Korsch found himself again staring out his window, hands clasped behind his back in a tight grip of spring-coiled wrath.

All at once he spun around and ran back to his desk. Frantically he riffled through the papers again.

He had seen something—a name.

It hadn’t registered at first. How could he have been so blind! He hadn’t made use of the connection in over a year! The link had almost dropped out of his memory.

Luckily it was still in the file! Why hadn’t he noticed it before now? He’d focused so heavily on the money itself he’d almost forgotten the reason for it in the first place. How could he have been so stupid!

Yes, there it was! He picked up the paper, scanned it quickly… of course… it was perfect. This fellow might do more for him than merely line his account with Swiss francs!

Slowly a cunning smile spread across his thick lips, revealing a thin slit of yellowish-white beneath them.

He grabbed up his coat from where it hung behind him, folded the paper and stuffed it inside, then picked up the phone on his desk and barked into it.

“Order up my car!” he growled. “Yes, immediately!”

41 Tightening the Squeeze

41

Tightening the Squeeze

“How nice to see you again, Herr von Dortmann,” said Korsch with a smile as oily as his smoothed-down hair, closing the door of the large office behind him. “The look on your face betrays you, however,” he added with a smile.

“I have asked you not to call on me here,” replied Otto, doing his best to keep his voice calm. He was highly annoyed, but at the same time fearful of the man’s power.

“You are not pleased to see me?” said Korsch with wry sarcasm.

“It is most inopportune for you to be seen here.”

“And why is that, my friend?”

“Because… people could talk… my reputation.”

Still Korsch smiled condescendingly as he took a chair and stared across at the rotund banker.

“Are you saying the Gestapo is not highly thought of?” the agent asked, still smiling, but with an edge to his tone reflective of the subdued glint in his eyes.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me,” said a flustered Otto. “It is only that this is my place of business, and… you—you have your own spheres of influence.”

Instantly the smile disappeared from Korsch’s mouth.

“Everything and everyone is the business of the Gestapo, Herr von Dortmann!” he snapped. “I should think you of all people would know that fact well enough by now.”

The banker sat silently behind his large mahogany-topped desk. It did not do to anger these people, he knew that. He had had enough interaction with this weasel of a man to realize well enough that compliance was the only appropriate response.