After a slight pause, he continued. The testicle was beginning to feel looser, which had to be a good sign. With a couple more slight manipulations, it refused to turn any more, so he stopped. This must be it—he didn’t want to twist it the other way. He took his hand away, and let his body relax. His groin was on fire, but the pain was starting to relent. Only time would tell if he had done the right thing. One day he would tell Jock all about it. It was worth staying alive just to see his reaction.

As he sat up against the wall, Lockhart heard three volleys of distant rifle fire.

Strasser left the office, feeling the quizzical looks of Esser and Buch burning into his back. He was as mystified as they were. Had he done anything wrong? Since coming back from the front, he had behaved himself. There were the whores and the occasional rowdy evenings, but nothing that wasn’t usually given the blind eye. SS men weren’t supposed to drink, but with the war going the way it was, permanent obliteration was a fact of life for many. Strasser could hold his drink better than most, so much so that Esser thought he watered his drink down on the sly.

It must be the whores, but Strasser had been careful about that too, restricting his visits to once a week. Any more often and he would appear depraved, not to mention penniless. He had been careful too, even with Leni, not to tell them anything. Many were the rumors that Kitty’s place was run by the SD, the internal security body. How else would Kitty get such good wines and brandies? people asked. Strasser felt confident that he had never told a whore anything, apart from complaining about Frau Buch’s incessant smoking.

As he closed the grilles on the outside of the elevator, Strasser reasoned that he wasn’t being summoned because he was in trouble. He pressed the button marked “6.” No, this must be an opportunity for him, but in what capacity? The only thing he could think of was his ability to speak English, but there were plenty of others who could do so.