Begelmann was older and taller, with dark, curly hair and lips that were as thick and pink as two slices of luncheon meat. He was smiling but his eyes told a very different story. The pupils were narrow, like a cat’s, as if he was anxious to be out of the SD’s spotlight. In that building, and surrounded by all those black uniforms, he looked like a choirboy trying to make friends with a pack of hyenas. He didn’t say much. It was Six who did all the talking. I’d heard Six was from Mannheim. Mannheim has a famous Jesuit church. In his smart black uniform, that was the way Franz Six struck me. Not your typical SD thug. More like a Jesuit.

“Herr Begelmann has expressed a wish to emigrate from Germany to Palestine,” he said smoothly. “Naturally he is concerned about his business in Germany and the impact that its sale might have on the local economy. So, in order to help Herr Begelmann, this department has proposed a solution to his problem. A solution you might be able to help us with, Herr Gunther. We have proposed that he should not emigrate ‘pro forma,’ but rather that he should continue to be a German citizen working abroad. In effect, that he should work in Palestine as the sales representative of his own company. In this manner he will be able to earn a salary and to share in the profits of the company while at the same time fulfilling this department’s policy of encouraging Jewish emigration.”

I didn’t doubt that poor Begelmann had agreed to share his company’s profits not with the Reich but with Franz Six. I lit a cigarette and fixed the SD man with a cynical smile. “Gentlemen, it sounds to me like you’ll both be very happy together. But I fail to see what you need me for. I don’t do marriages. I investigate them.”

Six colored a little and glanced awkwardly at Begelmann. He had power, but it wasn’t the kind of power that could threaten someone like me. He was used to bullying students and Jews, and the task of bullying an adult Aryan male looked like it was beyond him.