Gunther, courage in a man or a woman is a finite quality. It was not weakness on her part. Anyone can break. It is simply a matter of time. They watched her die." the retired colonel said.

"Oh?" Bock's face didn't change, but his knuckles went white on the stein handle.

"There was a television camera hidden in her cell. They have her suicide on videotape. They watched her do it, and did nothing to stop her."