“Don’t get so worked up, Joe. It’ll all take care of itself soon enough. Hitler doesn’t stand a chance in the long run, and the Germans know it. At some point the military will probably oust him. Then we won’t even need to intervene.”

Arthur smiled—which got him even more worked up. “Maybe it’d be better if I went looking for another job.”

“Go ahead. But who’s going to hire a German now?”

In August Trotsky was murdered in Mexico, by the Stalinists. Lauren showed him the article. “I guess your idea that Trotsky was in Mexico planning a Communist takeover of America wasn’t so off base, huh?”

“But what can you believe these days, anyway? Can you trust the Hitler-Stalin Pact, for example?”

She looked at him. Sometimes she managed to look at him in such a way that he immediately felt dumb.

“Lauren?” he asked.

“Ugh.” She sighed.

“Ugh?”

“Sorry,” she said. “You’re right.”

She had never apologized before. Never admitted he was right. Tonight, her night off, she rummaged nervously in her purse, then she put more lipstick on and said, “We can go.”

Something wasn’t right. Something was going on with her. She seemed pensive and hesitant, kept looking at the door, then at him.

“What?”

“You should go to the FBI, Joe.”

“We’ve had this conversation already.”

“You have to.”

“I have to?”

She looked past him. He touched her shoulder.

“They’re expecting you.”

“Why are they expecting me?”

“Because I was there already myself.”

“Did they bring you in?”

“No. I went voluntarily. Because I knew that you wouldn’t.”

He took a step back, as if he had been struck.

“I did it for you. To put an end to it! The FBI can help you. They told me they could!”

“To put an end to it?”

She nodded. There was something in her eyes. Fear. Not for him.

“We had a deal, Joe. You promised!”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked quietly.

She went into the bedroom. He knew what she was doing, knew it immediately. He heard the bed squeak, and then she came back with the case with the radio inside.

“And this here? What am I supposed to make of this? Is this your idea of trust?”

“Lauren. That’s a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Now she was shouting.

“I was going to throw the radio away. I took it so it wouldn’t do any damage.”

He could hear how implausible that sounded. True, he kept putting Max off, telling him he needed more time. He had hoped for some other solution to present itself, something other than having to destroy his own handiwork.