The young man opened his eyes and took a long breath before speaking. "I am an investigative reporter with the Berliner Tageblatt." They hit him again with the electric cord, and this time he passed out. Bock watched a man's back approach the victim and check his eyes and pulse. The torturer appeared to be wearing a chemical-warfare-protective suit of rubberized fabric, but without the hood and gloves. It must have been awfully hot, Bock thought.

"Obviously a trained intelligence officer. Probably Russian. Not circumcised, and his dental work is stainless steel, not especially well-done. That means an East Bloc service, of course. Too bad, this lad is quite brave." The voice was admirably clinical, Bock thought.

"What drugs do we have?" another voice asked.

"A rather good tranquilizer. Now?"

"Now. Not too much."

"Very well." The man went off camera, then returned with a syringe. He grasped the victim's upper arm, then injected the drug into a vein inside the elbow. It took three minutes before the KGB man regained consciousness, just enough for the rush of drugs to assault his higher brain functions.

"Sorry we had to do that to you. You have passed the test," the voice said, this time in Russian.

"What test -" The answer was in Russian, just two words before his brain took hold and stopped him. "Why did you ask me in Russian?"

"Because that was what we wished to know. Good night."

The victim's eyes went wide as a small-caliber pistol appeared, was placed against his chest, and fired. The camera withdrew a bit to show more of the room. A plastic sheet - actually three of them - covered the floor to catch blood and other droppings under the metal chair. The bullet wound was speckled with black powder marks, and bulged outward from the intrusion of gun-gases below the skin. There wasn't much bleeding. Heart wounds never produced much. In a few more seconds, the body stopped quivering.

"We could have taken more time to ascertain additional information, but we have what we need, as I will explain later." It was Keitel's voice, off camera.

"Now, Traudl."

They brought her in front of the camera, hands bound in front of her, her mouth gagged with the same bandaging tape, her eyes wide in terror, naked. She was trying to say something around the gag, but no one there had been interested. The tape was a day and a half old, of course. Gunther could tell that from the TV that was playing in the corner, tuned to an evening news broadcast. The entire performance was a professional tour de force designed to meet his requirements.

Bock could almost hear the man thinking, Now, how do we do this? Gunther momentarily regretted the instructions he'd given Keitel. But the evidence had to be positive. Magicians and other experts in illusion regularly consulted with intelligence agencies - but some things could not be faked, and he had to be sure that he could trust Keitel to do terrible and dangerous things. It was an objective necessity that this be graphic.